Free I Got You, Babe by Jane Graves Page A

five seconds to comprehend the opportunity she saw before her, and when she did, she kicked herself for not thinking of it at a more opportune time. When he was in the shower, for instance. Car theft was a little easier when the owner was preoccupied. Or naked. Or both.
    No. She couldn’t steal his car.
    Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly stealing. Not if she just used it for a little while, then left it somewhere and called him to tell him where to find it. Car theft involved tearing up steering columns and hot-wiring and generally trashing a car, then taking it to a chop shop, where it would be dissected into an unrecognizable pile of auto parts. That was car theft. This was more like, well...borrowing.
    She figured she’d have to ditch the car pretty fast, though, because if he woke up and found her missing, then found his car missing, he’d call the local authorities and report it stolen. She’d get picked up before she knew what hit her.
    Wait a minute. He couldn’t call anyone. From what she’d seen, the cabin didn’t have a phone. The only phone she’d seen was a cell phone in his car. Which she would be driving.
    That meant she’d be leaving him out here alone in the middle of nowhere, with no communication and no transportation. For a moment her conscience shouted at her, telling her she couldn’t do that. Then she weighed their respective situations. If she took his car, he’d be faced with a ten or fifteen-mile walk back to civilization. If she didn’t take his car, she’d probably end up spending ten or fifteen years in prison.
    She told her conscience to shut up.
    She lay deathly still for a long time, blinking to stay awake. When fifteen or twenty minutes passed and John still hadn’t moved, she lifted the covers carefully and sat up, swinging her legs around. The sofa bed creaked, and her heart turned a somersault. John stirred a little, then was still again.
    She grabbed her shoes and carried them with her to the kitchen counter. Watching John with every step she took, she picked up his keys as deftly as she could to avoid clinking them together. His wallet sat beside the keys. Wallets generally contained money, and she needed some. Badly.
    She sighed inwardly. That stealing thing.
    Then again, if she sent him the money back later with interest, it wouldn’t exactly be stealing, would it? It would be more like...well, like she’d invested it for him. If she gave him, say, a fifteen or twenty-percent return, how could he possibly complain about that?
    She opened his wallet to pull out whatever paper money was in it. But money wasn’t the first thing she saw. And when it dawned on her what she was looking at, she had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping.
    A badge.
    She tilted it slightly so the badge glinted in the firelight, then read the ID beside it. John DeMarco. Tolosa Police Department.
    God almighty, John was a cop.
    A sick, sinking sensation swooped through her stomach, and her knees went weak. For several seconds she just stood there as if her feet were fused to the floor. She’d propositioned a cop. She’d walked right into that diner, and with all the intuition of a dodo bird, she’d managed to zero in on the one man who had both the power and the authority to make sure she never saw the light of day again.
    She had to get out of here. Now.
    She pulled all the paper money out of his wallet and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. She walked silently to the door, her heart hammering in her chest. She turned the dead bolt until it clicked softly. When she opened the door, it squeaked a little on its hinges. John stirred. She spun around and held her breath as he turned over, his back to the door, then became still again.
    She slipped out the door, pulling it closed behind her. She tiptoed along the tree-lined dirt path toward the Explorer, her warm breath fogging in the cold night air. She clasped her shoes to her chest, trying to avoid big patches of fallen pine needles she