Official Escort. Jean Barrett

or offering any argument, he nodded slowly. That’s when she realized that he, too, could no longer endure this bewildering mixture of stress and sizzle that had been between them from the start.

      “Neil will have to make other arrangements for me,” she said. “I don’t care what they are, just as long as he makes them immediately.”

      Again he made no objection. He must have known as well as she that they were a mistake together and that giving her back to Neil was the best thing for both of them.

      “All right,” he said.

      He went to the phone on the wall and dialed. She listened to him speak briefly to someone at the Milwaukee precinct where Neil worked.

      “He’s off today,” Mitch reported after he ended the call. “I’ll try him at home.”

      Again she waited while he dialed and talked to someone who, by the tenor of the quick conversation, clearly was not Neil. He hung up and turned to her.

      “It was the girl who cleans house for him,” Mitch explained. “She’d finished her work and was just leaving. Neil isn’t there. She said he went out to get a paper and coffee and would probably be back in a few minutes. We’ll just have to wait.”

      Madeline shook her head, her frustration at an intolerable level. “I don’t want to wait. I want you to drive me to his house.”

      Her tone was so insistent that one of his thick eyebrows quirked. “What are you saying? That if we wait I might change my mind, or that if I give Neil the chance, he’ll change it for me?”

      “There is that possibility,” she admitted. “But if you deliver me to his door, he’ll have to take me in. Please.”

      “Have it your way,” he conceded. But she knew he was relieved by her decision.

      Minutes later, with her suitcase and satchel tucked behind the front seat of his pickup, they headed in the direction of Milwaukee. They didn’t talk on the drive. Glancing at him at the wheel, she wondered if he was experiencing either regret or uncertainty. If he was, he didn’t express it by word or look.

      Madeline thought about asking him again why he seemed to resent her, and just what had gone wrong between them. But at this stage, what was the point? Turning her attention from the man beside her, she diverted herself with the countryside through which they dipped and wound. Neil had told her on the drive out to the farm that the area was known as the Kettle Moraine. Even under a cold, dismal sky, it was a lovely region with wooded hills and gentle valleys.

      When the first snowflakes of the season began to drift down from the darkening sky, Madeline remembered thinking two days ago how a blanket of white would soften the scene, enrich it. It seemed that her longing was being answered.

      But as the snowfall thickened, the route began to seem less like a welcome Christmas card and more like a potential problem. She finally voiced her concern to Mitch. “This is getting heavy, isn’t it?”

      He shrugged. “It’s Wisconsin. It snows.”

      There was no reason to be worried if he wasn’t bothered himself. That’s what she told herself, but by the time they reached the fringes of Milwaukee it was snowing in earnest. The wind had risen, driving a curtain of white against the truck as it crawled through the traffic. Snow was piling in the streets faster than the plows could remove it, making the going hazardous.

      Madeline was relieved when Mitch pulled into the driveway of the small, suburban ranch house that Neil occupied. There was no sign of life along the quiet street. People were wisely staying indoors.

      Mitch left the engine running and turned to her. “I want you to stay here in the cab while I go in and talk to him. Neil isn’t going to be happy about this. I have some explaining to do, and I’m better off handling that without you on the scene.”

      Madeline was puzzled. What could he have to say to Neil that he didn’t want her to hear? She started to object but decided that she wanted no more quarrels with him. All she needed was a fast resolution to the problem and a final parting from him.

      “You’ll be all right,” he assured her, turning off the blower that had kept the windows clear. They immediately began to cloud over with moisture. “With the fogged windows and all that snowfall out there, no one will know you’re even in here. Just stay in the cab and keep the doors locked. I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”

      His coat strained against him as he opened the door and started to slide out of the truck, revealing an unmistakable bulge beneath the leather. He must have brought his gun with him. He couldn’t have anticipated trouble, not here. He must simply be exercising caution, feeling a responsibility for her until he handed her back to Neil.

      But before she could ask him about it, he was gone. Scrubbing the mist off a spot on the window, she could just make out through the swirling snow the dim shape of his tall figure disappearing around the back corner of the house.

      Making sure the doors on both sides were secure, Madeline turned on the radio to hear a weather forecast. It was something they should have done on the drive in, but both of them had been too preoccupied to think of it.

      She found a news station and learned what she already feared—that the snow was rapidly developing into a major winter storm. When the station started to announce early school closings and cancellations of public meetings, she switched off the radio.

      She went on waiting, wondering what was taking him so long. It seemed forever before a sudden rap on the window of the driver’s door startled her. Leaning over, she rubbed away the condensation and discovered Mitch’s face pressed against the glass. She unlocked the door.

      There was an urgency about the way he flung open the door and climbed behind the wheel, bringing a rush of snow and cold air into the cab with him.

      “Is something wrong?”

      He didn’t answer her. Without bothering to buckle up, he turned the blower on full blast, threw the gear into Reverse, gunned the engine and backed out of the driveway. The wheels spun in the snow on the turn. Then, digging in, the pickup leaped forward and tore up the street.

      Madeline stared at him. His face was granite hard and grim. “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s happened?”

      “Not now,” he muttered, biting the words, each syllable uttered on a note of harshness.

      They roared recklessly around a corner, the pickup skidding dangerously on the slick snow. Rocked against her seat belt, Madeline caught her breath and waited for an impact. But the pickup righted itself and went on speeding through the blinding whiteness.

      “Slow down before you kill us,” she pleaded.

      He didn’t seem to hear her. His hands tightened on the wheel. Her own hands clenched the seat. She felt sick. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Why were they fleeing?

      “Tell me,” she insisted.

      And he told her, bluntly and without looking at her.

      “Neil is dead.”