“I know.”
“You looked like Roy.”
“I’m sure I did. But you weren’t afraid of me.”
“You love Sara too much to hurt her.”
“I do. I—Holy crap!” He pulled away from her. “Flynn’s car just went by. The idiot didn’t even look this way. I bet that bastard’s already been to see Niederman. I’m gonna—”
Kate didn’t like that he seemed to have so quickly tossed aside his remorse. As hard as she could, with as much strength as she could muster, she kicked him in the shin. She hit his leg where the skin was the thinnest and where it would hurt the most. She was glad she had on her Coach pumps with their hard soles.
Jack hobbled backward, grabbing his leg. Between the cast and the one crutch, he fell flat on his behind onto the hard pavement, then looked up at the women in bewilderment.
Sara had stepped beside Kate and they put their arms around each other’s waists. They were smiling down at him.
“You drive?” Sara asked Kate.
“Love to.” She looked at Jack sprawled on the road. “Think you can get in the truck bed?”
He rolled his eyes. “Sure you don’t want to tie me onto the bumper?”
Sara snapped her fingers. “I knew there was a reason I should have brought the chains.” She got into the passenger side of the truck.
Kate stayed outside until Jack was in the back. He winked at her and she got in to drive.
Sara reached across the seat to squeeze Kate’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too,” Kate said. “Now, how do I get to Arthur Niederman’s house? Not that the poor man will talk to us. Sheriff Flynn probably scared him to death.”
“Or made him laugh in derision.”
“Good point.”
Jack slid the back glass open. “Are you two just going to talk all day?”
“How’s your shin?” Kate started the engine.
“Bleeding. I may need stitches.”
“I can sew,” Sara said and the women laughed.
With a groan, Jack said, “Uncaring, unsympathetic. Is this where feminism has led?” When he turned away, he was smiling. With no thanks to him, they were safe. And they’d made vows to stay together. But then, a three-legged stool wasn’t very strong with a leg missing.
SEVENTEEN
A man in a wheelchair met them at the front door of a very nice house set in a beautiful tropical garden. He was in his sixties, plain-faced, with sparse white hair. From the waist up, his body looked strong, but his legs were bone-thin.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said. “I assume you know that I’m Arthur Niederman. Please come in.” He wheeled himself into a pretty living room and nodded toward a big couch and a couple of easy chairs. On the coffee table was a tray of sodas and water beside a closed metal cake tin. “I would have made coffee but you got here too soon after Flynn left.”
When they sat down close beside each other on the couch, he looked startled. “What happened to you people? You’re as pale as ghosts. Flynn scare you?”
“I almost caused us to crash,” Jack said.
Arthur nodded. “Roy’s son would do that.”
Kate frowned. “Jack was worried about Sara, so he—”
Jack gave her a look to stop.
