Race with Death Read online




  © 1994 by Gilbert Morris

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-3993-8

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  To Paul Root, who hasn’t read a book since he read Black Beauty in the ninth grade—and who will not read this one. However, it’s good to have one friend whose mind is not messed up with literature, and who can still think straight. The good old days when Sam and Jesse rode the range are never far out of my mind, Paul. And you have proven that friendship is not based on time and geography!

  Contents

  * * *

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  1. Birthday Surprise

  2. Trip to Angola

  3. A Visit to Baton Rouge

  4. Old Flame

  5. Sunny Sloan

  6. Cabin in the Bayou

  7. “The World’s What It Is!”

  8. Under Lock and Key

  9. Sisterly Advice

  10. Witness on Death Row

  11. An Unexpected Treasure

  12. Two Tough Men

  13. Annie’s Place

  14. No Exit

  15. Savage Hits a Blank Wall

  16. A Message for Ben Savage

  17. Escape!

  18. “I’ll Never Let You Go!”

  19. A Slight Case of Burglary

  20. The Trap

  21. From This Day Forward

  Books by Gilbert Morris

  Back Cover

  1

  Birthday Surprise

  * * *

  Dani Ross stood in her bedroom staring at the dresses and pantsuits she’d laid out across her bed and draped over the chairs. A perplexed expression scored her face, and she finally selected one, muttering aloud, “Trying to dress for a date with Ben Savage is impossible!” Moving quickly she replaced the garments, slipped into an ivory crepe pantsuit, then stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the wall.

  She’d bought the outfit on sale at Dillard’s almost a year before but had never worn it, and even now she wasn’t sure about her choice. The reflection revealed a tall young woman with a figure too full to qualify for a fashion model. Nor was the face right for that profession. The jaw was too solid, the mouth too wide, and a small mole adorned the right cheek. She studied the outfit carefully—the high-waisted pants with inverted front pleats and the long jacket with mock flap pockets and pearlized buttons. Finally she shrugged, grabbed a small clutch of golden fabric, and left the room.

  Reddish bars of afternoon sunlight fell through the high windows as she descended the stairs and turned to go to the kitchen. The house was very old, with heart-pine floors and high ceilings, and the gleam of fine antique furniture gave a mellow cast to the rooms she passed through to get to the kitchen. The old grandfather clock boomed out the first of six round notes as she passed, and as she glanced at it, she thought of the time she and her father had removed the old finish and had given the rosewood case a dull sheen that seemed inches deep.

  Pausing by the clock, she slowly reached out and rubbed the burnished wood, the memory of her father sweeping over her—as he had been on that day. She could see his thin, aristocratic face and the smile on his lips as he’d said, “Dani, this old clock’s already done two hundred years—and it’ll do two hundred more. Better than either of us, eh?”

  The case vibrated under her touch, and the recollection brought a sudden stab of grief so powerful that she was forced to swallow quickly, wheel around, and hurry down the hall, keeping her lips in a tight line. It had been that way since her father’s funeral—not just for her, but for the whole family. No matter how noisy the house became, there was an empty silence in it now that Dan Ross was not there.

  Dani pushed through the door to the kitchen, and seeing her mother sitting at the table peeling shrimp, resolutely ignored the grief that had risen inside, and said, “Well, will this outfit do?” She wheeled to give the full effect, then laughed shortly, “Who knows what to wear on a date with Ben? He may decide to go to the stock car races over at Erwinville!”

  “Well, it’s his birthday, Dani, so I guess you’ll have to humor him.”

  Ellen Ann Ross was one of those tall Texas beauties with ash-blonde hair and deep blue eyes. At the age of forty-six, she looked ten years younger—or had before the death of her husband. Physically she was changed only by the loss of a few pounds, but Dani noted the lines that had not been there before his death around her eyes and lips. Dani had not seen her mother weep after the funeral, but suspected that she did so at night lying alone in the darkness.

  Dani reached over and picked up a shrimp, saying quickly, “Oh, I suppose so.” She peeled the shrimp, tossing first the shell into the stack beside her mother and then the pink plump body into the bowl. “I didn’t tell him about the surprise party awaiting when we return. I’ll see to it that we get here early—” She lifted her head, paused, then asked, “What’s that?”

  “Sounds like an airplane landing in the driveway,” Ellen said. She got up, leaned to look out the window, then turned with a smile on her lips. “It’s Ben. Come on, let’s see what he’s driving.”

  The two women left the kitchen, and Dani’s eyes opened wide at the automobile that Ben Savage was getting out of. “What is that?” she called out as they approached.

  Savage stopped, put his hand reverently on the hood of the bright blue car, and nodded. “You don’t know what this is? What do they teach children in school these days?”

  Savage was a compact man of no more than average height, but there was a roundness to his body and a practiced ease to every movement. He had a squarish face with deep-set hazel eyes under a shelf of bone. His nose was short and had been broken, and his mouth was a wide gash with a thin upper lip. There was a trace of his Slavic ancestry in his coarse black hair and heavy black brows, as well as in his coloring. A scar on his forehead ran down into his left eyebrow, which he touched when he was upset or angry.

  “It’s beautiful, Ben!” Ellen walked around the car admiringly. “It’s a Studebaker, isn’t it?”

  Savage moved away from the car, put his arm around Ellen, and hugged her. “Glad to see there is some taste and culture in this family,” he grinned. “Too bad it didn’t rub off on your daughter.”

  Dani saw the pleasure in her mother’s eyes, but sniffed impatiently. “It was probably made before I was born. But at least it looks better than that old wreck you’ve been driving.”

  “Yep, it was made before you were born,” Savage nodded. “One year before.” He held on to Ellen with one arm, and made a sweeping motion with his free hand. “You are looking at a 1963 Gran Turismo Studebaker Hawk!”

  The car was a sleek sports model with a sloping hood and rear deck. The grill was squarish with a red, white, and blue emblem. There was a grace about it that Dani found pleasing. “Where’d you get it, Ben?”

  “From under a live oak,” Savage answered. “It was in pretty bad shape, so I got it cheap from the farmer who owned it. It had belonged to his old man, he said, so the mileage is accurate.”

  As he spoke, Allison Ross came running out of the house, her long blonde hair flying. “Ben!” s
he cried out, and Savage dropped his hold on Ellen to grab the girl and squeeze her. “Where did you get that gorgeous car?”

  “A birthday present, doll,” Savage grinned. He set her down, then added, “What say I dump your dowdy sister and the two of us go out on the town? I’m tired of older women anyhow.”

  “All right!” Allison cried. She held on to Savage possessively, and stuck her tongue out at Dani, saying, “Go find yourself another man!”

  “Nothing doing!” Dani shook her head firmly. “I’m all dressed up and I’m going to be fed.”

  Savage gave Allison a squeeze, then released her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an envelope and gave it to Allison. “Happy birthday,” he said.

  Allison took the envelope, protesting, “It’s your birthday, not mine.” She took out two small rectangular cards, and cried out with joy, “Oh, Ben!” She beamed at the others, exclaiming, “Tickets for the Chinese gymnastic team’s exhibition next Wednesday in Baton Rouge!”

  “Just the two of us, doll,” Savage grinned. “Well, are you ready, Boss?”

  “Where are you taking her, Ben?” Ellen asked.

  “Thought we might get a quarter-pounder at McDonald’s.”

  “No, you’re too dressed up for that,” Dani shook her head. She eyed his charcoal slacks, maroon tie, and burgundy wingtips with surprise. He usually wore clothes that looked as though he’d picked them up at a yard sale.

  Savage noted her glance, and shrugged. “First sign of depravity, wearing natty attire. Well, let’s go truckin’!” He held open the door, closed it when Dani seated herself, then climbed in behind the wheel. When he turned the key the engine roared into life, and he yelled, “See you!” as he sent the car rocketing out of the driveway.

  Dani looked around at the interior gleaming in off-white leather, and commented, “No duct tape like on all your other cars.”

  Savage turned the wheel sharply, lifting the car slightly as he glided onto the highway, then stepped on the gas. Dani was pressed back against the seat and waited until the roar of the engine modified before she was able to say, “Why is it so loud!?”

  “Got glass packed mufflers,” he nodded. A happy grin was on his lips, and he added, “It’s got a 289 cubic inch V-8 engine—feel that power?”

  The windows were all rolled down, and since it was a hard-top, the effect was almost like riding in a convertible. He leaned over, turned a dial, and the radio blasted out Hank Williams singing a somebody-done-me-wrong song.

  “Hear that quality?” Savage shouted. “Not bad, huh?”

  “Really cool, Ben,” Dani shouted back. “Could we turn it down a little?”

  “Well, sure.” Savage turned the radio down and offered, “You can roll your glass up if the wind’s blowing your hair too much.”

  Dani rolled up her window, and in the comparative quiet, commented, “It’s a nice car, Ben. Lots of room.”

  “Yeah, these new sports cars, you got to put ’em on like a pair of tight shorts,” he nodded. “They’re all made out of soybeans and plastic. Now this little hummer’s made out of steel, real steel! Can’t dent it with your finger!”

  Dani listened as he spoke glowingly of the virtues of the car—how much better it was than the ones coming off the assembly line these days—and finally observed, “You don’t like new things much, do you, Ben?”

  He was steering the car at eighty with his right wrist drooped over the wheel, pure enjoyment on his face. “I’ve seen lots of changes in the last twenty years, Boss—and I’ve been against every one of them!”

  “You’re a medievalist!”

  “Yes, that too,” he agreed. “If it’s new, it ain’t true.”

  “Oh, come on, Ben!”

  “Name me one good thing that’s come along in the last twenty years,” he challenged. “The world went to pieces after George Patton died.”

  “Don’t be silly!”

  “I’m not silly, just a careful observer of the social scene. Look at any aspect of American life—say popular songs. In the good old days, we had things like ‘Stardust’ and ‘You Made Me Love You.’ Now we’ve got songs telling kids to dust off the cops and their parents.” The wind from his inverted wing window rippled his stiff black hair, and he ran his hand through it. “And you take haircuts—used to be you could tell a man by a good haircut. Now half the male population’s blow-dried or pig-tailed.”

  Dani leaned back, enjoying the ride and Savage’s sturdy defense of the good old days. His hands were strong and square, capable of rendering a strong man unconscious—or of giving a caressing touch to a woman’s cheek. Together they had been through a great deal in the past two years. After taking over Ross Investigations, Dani had needed a man in the company, and Ben had dropped into her life to fill that position. His ideas on women really were antediluvian, considering them best fitted for having children and washing dishes. During the first weeks of his employment, she had come close to firing him many times. But she had learned that his glib talk clothed a very sensitive spirit, so she had put up with him. They had had some close calls, and it had been the toughness of Savage that had gotten them through more than once.

  Now as they sped along the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway at a highly illegal speed, she let her eyes rest on the planes of his strong jaw, thinking of the other side of their lives together. He had kissed her a few times, and his kisses had stirred her more than those of any other man. But he had never forced himself on her, which had both relieved her and puzzled her. He saw other women, she knew, but there was some sort of barrier around Ben Savage, and he stayed inside it for the most part. It was as if a high fence had been built around his house, and he had hung a large KEEP OUT! sign over the entrance.

  As they left the causeway, he turned left, heading west. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Thought we might go to T.J. Ribs,” he shrugged.

  “You always want to go there,” Dani said. “Don’t you ever think about trying a new place?”

  “When you find a winner, stick with it.”

  “You miss a lot with that philosophy,” Dani argued. She was amused at his attitude, but surprisingly enough had been strongly influenced by Savage’s almost fierce conservatism. As they sped along Interstate 10, she bantered with him, teasing him about being monolithic, and he defended himself staunchly.

  April in Louisiana was hot and steamy, a chronic condition that was never going to change. On each side of the highway, huge cypress trees rose out of the black waters of Lake Pontchartrain, their swollen bases tapering into strong trunks. The dark waters were broken by the incredible white of egrets and the floating logs. As Dani looked on, one of the “logs” suddenly opened its jaws, transforming into an eightfoot alligator.

  The warm air and the drone of the powerful engine proved to be too much. Dani had slept little, and when she lay her head back on the smooth leather listening to Ben talk, she dropped off into a sound sleep. She awakened when the car slowed abruptly, and sat up, rubbing her neck, which was stiff. They were inside the city limits of Baton Rouge, and she murmured, “Nice way to treat a date—going to sleep.”

  Savage only nodded, saying, “You’re pretty washed out, Boss.”

  He took the Acadian exit and pulled into the crowded parking lot of T.J. Ribs. The building was a low structure surrounded by cars and the aroma of cooking meat. Ben put the Hawk between a fire-engine red Corvette and a black Ranger pickup truck. He got out, opened the door for Dani, and escorted her toward the entrance. A small brass sign on the front door said, We cannot take your personal checks. They passed through a short hall, then stepped into the interior, which consisted of a large bar in the center, surrounded by a dining area. A young woman at the desk to the right smiled and inquired, “How many, sir?” When she found out, she asked, “Smoking or non-smoking?”

  “Non-smoking.”

  “It’ll be about twenty minutes, sir.”

  There were no seats for the ten or twelve people who waited, s
o Dani and Savage stood with the others. One wall was covered with the pictures of all the Heisman Trophy winners since the award had first been given. “How many of them can you name?” Savage asked Dani.

  “None.”

  “I’ll bet you can name all the presidents of the United States, though.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “How many times has somebody called you and asked breathlessly, ‘Please, name me all the presidents of the United States?’”

  “And you get calls all the time asking you to name all the Heisman Trophy winners, don’t you?”

  “Constantly!”

  They stood for twenty minutes, and then a waiter came to say, “Savage? Table for two? This way, sir.” He led them through the crowded dining area, made a sharp left turn and seated them at a table set for two people. “Enjoy your meal,” he smiled, then left.

  As he pulled Dani’s chair out, then pushed it in, Savage said, “I hate it when they say that.”

  “You’d rather they say, ‘I hope you choke’?”

  Savage picked up the menu and stared at it. “I hate meaningless words.”

  Dani was amused. “It’d be a pretty silent world if people didn’t use a lot of meaningless talk. And why are you looking at the menu? You always have the same thing.”

  When the waiter came, he further irritated Savage. His name tag read “William,” and he started to say, “My name is William, and I’ll be your waiter tonight.” But Savage said first, “My name is Ben, and I’ll be your customer tonight.” Then he added, “I’ll have the baby-back ribs and the lady will have half a barbecued chicken. We’ll both have baked beans, slaw, and cornbread. I’ll have coffee, and she’ll have a Coke.”

  The waiter was slightly rattled by his rapid words, and stared at Dani for confirmation. “It’s all right, she’ll eat what I tell her,” Ben said. “And don’t tell her about women being liberated. I’m trying to keep it from her.”

 

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