Catch Her If You Can by Merline Lovelace Read Free Book Online Page A

equipment. Rocky usually rides with Dennis. Pen cruises home with me.
    I much prefer her company to the others on the drive to and from El Paso. She doesn’t twitch and start to sweat like Rocky does every time I skim a curve. Nor does she keep a running tally of how much I’ve forked over for speeding tickets, like Dennis. It’s a trade-off, though. Instead of nervous or sarcastic comments, I get lengthy monologues on various topics dear to Pen’s heart.
    This time, however, she’d driven her own vehicle out to the site. We’d all wondered about that, as she’s into her second term as president of the El Paso chapter of Citizens United for a Greener Biosphere and is always on our case about carpooling to reduce our carbon footprint. After that business with the antique teapot, though, I wasn’t surprised when we made our obligatory farewell stop at Pancho’s and Pen decided to linger awhile.
    “You sure?” I asked while Pancho tried to look as innocent as a guy with a black eye patch and waxed handlebar mustache can.
    “I’m sure.”
    “Okay. Well. Um. Drive carefully,” I finished lamely.
    Pen merely smiled, but everyone else within earshot let loose with a chorus of hoots and catcalls at hearing that advice coming from me. I ignored them, made a dignified exit, and slid behind the wheel of my Sebring convertible.
    My insurance company had balked at writing the convertible off as a total loss after I’d used it as a battering ram. They’d replaced the engine, though, and hammered out the dents. I missed its delicious new-car smell but couldn’t complain too much as I’d put the top down before we left our site and the predominant scent right now was baked leather. I wiggled my fanny from side to side until the bucket seat cooled enough to settle both cheeks.
    Eager to hit the road, I tossed my patrol cap on the passenger seat and slipped on my wraparound sunglasses. I wanted to remove the clip anchoring my hair and let it blow in the wind. Unfortunately, allowing so much as a stray strand to touch your uniform collar is one of the many mysterious military no-no’s. This one makes absolutely no sense to me. I suspect it was promulgated by the same jerk who decided female cadets at the service academies should wear pants in marching formation instead of skirts. Heaven forbid we should show some leg and look like women instead of mutant males.
    With that bit of internal editorializing out of my system, I keyed the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot. The guys followed at a more sedate speed.
    I might as well have unclipped my hair. The wind tugged most of it loose anyway during the drive to El Paso. It’s just a little over eighty miles as the crow flies. We wingless humanoids have to navigate a series of two-lane county roads north, then west, then north again until we finally reach I-10.
    This circuitous route takes us through several topological zones. As Pen has reminded my team on numerous occasions, the Chihuahuan Desert is the largest desert in North America. It stretches from just south of Albuquerque through Arizona and Texas all the way down to Mexico City. I must admit I never paid much attention to such matters as topographical zones pre-Pen. I’ve become a reluctant expert, though, after all her monologues.
    Go ahead. Ask me about the growth patterns of the Bigtooth maples that flame with fall color in high mountain canyons. Or a plant group entirely composed of gypsophiles and gypsovags. Hint: They grow only in gypsum deposits like New Mexico’s spectacular White Sands.
    Armed with such arcane detail, I was able to take in the passing scenery with something of a connoisseur’s eye as our little convoy descended from wind-carved sandstone buttes to the wide, flat Rio Grande Valley. Once we zipped up the ramp onto I-10, though, all bets were off. I was morally obligated to leave every lumbering semi in my dust, right?
    I extended an arm straight up and waggled my fingers in farewell to