The moon hung like a huge, silver dish over the mountain. A clear sky allowed so much light that Mags almost didn't need her headlights. She could see far beyond the reach of the beams, out into the spookily gray distance, up to where the road curved and snaked to the summit. The South Carolina night breathed warmly and seductively, and she understood why so many retirees were flooding the state. Who could resist such a night? Who would want to? Yet, along with the people traveled troubles. Paradise always harbored a snake or two. She knew. She had been a police officer for enough years to understand how criminals trailed money like blue tick hounds. The retirees brought golf clubs and jewelry and electronics and a hankering for lonely, isolated places. Criminals could smell affluence, sharks honing in on the blood scent.
Tonight, though, her shift had been uneventful. She had traversed the county without adventure--except for a single, property damage accident that hardly seemed worth noting. Neither driver had been drinking, and both showed her respect despite her 5', 106 lb. frame. Even with her size and beauty, she never hesitated. She earned respect. As she pushed toward the curve, she looked forward to a night of uninterrupted sleep. Her bed would greet her like a panting puppy.
As she rounded the curve, she spotted the car in the distance. Pulled off, blinkers flashing, she couldn't miss it. Without hesitation, she flipped on her bubble lights and radioed the dispatcher. She pulled in behind the Ford Explorer and called in the plate, although she expected nothing. The Explorer had Indiana plates, and dispatch rarely had information on out-of-state plates.
Waiting for dispatch, she looked around, wondering where the driver had gone. What was the Explorer doing so far from the Interstate? Retiree? Perhaps. Tourists generally rolled the Interstate straight through to the coast, Charleston or Myrtle Beach. They didn't get stuck on lonely mountain highways.
When dispatch offered nothing, Mags slipped out of her cruiser. The radio attached to her shoulder kept her in touch as she approached the vehicle. Flashlight in hand, she walked to the driver's side. Empty. She glanced over her shoulder as if expecting to find the driver behind her, but the road was empty. Odd, but not too odd. Mechanical trouble seemed to be the problem, and the driver was probably a man. Women tended to stay with the vehicle until help arrived. Men set off in search of help, as if a garage would be open at midnight. She wondered sometimes at the lack of logic. Even if the driver found someone--not all that likely--what could they do before morning? She looked in all the windows, noting some golf clubs, a bag. Tourist. Probably someone who had left the Interstate and become lost. But where was he?
She returned to her cruiser, apprised dispatch of the situation, and pulled away from the Explorer. Since she hadn't seen the driver already, she guessed he had continued up the mountain. Being a tourist, he couldn't know he was heading away from civilization, not toward it. She drove slowly, on the lookout. It was likely that some driver had already picked up the stranded man and offered help, which was fine with Mags. If she found the tourist, her night wouldn't end until she had found safety for him. She would just as soon sleep.
He was walking on the shoulder, a dark figure in the moonlight. "Damn," she cursed as she flipped on the bubbles again. She would lose an hour of sleep at least. As she neared, he stopped and faced the approaching car.
What struck her immediately was his sheepish grin. He looked like someone who had made a mistake and didn't want to admit it. An innocence showed through, but she ignored that. She had been fooled by innocent looks before. In her line of work, looks were deceiving. Better, to judge by actions. She stopped the cruiser, climbed out slowly, and approached him.
As she neared, she noticed he was handsome. To her practiced eye, he seemed 6', 170, short brown hair, brown eyes, no distinguishing scars. He wore a tan jacket over khaki Dockers and Nike jogging shoes. His hands hung by his side, as if showing he had nothing to hide. Broad shoulders, slim hips, she guessed him to be roughly her age--35. His grin held as he looked at her, and she understood the look. Men looked at her a lot.
"Good evening, officer," he began. "You must have passed my Explorer back there."
"Do you have some identification?" she asked.
"Sure." She watched carefully as he fumbled in his jacket pocket and removed a wallet which he offered.
"Drivers license," she said. "And please remove it from the wallet."
He stepped forward, handed her his license, and stepped back, understanding the need for space between them. Under the flashlight, she read the license. He was her age and from Indiana. The photo didn't do justice to his face.
"What are you doing so far off the Interstate?" she asked. In the back of her mind, she harbored a suspicion that he had driven down to conduct some drug business with some of the dealers who lived in the mountains, a good place to hide nefarious activities.
"Actually, I was trying to find someone, and I ran out of gas."
"Oh?"
"I know this sounds improbable," he continued. "But I met her over the internet. She lives around here somewhere. I stopped in town for directions, but I forgot to buy gas. I guess I was a little anxious to see her. Anyway, when the engine stopped, I decided I'd try to walk."
"And who is this friend you're trying to find?"
He grinned. "Well, she's a cop, and she's cute, and her name is Mags."
For an instant, she couldn't believe her ears. "That's me," she stammered.
"I thought so." He tilted his head to one side. "And I have to admit that you're even prettier than I imagined."
She felt a blush rush up her cheek.
"Before you guess the wrong screen name," he continued. "I'm Indy."
Stunned, she could only repeat his name. "Indy?"
"I should have called or left email or something," he said. "But I had this idea that surprising you might be better. I guess not."
"No, no," she said quickly. "It's just that...well...I never dreamed...."
"I don't know what came over me," he said. "I got to thinking about you, and I asked myself what the hell I was doing in Indiana when you were here. Pretty stupid, huh?"
"I...I...no, not stupid." She looked around and then handed back his license. "Here. We should probably get out of the road. Come back to the cruiser."
Walking back to the car provided her time to think. She was surprised and flattered and anxious all at the same time. He looked better than his photo, more alive, and his voice was nice, and she had no idea how she was going to handle the situation.
Inside the cruiser, she radioed dispatch to let them know everything was all right. She was aiding a stranded motorist, nothing more. Leaving the bubble lights on, she faced him.
"I don't know what to say," she began.
"You don't have say anything," he answered. "Haul my sorry butt to a gas station so I can get some gas and a ride back to my vehicle. I'll get out of your hair."
"Sure," she said. She started the engine, killed the bubbles, and made a U-turn. As she roared off, she stole a glance at him. Was he disappointed?
They rode in silence down the road, past the blinking Explorer. She wondered what he must be thinking. She had talked to him a hundred times via computer, and yet face to face, she couldn't think of anything to say.
"I must seem pretty stupid," he said. "Running out of gas. I guess I was a little distracted."
"Happens to all of us," she answered. What was she doing? The man had driven 600 miles to see her, and she was treating him like just another unlucky motorist?
"Seems I'm full of bad ideas." He laughed. "Beautiful moon, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
"Which is more important the sun or the moon?"
She glanced at him. What was it, a riddle? "Sun, I guess."
"Moon," he answered. "The sun shines during the day when it's light, but the moon shines at night, when it's dark." He laughed.
"You like night?"
"I like moonlight. It's softer than daylight. Imperfections disappear but essential beauty remains. Women are softer in moonlight, men stronger. Special light."
He spoke as he wrote, which was the reason she had liked him in the first place. He was a writer at heart, an intellect foaming with words, with phrases, with images that had captured her imagination.
"You should put that in a story," she said.
"I have." He laughed. "Every good line I think of or hear goes into a story."
She had the sudden urge to reach over and touch his leg, to feel the muscle beneath the cloth. Why? What about him invited her touch? She didn't, she couldn't. How did she initiate things? Did she want to? She felt confused, more confused than trying to sort out a fracas between three drunks.
Silence was the third rider. She longed to say something, but she didn't know what to say. She hadn't been so shy since high school, since Ray Stine, the halfback she had always wanted to date. Yet, every time she had been around Ray, she had shunned any hint of intelligence and wit. Tongue tied, she could barely answer "hello". And she had never gone out with Ray. For some reason, Indy had the same effect on her.
Tolliver's Shell was open all night. She pulled in, and he opened the door.
"Thanks," he said. "I appreciate the lift."
"I'll take you back," she said.
"You don't have to."
"It's on my way."
He looked at her a moment. "OK, let me get a can of gas."
While she waited, Mags wondered about herself. All her police training dictated that she take command of the situation, that she act quickly and forcefully. Yet, with Indy, she seemed to have no confidence. Was it the surprise of his visit, or was she really scared? Fear wasn't new to her. She was often afraid, but she always acted anyway. Why was this time different? Because he could write? Because she had daydreamed about him? Because he seemed too good to be true, a fantasy better left untouched?
Before she could answer, he returned with a can of gas which she had him put in the trunk. Who wanted to ride around with gas fumes?
"You're a heart breaker," he said as they left the station.
"What?"
"That guy at the counter wanted to know how I earned the right to ride in the front seat. Seems you're famous for making everyone ride in back."
She laughed. "Billy Tolliver buys me a beer any time I go into the Over Easy, that's a bar down the street. If speeding didn't add points to his license, he'd blast through my radar trap every day. I frisked him once, and he liked it way too much."
Indy laughed. She liked the sound. He had an easy, natural laugh.
"I imagine some of the guys would opt for a strip search."
