"Well, that's really mature."
"Like your radio game?"
"Only trying to fill the silence, hotshot."
"You want the dryer lint lady back? Fine." He punched the button.
The waning notes of "Silver Bells" faded, bleeding over into "I'll Be Home for Christmas."
Her ex had walked out on December twenty-third. Kathleen beat Tanner to the button by half a second. "Listen, Bennett. You've got to stop with the silent treatment."
"I'm staying out of your way."
"You're blowing the investigation."
"Me? You're the one buying into everything Quinn and Randy say."
"Not true at all." She gripped the shuddering wheel and maneuvered the car over another rut before accelerating. "I'm just trying to find answers. Everything about this investigation has been goat rope from day one. The whole team's like an episode of Keystone Cops at their worst. Toxicology reports disappearing. Erased crew tapes. Computer files suddenly plagued by viruses. Something's not right."
"No kidding, Sherlock. But there's nothing we can do about it for another week. Nada. Zip. We've been ordered home for the holidays. Your pocket UCMJ is very clear on following orders. We go home. Eat some pumpkin pie. Then get the investigation back on track afterward."
"Just how are we supposed to do that?"
"Forget it. I'm not going to argue with you." He turned the radio back on.
"Instead, you're just going to brood and sulk over heaven knows what." Her foot pressed more heavily on the accelerator. "Do you think Colonel Dawson won't notice when he comes to Cutter's wedding?"
"Kathleen—"
"Of course he will. This investigation is landing in the toilet, Bennett. If we don't save it soon, we can just flush our careers right along with it."
"O'Connell—"
"No upgrade slot for you, hotshot." With each word, she picked up steam while blowing it off. "You'll be the oldest living copilot in the Air Force. I'll get a promotion recommendation that won't be good for anything other than padding the bottom of the stack. Do you think you're the only one who's frustrated? God knows I don't want to want you, but we've just got to live with this, Bennett, and your silent treatment isn't making it any easier on either of us—"
"Kathleen! Hush!"
Well, she'd wanted him to talk. "What?"
"The car's not riding right."
"Huh?" The car shuddered, tugged to the left. Somehow in her anger she'd let the accelerator creep up to eighty. "It's this detour of Crusty's. I knew we should have stayed on the main road."
"Yeah, but— Damn!" Tanner grabbed the wheel just as a tire blew.
Chapter 10
Fishtailing, the car swerved right, then left. Tanner's hand fisted around the wheel as his body strained against the seat belt. The Taurus hurtled off the road.
Tanner's other arm shot in front of Kathleen to brace her. "Drive into the spin, O'Connell!"
"I know!" Her elbow nudged his arm away. "Let go!" The car pounded over dips and trenches. Damn, but he wished they'd been traveling the more sedate Kathleen speed on the smooth, paved highway.
A second tire blew.
"What the—" His hand reached again for Kathleen. Too late. She slammed against the door. Her head smacked the window.
Her limp body sagged from the seat belt. "Kathleen!" he shouted. Horror thumped him in the chest harder than the constricting shoulder harness.