Hiding Tom Hawk Read Online Free

thirty-something delivery boy dressed in outdated Sears Roebuck bargain basement duds and driving an ugly twenty-year-old Plymouth had an extra car and a boss who might cover a road accident out-of-pocket. Maybe it was true. Tom was due a break, wasn’t he? From looking at the Plymouth, the other car had to be Robert’s “good” car, didn’t it? Driving something other than his own conspicuous Cutlass could help him stay hidden.
    “Let’s make sure I have this right. You live near here. You have another car to lend me. And you or your boss will pay for the repairs.”
    “Yes, all of that. Please, can we move the cars now?”
    Tom peered under the front of the Cutlass, looking for telltale puddles of fluid. The pavement was dry. It was the same under the Plymouth. He picked up a piece of chrome trim off the road—potential evidence of the mishap here—and threw it though the opening that minutes ago had been his front right door window. “Fair enough, we’ve got a deal. Let’s see if these cars will both start.”

Chapter Two
    The Cutlass did start. There were new and strange noises, steering was difficult, and the breeze through the mangled passenger door seemed like a gale, although they crept up the hill at fifteen miles an hour. Tom’s right shoulder ached. The old Plymouth passed a modest sign that proclaimed KESSLER INN . Robert turned up a wide driveway cut into the dense trees and Tom followed. It was getting hard to turn the Cutlass to the left.
    They crested a small rise and at the far end of a scraggly lawn Tom saw the big house. If you had to characterize it, he supposed it was a Victorian, based on the lavish wooden scrollwork and several porches. But there were occasional Italianate and Greek Revival embellishments and even a trace of the ubiquitous Romanesque in the brickwork. It was a comprehensive sampler of nineteenth century architectural styles, probably the fevered creation of some lumber or copper baron awash in money and devoid of taste.
    Robert pulled off to the north of the house in a gravel parking strip, and Tom managed to slip in next to him as the Cutlass’s power steering went completely dead. Robert joined him as he got out of his car and watched as he opened his trunk and took out clean pants. Tom changed behind the two cars, wincing as he pulled his fly zipper shut.
    “You’ve hurt your shoulder. Oh, man, I’m so sorry.”
    “It’ll be fine,” Tom snapped to shut him up. It wasn’t fine. “You live here?”
    “Well, yeah. Look, Beth Kessler, the owner, is only supposed to rent to students, so my staying here is kind of unofficial. When she gets the right license, she plans to make this place an upscale bed and breakfast. That’s where—”
    “I know what a B&B is.” Tom studied the secluded, tree-belted property. He might be able to leave the Cutlass here completely unnoticed until Robert could get it fixed. “This looks like a pretty isolated place.”
    “Oh, yeah, it’s real private. Nice and quiet, too.”
    “You want to keep this accident we just had nice and quiet. Why?”
    “That tattoo—are you a veteran?”
    Robert was trying his patience. With an icy edge to his voice, Tom countered, “I thought I was asking the questions.”
    Robert took a step back, out of left hook range. He mumbled, “It’s sort of a military draft thing. If we report the accident, I’ll have a problem.”
    “You look a little old to be worrying about being drafted.”
    “It involves some other people. Also, there’d be trouble with the ID I’m using.”
    How about that? Two guys have a collision, and they’re both using fake driver’s licenses. Even near a college town, what were the odds? Tom reassured him, “I am a veteran, but I’m not going to hit you. I want to see the first two hundred dollars and the car you’re going to give me while they fix mine.”
    “It might take a little time.”
    “I don’t have much time. I guess we can still call the police and the