Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (top romance novels txt) 📗

their attention than the machines they hurled down the highway. Germans, with their autobahn mentality, didn’t believe in distractions. For years, their engineers had resisted cup holders because they believed that even drinking a beverage while driving should be verboten. She thought of her large S-Class sedan as a force field that protected her from some fool crashing into her life unannounced.

Ashley interrupted her thoughts again. “At least you did not buy one of those AMG planet killers.”

“Greg wanted one, but I prefer this model.”

When she had met Evarts, he was driving a soccer-mom minivan, only in his case, he called it a surf wagon. He disliked ostentatiousness but converted to her preferred automobile brand when he saw the Mercedes-Benz Sprinter. After a test drive, he had to own it. At first, he had liked the roominess and ability to stand upright in the rear compartment but then grew to admire the engineering. Later, when she needed a new car, he went all testosterone on her and did everything he could to convince her to buy the AMG model. It might be a couple tenths of a second faster, but she preferred the smooth muscularity of a big block V12 engine. She would never tell Ashley that her model cost far more than the AMG version.

“Lights!” he yelled.

She had already slammed the brakes and didn’t appreciate his loud, shrill warning. Damn. What was this? Red and blue flashing lights spanned the entire road. She easily brought her car to a stop, then gradually crept forward with the bumper-to-bumper traffic. As she got closer, she saw Highway Patrol officers directing traffic off the highway to a surface street.

Ashley slid down his window as they approached a patrolman waving cars toward the off-ramp. Baldwin cringed as rain spattered her car interior. The officer wore heavy rain gear, rubber boots, and a plastic covering for his hat. He shed water like he was standing under a shower faucet.

“What is the problem, officer?” Ashley asked as he leaned slightly away from the open window.

“Road washed out ahead. Please follow the detour signs.”

“How much of the road?”

He waved his arm forward. “Please move along.”

Despite getting wet, Ashley leaned toward the officer. “You do not understand, sir, we are on assignment for the governor. We meet with him tomorrow morning on the damage from this storm and future threats. It would help if we could provide firsthand observations.”

“Have the governor call my lieutenant. Until then, move along. Now!” He pointed at the line of cars. “You’re holding up traffic.”

On many levels, Ashley’s reference to the governor annoyed Baldwin, but he was right about personal observation. Wrong about how to get permission to inspect road damage. In a situation like this, a police chief had more authority than the governor.

She leaned over the center console and bent down to make eye contact with the officer. “Hello, I’m Patricia Baldwin, wife of the Santa Barbara police chief. We’re on the way to Sacramento to advise on how to handle this storm. Can we—”

“Ma’am, we can arrest you for interfering with emergency operations. Please drive on to the off-ramp and follow traffic.” A horn honked before he added, “And for your information, the police chief of Santa Barbara is not named Baldwin.”

“No, it’s Greg Evarts. Nevertheless, he is my husband. For some damn reason, he refused to take my name.” The officer laughed. She handed him Evarts’s card and the vehicle registration, which listed them as co-owners. “Can we look? We might be able to recommend a better distribution of resources.”

He examined the card, then waved her beyond the Highway Patrol cordon. “Park immediately behind that cruiser. Don’t go any further unless you want to file an insurance claim for this car.”

Ashley immediately slid the window up and shook his right arm to spatter water across her dash. She was about to complain, but two more honks, long ones this time, caused her to shift into drive and edge forward. She pulled directly behind one of the CHP cars flashing enough lights to provoke an epileptic seizure. She pulled her Burberry full-length trench coat from the back and struggled to put it on from her seated position. Then she settled her wide-brimmed Tilley rain hat on her head to shield her glasses from the rain. She wished she had also brought along waterproof overshoes, but that couldn’t be helped now. She climbed out of the car to face a huge man, standing arms akimbo.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

“We’re with a state commission that advises on these types of emergencies … on our way to a meeting in Sacramento. We’d like to examine the damage so we have a firsthand account for the rest of the commission.” She handed him another of Evarts’s cards. “My husband also asked me for feedback.”

After a glance at the card, his face relaxed. He waved over an officer. “Escort these two to the washout. Do not let them climb the rubble.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer responded.

Just as he turned to guide them away, Ashley piped up, “The governor appreciates your cooperation, officer.”

Without thinking, Baldwin blurted, “No, he doesn’t. The commission reports to the lieutenant governor. I can assure you, however, that I appreciate your cooperation. In truth, whether we even mention this tomorrow depends on the damage we see.”

The big patrolman chuckled at her put-down of Ashley’s pretentiousness. “If that’s the criteria, then I suspect you’ll open the meeting with this collapse. Now, please follow my officer.”

Visibility had not improved outside the car. The rain fell so heavily that it looked like a dense fog. The wind blew the rain sideways, and since Baldwin’s glasses didn’t sport multispeed wipers, her finger had to do the work. She and the patrolman quickly outpaced Ashley, who seemed inordinately concerned about getting mud on his shoes. He walked flat-footed with his arms out like he was balancing on a tightrope. Thankfully, they didn’t walk far.

“How much of the road is washed out?” she asked.

“Nearly a