Rolling Thunder
Sam weaved his way around the cubicles that made up most of the third floor of the Chicago Tribune with one destination in mind: The desk of Rebecca Williams. True to his word, a few days after the fundraising gala in Milwaukee, he had asked Becca out to dinner. They had kept the evening light and casual as conversation and laughter flowed easily. They had gone out a few times since, and Sam now recognized his feelings for Becca were definitely testing the boundaries of friendship and threatening to spill over into something more. He wondered if she felt the same.
Rebecca was furiously typing away on her keyboard when Sam arrived at her 'office'.
"Big story?" he asked.
Becca looked up, her green eyes quickly finding his dark brown ones. There was a twinkle there he hadn't noticed before. Perhaps it hadn't been there before.
"No, just trying to meet a tight deadline," she explained. "I can't believe I finally get an actual assignment and I'm gonna mess it up if I don't get it to the editor by the end of the day. By the way, how's your toe?" she asked, biting her lower lip.
"Still attached," he quipped, but when her frown stayed in place he sobered. "It's starting to feel better already and the doc says the new nail should grow back just fine."
Their most recent date had included an excursion to a local bowling alley. Despite Rebecca's protests that she was a first-class klutz and lousy bowler, Sam had insisted she couldn't be as bad as she thought and now he was paying the price. He had been standing behind her, giving her encouraging advice as she approached the alley, swinging the ball behind her when it slipped from her fingers only to land squarely on his big toe. Emergency room x-rays showed nothing was broken, and Sam put on a brave face in spite of the pain to keep Becca from feeling too badly. Now, five days later, he was finally able to walk without a limp, at least when other people were present.
"I wanted to let you know that Joanna and my dad invited us up to Milwaukee for the Labor Day Weekend. The Harley-Davidson motorcycle dealerships are throwing big block parties for the 94th anniversary of the company and they thought we'd like to go."
Rebecca looked at him as if he had grown a second nose and third eye.
"Do you have any idea how much crime occurs in Chicago over a holiday weekend?! I could get three front page stories just by standing on a street corner for an hour! I can't leave the city!"
"Whoa," Sam held up his hands in surrender. "Don't get all riled up. It's not that big a deal, okay?"
"Okay," she responded, a bit calmer.
"Then I guess I'll see you when I get back on Tuesday." Sam shot her his most devastatingly charming smile before turning his back and walking away...slowly.
"Sam, wait!"
The photojournalist turned to find Becca's head popping out of her cubicle and he swallowed a grin of satisfaction.
"Change your mind?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.
"Yeah, I guess," she admitted, blushing furiously as she made her way toward him. "I mean, I hear that Harley's a big deal up there. Maybe I could still get a good story and have some fun at the same time."
"That's the spirit!" Sam praised her. "I figure we'll drive up on Saturday. I'll bunk with my dad and you can stay with Jo since her folks are out of town visiting relatives. We'll have a great time!"
In the distance, they heard Rebecca's computer ding, indicating she had a new e-mail message. Together, they returned to her cubicle where she clicked the mouse a couple times before the new message popped up on the screen.
"What is it?" Sam asked, peering over her shoulder.
"It's an FBI press release. They're asking for our help."
Sam's eyebrows raised. "Do they do that often?"
"It depends," Becca shrugged.
"What's this one about?"
"They want us to be on the lookout for a guy named Louis Lambista, one of the kingpins of an international smuggling operation."
Becca clicked the mouse again and Lambista's image appeared on her screen. His face was square and meaty, topped with a mass of curly black hair and made all the more menacing by a pair of dark, close set eyes.
"Nice lookin' dude," Sam commented facetiously, earning a scowl from his friend. "What's his story?"
Rebecca continued to read from the email. "It says here that Louis and his goons have been ripping off custom car parts and shipping them out of the Port of Chicago for overseas distribution."
"Car parts?" Sam wrinkled his nose. "Aren't these guys usually into drugs or weapons?"
Becca shrugged. "Apparently not. It goes on to say that they've even been known to smuggle blue jeans. I guess a lot of European and Asian countries want regular American stuff and are willing to pay to get it."
Just then, the police scanner Rebecca kept on the corner of her desk crackled to life, drawing her attention away from the missive on the computer. Though Sam could hardly make out a word, Becca urgently scribbled information in the small notebook she always carried.
"I gotta run! There's been a jewelry store robbery a few blocks from here and if I'm quick enough I could get the scoop!" With that, she shot out of her chair and down the aisle, Sam on her heels in case she needed a photographer.
XXXXX
Sam settled himself at MacGyver's kitchen table late Saturday morning, a glass of orange juice in front of him and Becca at his side.
"So Joanna and I thought today we'd check out the block party at a dealership a couple miles from here and then tomorrow we can rent bikes to ride in the parade to the lakefront where there will be a big food and musical festival before the celebration ends with a fireworks display over Lake Michigan."
"Gosh, Dad, I didn't think you'd have us on such a tight itinerary."
Mac frowned. "Did you guys have something else in mind?"
"No," Sam replied. "But when did you become such a planner?"
"I'm afraid that was my idea," Joanna responded from across the table. "The city started this annual celebration for Harley's 90th and every year it gets bigger so it's best to have a good idea of what you want to do before heading out."
"Makes sense to me," he agreed. "But I didn't realize you were a big motorcycle fan."
Jo smiled and glanced at his dad before replying. "I know you and Mac like to ride, but I'm more of an admirer. It's hard not to have a little Harley in your blood when you're born and raised in Milwaukee. Besides, my grandpa worked with the original owners so there's kinda a family connection."
"Wow, he must have had a lot of great stories to tell!" Becca exclaimed, no doubt smelling a feature story.
"Actually, he died when my mom was young. She's told me what she remembers from that time, though."
"Oh, I'm sorry," the younger woman's face fell.
"It's okay," Jo smiled. "That's what events like these are for. It gives you a chance to be part of history and feel connected to past generations."
"Speaking of history, I'm afraid I don't know much about the company," Rebecca lamented even as she pulled her notebook from her purse. "What can you tell me?"
"Well, the company was founded in 1903 right here in Milwaukee by William S. Harley and Arthur Davidson. They built their first bikes in a backyard shed and by 1923 they were the world's largest motorcycle manufacturer." MacGyver cleared his throat and Joanna stopped.
"Do you think you could cover the next seventy years in the car? We'll miss the whole party at this rate."
Joanna pulled a face before chuckling. "Actually, that's about all I know."
"But what makes a Harley so special?" Becca asked, truly perplexed.
All three of her companions grinned broadly.
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," Sam assured her.
XXXXX
The street housing the nearest Harley-Davidson dealership was cordoned off for several blocks allowing vendors to set up tents to sell food, apparel, and souvenirs. Local bands serenaded the revelers and cycle owners proudly displayed their 'hogs'. Of course, the showroom was open and eager salesmen were on hand for anyone wishing to purchase the ultimate memento. Sam's pulse began to pound in time to the low, rhythmic rumble of hundreds of finely tuned riding machines and he swore he could feel reverberations through the concrete beneath his shoes.
"Hear that?" he asked Rebecca as the foursome walked towards the festivities. "It's called 'rolling thunder'. No other sound like it in the world! That's one thing that makes these bikes special."
"Okay, so they're old and loud. I still don't get what's so unique about them."
Joanna threw her head back and laughed even as she held MacGyver's hand to keep from getting separated in the throng of people just ahead of them.
"That's just the point!" she exclaimed. "Each bike is unique!"
She reached out with her free hand, grabbed Rebecca's forearm, and steered all three of them to a row of parked motorcycles.
"Take a look," she directed and stepped aside as Becca inspected a few of the vehicles. "Think all that leather and chrome comes standard? Harley owners pride themselves on making their bikes their own whether it's a one-of-a-kind paint job or customized parts. People spend thousands of dollars on special accessories."
Becca turned toward Jo, her eyes wide behind her glasses. "Did you say custom parts?"
"Hey, I'm starving!" Sam unceremoniously interrupted them, reaching for Rebecca's hand in the process. "Let's grab some food!"
Becca glared at him and he glared back.
"I know what you're thinking," he hissed, "And you can just forget about it. There's no story here. At least not that one."
"But Sam…" she protested as he pulled her along.
"No. Lambista is a big-time bad guy. Just let it go."
Sam wasn't sure where his protective instincts came from or why they were so strong, but there was no way he was going to let Rebecca even try to track down the smuggler.
"C'mon, let's just enjoy the day, okay?" he cajoled as they stood in line at a concession stand waiting to place their order.
"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "I guess I get a little over-eager when it comes to getting a big story. I'm sorry."
"Not a problem," Sam assured her as he let go of her hand so he could pay for their food.
The two couples spent the rest of the afternoon admiring bikes, talking to their owners, listening to music, and browsing vendors selling everything from collectible trinkets to expensive leather outerwear. Rebecca and Joanna each bought a commemorative t-shirt emblazoned with the famous Harley-Davidson emblem while Sam caught his dad eyeing a Harley Sportster.
"She's a beauty, isn't she?" MacGyver asked his son.
"Sure is," Sam replied.
"I still can't believe I trashed my cycle on our road trip."
"Look on the bright side, you still have your Jeep and the Nomad."
"I know. It's just not the same," Mac lamented.
As Sam turned to look for Becca and Joanna, he bumped into a boulder of a man. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a black leather vest he was obviously a rider. Sam looked up to mutter 'excuse me', but the words caught in his throat as he found himself staring into the beady eyes of a square-jawed, black curly-haired...smuggler?
"Ex...Excuse me," he stammered before slipping around the man and back into the street.
"What was that all about?" MacGyver asked as he caught up with his son.
"Nothing!"
Mac put a hand on Sam's shoulder, forcing his son to stand still. "It kinda looked like something to me."
Sam sighed and pulled his dad into the relatively privacy of a vendor's tent.
"Before we left Chicago, Becca got this memo at work about a smuggling kingpin who looks very much like the guy I bumped into back there."
"Do you think it's him?"
"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "The guy goes after custom auto parts, so custom motorcycle parts wouldn't be that much of a stretch. And this is a good place to blend in and poke around."
"We should alert security just in case," Mac suggested.
"Yeah, but can we keep this just between us for right now, if you know what I mean?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder to where Rebecca and Joanna stood talking.
"You bet," his dad promised.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
MacGyver eased the Nomad to the curb in front of Joanna's house on Sunday morning. Her car wasn't in the driveway, but with her parents gone, she was probably using the garage.
"Now remember, don't say anything about the guy I told you about yesterday," Sam coached. "I don't want Becca getting involved."
"Don't you think that should be her decision?" Mac asked turning to his son. "After all, breaking this type of story would really help her career."
"I just don't want her putting herself in danger."
"Like your mom did?"
Sam shrugged. "Maybe."
"Okay, I promise not to say anything. Now let's get a move on."
Rebecca greeted the two men at the door before either had a chance to ring the bell. She was wearing jeans and the Harley t-shirt she had bought the day before and wore her slightly untamed hair in a tight ponytail.
"Great timing!" she exclaimed cheerfully, closing the door behind her.
"Where's Joanna?" Mac asked. Something wasn't right.
"Cynthia's short-handed at Challengers today so she went to help out. She said we should just have a good time without her."
Becca tried to head for the car, but MacGyver stopped her.
"Wait a minute! Why didn't she call me? I'd have gladly gone in her place so she could enjoy today."
"That's what she said you would say and that's why she didn't call you."
Mac pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Whatever was he going to do with that woman?
XXXXX
Unlike the previous day, the street in front of the Harley dealership they had visited was now stripped of tents, vendors, and musicians. Instead, motorcycles ruled the road waiting to ride off and join up with groups from other block parties around the city and eventually end up at the lakefront for one big party. MacGyver noticed that the police presence had exponentially increased as well, but he figured that was par for the course. The trio slowly made their way through the mob of bikes and riders to the tent where they would rent two bikes for the day as well as a helmet for Becca since Mac and Sam had both brought their own. MacGyver watched as Rebecca settled into the seat behind his son and wrapped her arms firmly around his waist. He sighed inwardly. For days he'd been looking forward to riding tandem with Jo, imagining the feel of her arms around him, her laughter floating on the air as they sailed down the open road. But that wouldn't be happening...at least not today. He brushed the thought aside and prepared to mount his own temporary cycle when he heard a small group of riders talking animatedly about what seemed to be a recent theft.
"Excuse me!" he called over the din of voices and engines. "Did I hear you say something about a theft?"
A young woman wearing a leather halter top and jeans nodded vigorously.
"The cops were here first thing this morning. Seems three bikes got ripped off last night."
"From the party?" Mac asked the woman who had yet to provide a name.
"Nope. From the garage. Their owners were having them customized for the parade today. Man, you should've been here when they found out!"
"I'm glad I wasn't," MacGyver murmured before thanking the woman for the information.
He looked around at what had to be a hundred or more bikers ready to get rolling and then he looked over at Sam who was smiling at something Becca must have said. Was this the work of the smuggler Sam thought he saw? Did he have two other cronies with him? Would they have the audacity to ride the stolen bikes through town? An announcement over the loudspeaker asking riders to mount up broke into his thoughts. He once again noticed the number of police in place. This was their job. Not his. But that didn't mean he wouldn't help out if the opportunity presented itself.
Thirty minutes later MacGyver was relishing the feel of the powerful engine beneath him as he glided down the interstate. Man, he missed this feeling. It was almost like skating, but on concrete. Knowing that hundreds more riders followed him only increased his sense of exhilaration and he silently thanked Joanna for seeing to it that he didn't miss out on this experience. They had been on the road for about fifteen minutes when a trio of motorcycles suddenly peeled away from the group and veered off the highway at the next exit. Recalling that three Harleys had been stolen this morning, Mac decided to follow just in case. To his dismay, the image of Sam's bike soon appeared in his side view mirror.
"What are you doing?" his son called above the noise of the traffic.
"Nevermind! Just go back to the others!" Mac ordered, but Sam only steered his cycle closer.
"You think they had something to do with the thefts?"
Great. So Sam and Becca knew about that too.
"That's what I wanna find out!" Mac shouted back.
"Then we're coming with you!" Sam insisted.
MacGyver wanted to protest, but they were now bobbing and weaving through city streets and he had to keep his eyes on the road as well as the three suspicious riders. It soon became apparent that they were all headed for the Port of Milwaukee. Traffic diminished significantly and Mac slowed, indicating for Sam to do the same. His intent was to observe and call the cops if needed. Unfortunately, a large semi-truck took the opportunity to slowly pull out in front of them, causing them to lose sight of their prey. Was it a coincidence or a planned diversion?
Once the truck had moved enough for them to pass the three motorcycles were out of sight. Mac stopped his bike and Sam pulled alongside. MacGyver scanned their present surroundings. Large warehouses sat eerily vacant, many of their windows broken or missing. A few dilapidated factories dotted what must have been a once thriving industrial section of the city.
"What do we do now?" Sam asked, the engine of his bike still purring.
Mac was about to suggest they turn back and report what they saw to the authorities, but before his mouth could form the words, his gaze fell on tire tracks in the gravel...fresh tire tracks. He turned the key to silence his cycle and dismounted.
"We go on foot from here," he said quietly.
On high alert and walking as quietly as possible, the trio followed the tracks which ended at, of all things, an abandoned motorcycle plant. They flattened their backs against the rough brick exterior, listening for voices but hearing none. After several minutes, MacGyver peeked through a busted out window. In the center of the large factory sat three brand new Harley-Davidson motorcycles, but their riders appeared to be absent.
"I'm gonna check it out," he whispered. "Stay here." He crouched low and began to make his way to a steel door when he felt his son's presence behind him.
"I thought I told you to stay put!" he scolded, still in a whisper. Not only had Sam followed him, but Rebecca had followed Sam!
"But this could be the break I've been waiting for!" the normally quiet Rebecca insisted. "I'm going in there!"
Mac sighed and turned away. They were wasting precious time arguing, not to mention making more noise than he would have preferred. With a slight wave of his hand, he motioned them to follow him. They finally made it to the door, only to discover it was locked.
"Sam, keep an eye out for any visitors," he directed, digging in his pant pocket and pulling out his Swiss Army knife.
In less than a minute he had picked the locked and slowly opened the door which creaked with age. Upon entering the large space, they stood still and listened once again. Certain they were still alone, they approached the bikes. Two were still in mint condition, but the third was already in the process of being dismantled.
"Hey, what's that over there?" Becca asked.
MacGyver looked to where she pointed.
"Looks like a shipping container," he replied. "Let's check it out."
Large boxes were stacked next to the container, no doubt waiting to be put inside.
"Look at this!" Rebecca gasped.
Mac and Sam hurried to where she had opened a box and now held up shiny new motorcycle parts. Knowing what they'd find, but still needing to confirm it, the two men opened other boxes containing more of the same.
"This has to be Lambista!" she exclaimed.
"And so it is!" a deep, menacing voice echoed eerily through the empty building.
They were standing out in the open, unprotected, when the first bullet whizzed by Mac's ear. Needing no further motivation, they scattered and ran for cover as more bullets flew, pinging off metal machinery. When the barrage stopped, MacGyver urgently looked for Sam and found his son and Becca hiding behind a large sheet metal press. Mac made some quick hand motions and trusted that Sam would be able to decipher them. MacGyver then made his way to yet another large machine and punched the 'on' button, but nothing happened. He grimaced. They needed something to distract Lambista long enough to make an escape. Using his knife once more, he unscrewed the panel next to the power button and tugged at the wiring, stripping the thin insulation off two of them and then touching them together. They sparked and the decrepit contraption roared to life, causing a wide conveyor belt to chug into action.
"Now!" Mac yelled as he ran for the door. He could feel Sam on his heels. But when he turned to slam the door shut it was just the two of them. Rebecca hadn't made it out.
"Dad! We have to go back for her!"
The gunshots had started up again and Mac knew that in order for all of them to survive, he and Sam had to run.
"Not now! Just go!" Mac pushed Sam ahead of him as the two stumbled away from the factory.
Several minutes later, hidden in an empty warehouse, father and son breathed heavily from their sprint to relative safety.
"We have to get Becca out of there!" Sam pleaded between breaths. "What if they already killed her?!"
"They won't kill her, Sam. Not as long as we're still out here. They know we all saw the same thing."
"And they'll use her for bait to lure us back and kill us all," the younger man concluded.
"Afraid so."
"So what's the plan?"
"Right now we sit tight and wait. They'll be watching for us. We have to give them time to let their guard down a bit," MacGyver explained, wishing he felt as rational as he sounded. He could only imagine what Sam must be going through. He would be going out of his mind if that was Joanna in there and even though his son didn't have that type of relationship with Becca, he knew Sam cared for her and he promised himself they would all make it out of this ordeal alive.
MacGyver looked at his watch.
"What time is it?" Sam asked.
"Five minutes later than the last time you asked."
Sam sighed. "When are we going to do something?"
Mac watched as the door to the factory swung open and three men walked out, headed toward the dock.
"I'd say right about now," Mac replied.
Together, he and Sam cautiously approached the old plant. MacGyver looked in one of the busted out windows. Becca was alive, but she was gagged and bound to the sheet metal press.
"Take a look," he urged his son. "When we get in, go straight to Rebecca. I'll watch your back."
Sam nodded once to show he understood before they both eased through the doorway. While MacGyver kept a lookout for any unwanted guests, his son made a beeline for his friend, pulled out his own Swiss Army knife, and cut her loose. A gunshot sounded just as she pulled the gag from her mouth. Sam tugged her down behind the big machine and his dad soon joined them.
"Now what?" Sam asked as Rebecca clung to him.
MacGyver looked around, mentally cataloguing the items that still haunted the old factory.
"Stay here. And this time I mean it!" Mac instructed before he sprinted toward a large, flat piece of metal lying several yards away. He bent to pick it up and was thankful it wasn't as heavy as it looked, but hopefully it was still strong enough to stop a speeding bullet...or at least significantly slow it down.
"Decide to come back for the girl, did you?" Lambista called, still out of view and hopefully bullet range.
MacGyver didn't reply but pulled the metal sheet over to the press machine.
"Here. We can use this as a shield until we get to the door," he told Sam and Becca who immediately grabbed onto the large piece of metal and crouched behind it, taking small steps.
They were halfway to their destination when gunfire erupted once more. This time, bullets came from every direction, a couple hitting their makeshift barrier but ricocheting off. Mac didn't know how many hits the metal could take and he wasn't planning on finding out, but soon they were backed up against a wall.
"There are too many of them," Rebecca cried. "We'll never make it to the door!"
"Maybe we don't have to," Mac told her, looking up at the broken window above their heads.
"How are we going to climb out without getting shot?" Sam challenged. "We can't exactly carry that big piece of metal with us."
His son was right, but they hadn't lost the battle yet. Once more, in desperation, MacGyver looked around for anything that could serve as a weapon or diversion. Nothing. At least nothing within arm's reach. He absently took a step sideways and felt something connect with his booted foot. He looked down and saw a gas can. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell whether or not it still actually held any fluid.
"I've got an idea," he told Sam, slanting his eyes toward the metal container. "When things get hot, you two climb out that window and don't look back."
"But Dad…"
"I'll be right behind you."
The bad guys were fast approaching and bullets continued to fly. Mac slid his foot sideways, knocking over the gas can. Thankfully, fuel began to spill from it immediately. Grabbing a strike anywhere match from his pocket, he flicked it against the wall and threw it on the stream of gasoline which quickly ignited to create a wall of fire between them and the smugglers. MacGyver watched as Sam shrugged out of his leather jacket and wrapped it around Rebecca to protect her from any stray shards of glass before boosting her up until she could reach the opening above. The flames grew as she shimmied through the small space. Then it was Sam's turn. He jumped up, just grabbing the window's edge before looking down at his dad.
"Go!"
At MacGyver's command, Sam pulled himself up and disappeared through the window. Lambista and his men were yelling curses as Mac scrambled up the wall and out the opening, dropping to the ground several feet below. Sam and Becca were already running towards their motorcycles. MacGyver took a deep breath and kicked it into high gear. Angry shouts came from the burning building, but there were no more gunshots. Quickly making it to their bikes, they hopped on, revved the engines, and headed for the nearest police station.
XXXXX
After being grilled by police detectives and local FBI agents, it was almost suppertime when the trio emerged into the lobby of the precinct, finally free to return home. Mac's eyes immediately slammed into Joanna's. She had never looked more beautiful...or more upset.
"Thank God you're alright!" she cried.
He opened his arms to embrace her, but was met only by air as she breezed past him and Sam to embrace Becca.
"I never should have let you go off alone with these two," she said, both scolding herself and apologizing to their friend.
Rebecca shook her head. "It's okay. I…"
"I should have listened to you and called MacGyver as soon as I heard from Cynthia," Joanna continued unabated. "Now let's go home so you can get cleaned up." She put a protective arm around the other woman's shoulders and led her out the glass front doors.
"Hey, what about us?!" Mac called.
"You're creative. You'll figure something out," Jo retorted without breaking stride.
"Do you think she'll be okay?" Sam asked, his voice colored with concern.
"Jo'll be fine. She was just worried about us," Mac replied optimistically, hoping he was right.
"I meant Becca," his son clarified, somewhat self-consciously.
"Oh! Um...yeah...she has a lot of spunk. I'm sure she'll be fine."
Sam shook his head. "She wasn't very happy about getting scooped by that reporter and becoming part of the news instead of covering it."
"I wouldn't worry about it," MacGyver declared. "Maybe she could write a piece from the first-person point of view."
"Yeah," Sam replied, brightening a bit.
Upon arriving back at the duplex, Mac showered first so he could make supper while his son cleaned up. Sam had just trotted down the winding staircase and looked at the food already on the table.
"Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.
"What?! After the day we had you expect haute cuisine?"
"Did you hear from Joanna or Becca yet?" Sam asked, changing the subject as he bit into his sandwich.
"No. I figure they need some space."
"You mean Joanna has to cool down."
"That too," Mac smiled. "We'll go over first thing tomorrow so you and Rebecca can get on the road."
Sam put down his sandwich and stared at his father.
"What?" Mac asked, knowing his son had something on his mind.
"When did you know?"
Kids. They sure had a way of confusing a person. "Know what?"
"That you loved Joanna."
MacGyver choked slightly as he swallowed a spoonful of soup.
"I don't know," Mac answered in something embarrassingly akin to a whine as he shoved a hand through his still-damp hair. "There wasn't just one moment...why do you ask?" Yeah! Way to go! Turn the tables on the kid!
"I was just wondering," Sam replied softly, gently stirring his soup with his spoon but not making an attempt to eat any.
Mac recognized the symptoms.
"You have feelings for Rebecca," he concluded.
Sam shrugged. "I like her, if that's what you mean."
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
"We've gone on a few dates and now, after what happened today, I can't imagine not having her around. Ya know? I mean, I know I haven't had as much experience with women as you, but there's just something special about Becca."
"Then stop thinking so much about it and just enjoy her," Mac advised. "If you're meant to be together it'll happen."
"Then why didn't it happen with you and my mom."
Mac grimaced.
"Sorry. That was hitting below the belt," Sam apologized.
"No. Nothin' to be sorry about. I loved your mother, but we wanted different things and were too young to figure out how to make it work. But every couple's different. If you feel something for Rebecca, give it a chance and don't give up when things get tough."
"Is that what you did with Joanna?"
Mac nodded. "And it's something we're both still doing."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"I hope mac and cheese from a box is okay," Joanna announced as Rebecca shuffled into the kitchen. Fresh from the shower, she wore a baggy sweatsuit and had her long, damp hair piled in a messy knot on the top of her head. "I thought we'd be eating at the Harley picnic so I didn't bother to get much food in the house."
"Are you still mad at them?" Becca asked cautiously as Jo spooned the gooey noodles into the bowl in front of her.
"I don't know," Joanna sighed. "Maybe I'm more angry with myself. All I know is that they shouldn't have gotten you involved. This sort of thing is second nature to Mac, and even Sam, but-"
"It's not your fault," Becca interrupted, surprising Jo at the force behind her words. "And it's not Mac's fault either. I'm the one who started the whole thing."
"What do you mean?" Joanna asked slowly as she sat down in her chair.
"Back in Chicago I got this email at the Tribune alerting everyone to be on the lookout for a smuggler name Louis Lambista. He specializes in custom car parts. Then, this morning, Sam and I overheard that three custom bikes had been stolen. When MacGyver started following the cycles, I urged Sam to do the same. And then when we got to the old factory, Mac told us to hide but Sam insisted on following and, of course, I wasn't about to be left behind. Then I tripped and got caught while trying to escape. If you're going to blame someone, blame me."
Joanna's heart softened at Rebecca's dismay. "I guess there's plenty of blame to go around," she observed.
"Just don't be too angry with Sam and his dad," Becca pleaded.
"You really have a thing for him, don't you?"
Becca's eyes grew wide. "How can you tell?"
Joanna shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe it takes one to know one. Everyone seemed to know Mac and I were crazy about each other even before we did."
"But Sam just thinks of me as a friend and fellow journalist."
"Are you sure about that?"
Rebecca looked down, regarding herself. "Trust me. Guys never think of me as more than just a friend. Especially great guys like Sam."
"I find that hard to believe," Jo replied. "Especially after seeing Sam's face when he saw you all dressed up for the fundraising gala. And the fact that he risked his life today in order to save yours."
"Yeah, but-"
"No 'buts'! I felt the same way about Mac, thinking he could never be interested in someone like me. We both wasted a lot of time worrying about what the other thought. I don't want you and Sam to make that mistake. Just enjoy each other and see where it leads."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Labor Day morning Sam pulled his VW Bug into Joanna's driveway, his dad in the passenger seat. Together they walked to the front door where Rebecca greeted them.
"Hi. Dad and I thought we'd take you and Jo out to breakfast before heading home," Sam declared.
"That sounds great, but Joanna's not here."
Mac groaned. For the second time in twenty-four hours she had bailed on him.
"Here," Rebecca said, holding out a small piece of paper. "She said to have me and Sam drop you off at this address on our way out of town."
MacGyver studied the numbers Jo had written down. It was the address to the Harley-Davidson dealership they had visited over the weekend.
"What is it, Dad?"
"I don't know," Mac answered, his brows knit in confusion.
Sam plucked the piece of paper from his dad's fingers. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"
Ten minutes later, after loading Becca's luggage into the car, Sam pulled into the deserted dealership parking lot where vacant tents now stood. Joanna's car was parked out front, but she had seemingly disappeared. Mac crawled out of the car with trepidation. He hadn't spoken to her since seeing her at the police precinct and Rebecca had refused to give him any insight into what this little escapade was all about.
"Do you want us to wait for you?" Sam asked.
"Naw, I'll be fine. Have a safe trip."
"Sure thing," Sam confirmed as he pulled out onto the street and headed for the interstate.
MacGyver watched his son leave before going in search of Joanna. He pulled the handles on the glass doors to the showroom, but they were locked as he had expected. Cupping his hands around his eyes to block out the sunlight, he peered through the windows, but the place was deserted. No doubt employees were recuperating from the weekend party. Not knowing what else to do, he began to walk the perimeter of the building, calling Jo's name as he went with no response. As he turned into the back alley, his breath caught. There in front of him, Joanna straddled the exact same Harley Sportster he had been admiring only two days earlier. The saucy grin on her face the only thing able to outshine the cycle.
"Let me guess. You're still mad about yesterday and plan on running me over with that thing," he said, only half teasingly.
"Wrong on both counts," she replied, swinging herself off the motorcycle. "Becca explained everything last night and I realized I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for the way I acted yesterday. When I heard about what happened, I was so scared for you."
"How did you hear about it," MacGyver asked, having wondered how she had ended up at the police station in the first place.
"Are you kidding?!" she laughed. "It was all over the TV news. Even Becca's interview."
"Oh, she's gonna love hearing that!" Mac quipped before turning serious. "I'm really sorry I frightened you. It won't happen again."
"Oh yes, it will," Jo contradicted. "But next time I'll try to be a little more understanding."
MacGyver fought the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but there was still one item that needed to be taken care of.
"So, what's with the bike?" he asked.
Joanna turned toward the chrome and steel machine.
"I saw you looking at it yesterday. A friend of mine from college works at Harley so I contacted him and worked out a deal."
Mac's jaw dropped. "Jo, you shouldn't have," he admonished huskily.
"Well, technically, I didn't...buy it, if that's what you mean," she smirked. "Consider it a donation to Challengers. There's only one caveat."
"Oh yeah, and what would that be?" he asked, looping his arms around her waist.
"You're the only person allowed to ride it."
"That might be a problem," he frowned, looking at the bike.
"Why?"
"It's a two-seater and I may not want to ride alone," he explained.
"Hmmm, in that case we need a caveat to the caveat."
"Oh yeah?" he grinned.
"Yeah," she replied, reaching up to pull his face closer to hers. "Make that you and I are the only ones allowed to ride it."
"I'll sign off on that," Mac promised as his lips found hers, his heart beating in time to the distant sound of rolling thunder as hundreds of Harley riders left town, if only for another year.