Читать книгу Inherited Threat - Jane M. Choate - Страница 16

Laurel awoke with a start, her thinking fuzzy as she tried to recall where she was. A glance at her watch had her groaning. She’d slept two hours.

Sammy! A shot of fear cleared her mind, and she started to turn around in the seat when Mace’s voice stopped her.

“He’s fine. He’s been snoring.” A pause. “Same as you.”

Her denial was instinctive. “I don’t snore.”

Mace flashed a grin. “Have it your way.”

“I never sleep in the middle of the day.” She needed to make that clear.

“You’ve probably never had members of the Collective on your tail either.”

“There is that.” She stretched. “I didn’t realize how tired I was until...”

“Until now. I get it. Adrenaline got you so far, then you crashed. It happens.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For not making a big deal of it.”

Another flash of that grin. “You’re the one doing that.”

He was right. There was no need to apologize for her body’s need for rest. “Still, thanks.”

He waved that off. “We need to stop and gas up.”

Her stomach rumbled. “I could go for some food.”

“You got it.” He jerked the steering wheel to the right and exited the freeway.

It was then she noticed the men following them. “Got company,” she said.

Mace didn’t take his eyes from the road. “Let’s see how good you really are with that Sig.”

She drew herself up as far as possible in the limited confines of the truck. “I can shoot the wings from a gnat and send them flying.”

“Well, then, is your arm broken?”

Laurel grabbed her Sig, the feel of it as familiar as her own hand.

She turned in her seat, rolled down the window. There was still the possibility that the driver wasn’t part of the Collective, just an innocent man who happened to be going the same direction they were, so she held her fire.

A bullet found its way into the upholstery, putting to rest any doubts. Firing from a moving vehicle took precision and timing. Television shows and movies made it look ridiculously easy. The truth was that only one in twenty marksmen could take out a tire in such circumstances.

Though she was a crack shot, she didn’t go for a tire but the engine. A bigger target increased the success rate exponentially, and a bullet hitting the engine could start a nice little fire, enough to keep the tangos busy for a time. She lined up her target and fired.

The ping of metal against metal told her she’d hit her mark. Seconds later, flames burst from the engine. “Nailed it.”

“Not bad.”

Laurel noted that Mace didn’t drive directly to a restaurant but took several detours as the two of them looked for any additional tails. Forty-five minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a diner that had seen better days but was still trying. The pockmarked parking lot, where enthusiastic weeds grew between the cracks and a tired-looking sign promised home cooking, spoke of hard times.

Mace circled the lot. Laurel approved the precaution and paid attention to the location of windows and exits.

Sammy whined.

“Just a minute, boy, and I’ll take you on a walk and get you some food and water.”

Mace parked the truck by the rear door. “Might as well not advertise that we’re here.”

She nodded in approval. It wouldn’t take much deductive reasoning to figure that she and Mace would be looking for food and fuel. Mace at her side, Laurel took Sammy for a short walk, then set out a bowl and put food in it. She opened a bottle of water and filled his water bowl.

When Sammy finished, the three of them walked into the diner. She paused to talk to the man behind the counter. “Okay if I bring my dog with me?”

The man darted an impatient expression her way until he saw Sammy wearing his service dog vest, and whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips. “No problem. I recognize a soldier when I see one.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He tapped his chest. “Marines. First Gulf War.”

“Rangers,” she said, pointing to Sammy and herself.

As though she and Mace had rehearsed it, each performed a grid search, doing a threat assessment. Laurel took the right half, noting a pair of teenage girls who couldn’t take their eyes off the boys in the next booth, an older couple who reached across the table to hold hands, a young woman nursing a cup of coffee. No one appeared menacing, and Laurel relaxed fractionally.

She watched as Mace performed his own search. Apparently he, too, didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary for he took her elbow and steered her to a booth at the back.

They vied for the coveted position of back-to-the-wall. The wry grin he gave her told her he knew what she was thinking and was amused by it. In the end, they sat side by side so that they both had their backs to the wall. Sammy took position at Laurel’s feet.

The smell of deep fat frying filled the air.

Mace opened a grease-stained menu. She did the same and eyed the limited choices. They both ordered meatloaf sandwiches and mashed potatoes with gravy. The food was plentiful and surprisingly good. Laurel ate every bite and considered ordering a slab of pie as well. She hadn’t eaten since last night and discovered she was ravenous.

“You’re sure you’ve had enough?” The quirk of his lips caused her own to twitch.

“I’m thinking of getting a piece of apple pie.”

“Go for it.”

She did, washing down the warm pastry and fruit with a chocolate shake. Fifteen minutes later, she sat back, lips curved in satisfaction.

“A full belly makes the world look brighter,” he observed, an appreciative smile breaking over his features.

“Spoken like a true soldier.” Her smile died as she considered the fact that she might no longer be a Ranger, not if the rehab for her shoulder failed.

“Now suppose you tell me what you did to get someone so riled up at you.”

She leaned forward, braced her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her hands. “I was home on medical leave when I got word that Bernice—my mother—had been killed.”

* * *

Mace listened, saying little, only nodding occasionally. All the while, he was processing what she told him, fitting it in with what he already knew about the Collective.

“Why your mother?”

“Bernice is...was...an attractive woman. In addition, she knew her way around a spreadsheet. She didn’t have much in the way of formal schooling, but she could work wonders with numbers. It’s likely she caught some man’s attention, and he discovered she could keep books and keep her mouth shut at the same time.” Her lips twisted at the last.

Mace noted that she referred to her mother by her first name. He filed that away, to be taken out and examined later.

“When she stole the ledger and the money, she sealed her fate.” The lack of emotion in Laurel’s voice as she spoke of her mother’s murder intrigued him almost as much as did the fact that the woman had worked for the Collective.

“How did you find the ledger and money? It makes sense that whoever killed her went through her things to find them.”

“I think they did. The trailer was a mess when I arrived. Bernice wasn’t the world’s best housekeeper, but she’d have never left flour on the counter the way I found it. She couldn’t abide weevils and that’s a sure way to attract them. I think the people who killed her looked for the ledger and money, then ran out of time when I showed up at the trailer for the funeral.”

“Still doesn’t tell me how you found them.”

“There was a receipt and a key for a storage locker in the pocket of a dress. I almost missed it. I went to the storage place and found her go-bag in the locker.”

At his raised brow, Laurel explained, “Bernice always kept anything of value in an old suitcase, her go-bag. No matter how many times we moved when I was growing up—and there were a lot—she took that suitcase with her. It was ugly as all get-out. I remember asking one time why she kept it and she told me that it wasn’t any of my business.

“I had to wonder what made that suitcase so important that she had to rent a storage locker for it when she barely had two nickels to put together.” Laurel rubbed her arms, as though suddenly cold. “That was when I discovered the ledger and money.”

“You made sure you weren’t followed?”

She gave him a what-do-you-think look. “By that time, I was feeling pretty paranoid. So, yeah, I made sure I wasn’t followed to the locker. Or I thought I did.” Her face scrunched into a frown. “But I guess I wasn’t as careful as I thought because a man was waiting for me when I started to leave. I took care of him, but Homer and his buddy picked up my tail. You know the rest.”

Considering she had narrowly escaped two sets of gunmen intent on killing her, the lady looked remarkably calm. “Tell me about making the Rangers.”

If she was confused by the change of subjects, she didn’t let on. “I earned my place like any other soldier. But nobody could leave it at that. They had to make a big to-do over it.”

“You have to admit that a female Ranger is news.”

“I wanted to be a Ranger. Just that. Not a female Ranger. Just a Ranger.”

He could all but see the impatience chafing at her. “Why does everyone have to goggle? I’m a woman. I’m also an Army Ranger. In my mind, the two fit just fine. The fuss the bigwigs in the Pentagon, not to mention the idiots in the media, make of it makes me see red.”

Mace respected that, even admired it, but she was being naive if she thought women in the Rangers weren’t going to attract attention. “Get over it. You’re news.”

“Yesterday’s news.” Her shrug belied the annoyance in her eyes. “Can we talk about how we’re going to get out of here without taking company with us?”

“Company?”

She lifted her chin at the two men who’d just walked into the diner. There wasn’t anything about them to attract attention unless you looked closely and saw the way they carried themselves, their arms held slightly away from their bodies to accommodate the weapons that were no doubt holstered at their shoulders.

He should have spotted it. Would have, but he’d been engrossed in Laurel and the puzzle she presented.

“Get up and act like you’re going to the ladies’ room. Then wait outside the door.”

She didn’t bother asking questions, only did as he said, Sammy trotting at her heels. When she’d exited the room, Mace signaled for the check. He paid it, added a generous tip, and then casually inquired about the shortest route to Washington, DC. The young waitress gave directions to the freeway. He nodded and thanked her.

He made his way to where the restrooms were located and found Laurel. Pushing open the door to the men’s room, he made certain it was empty, then gestured for her to follow him inside.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“We wait.”

It didn’t take long.

The larger man came in first. Mace grabbed him by the arm, twisted him around so that he fell heavily against the sink. The thug reared back, but Mace was ready and slammed the man’s head into the stained porcelain. The man gave a single grunt, then made a “no more” gesture. Mace whipped out flexi-cuffs from his back pocket and quickly bound the assailant’s hands together.

Sammy growled, and Laurel smoothed her hand over his hackles. “Next one’s mine.”

“Go for it.”

When his buddy didn’t return from the restroom, the second man showed up. “Virgil?” He gave the door a cautious push. “Virge, you there?”

Laurel waited behind the door.

Mace nudged his captive with a none-too-gentle kick to the ribs. With the barrel of his gun pressed against the man’s head, Mace whispered, “Answer him. No funny business.”

After a grimace, Virgil called out. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Hey, Virge, what’s taking so long? I expected you to come back with a couple of war trophies—”

Laurel didn’t give him time to finish. She yanked the door back, sending the second man off balance. When he stumbled, she kicked out with her right leg, catching him in the gut.

He grunted in pain but didn’t topple.

She followed up with a blow to his jaw, then slammed the ridge of her knuckles under his nose. It bled profusely.

“You’re gonna—”

“Pay for that? That’s what they all say.” She hooked her leg under his, and, with a twist of her hips, threw him to the ground. Positioning her foot against his neck, she said, “Tell us who sent you.”

The man twisted his neck to shoot her a look of hatred.

Virgil got his bravado back. “You ain’t gettin’ nothin’ from us.” Despite the defiant words, the man looked like he didn’t think for himself and waited on others to tell him what to do. A nose that had been broken at least twice did nothing to offset a mouth that had several teeth missing.

“No?”

“Maybe this will help. Sammy, show ’em your stuff.” The skiff of fur at Sammy’s neck stood at attention, and he gave a grumbling growl.

“I ain’t scared of no three-legged dog,” the second man said even as he shrank away from Sammy.

“Sammy is a decorated soldier. He knows twenty ways to kill you. All it takes is a command from me and you’ll be dead within seconds.”

A man walked inside, took a look at the scene before him and quickly backed out.

“Tell us who sent you or I’ll leave the lady and her dog to finish you two off.” Mace made a sound of disgust. “And maybe I’ll put it out there that the two of you were taken down by a woman half your size and her three-legged dog.”

Neither man said a word. Laurel knelt beside them and searched their pockets. “Nothing. Not even a cell phone.”

Though the men didn’t appear overly smart, they’d had brains enough to leave their phones behind. A phone’s history could yield a wealth of information.

Mace pulled out his own phone and sent a text to Shelley, explaining the situation. She would smooth things over with the local cops who were sure to show up in quick order. A grin pulled his lips up at the corners when he got a reply.

What’s up with you? Can’t you go a couple of hours without getting into it with the Collective’s thugs? Shelley had never held back on voicing her opinion.

After slipping a pair of flexi-cuffs on the second man, he hauled both men into the far stall and dumped them on the floor. “These two won’t be going home tonight.”

Sammy gave a last growl at the men.

“Keep your freak of a dog away from me,” Virgil muttered.

“What? Now you’re afraid of my three-legged friend?” Laurel gave a short command to Sammy, who sat back on his haunches, then aimed a look of contempt at the men. “You’re the worst kind of cowards. Sammy served his country bravely. You two wouldn’t know the first thing about that.”

Mace wadded up paper towels and stuffed them into the men’s mouths.

“C’mon,” he said to Laurel. “If the police get here before we leave, we’re in for a bunch of questions. I want to put a whole lot of gone between us and whoever is after you.”

“You read my mind.”

Mace hustled them out the back door. Rain spat from angry clouds, thin drops sharp with teeth that slashed at the skin.

Laurel climbed into the truck, Sammy on her heels. Once inside the cab, she heaved out a breath.

Mace drove out of the parking lot at a leisurely pace just as two police cars were pulling in.

Her sigh of relief echoed his own feelings. Though he believed in cooperating with the locals whenever possible, he hadn’t wanted to stick around. If it was the Collective who was after her, they were bound to have more men in the vicinity.

“I’d have liked to question those two some more,” she said, frustration ripe in her voice, “but they’re like the others, obviously low-level, probably don’t even know who sent them after us.”

She was right. The men hadn’t appeared to have the intelligence or the initiative to act on their own.

She angled herself toward Mace. “What now?”

“We keep heading for Atlanta.” He slanted a curious look in her direction and asked the question that had nagged at him since Shelley had told him of the assignment. “Why S&J? There had to be other security firms you could have hired.”

“I did some research and liked what I learned about S&J, especially that it’s made up of ex-military and law enforcement. In my book, that says a lot.”

The answer made sense. Yet he had the feeling there was more to it than that. He stored that away.

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“Don’t be. We weren’t close.”

It was a cold answer, but he sensed there was more to it than what the few words conveyed. The expression in Laurel’s eyes told him that she wasn’t going to say anything more, at least not then. Another mystery.

None of his business. All he cared about was keeping her safe and learning whatever she knew about the Collective.

“You must be really important to have the Collective send three teams after you in one day.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Her lips lifted in a wry smile. “I’m beginning to think that the Stand was safer than Georgia.”

He grinned at her use of the military’s slang for Afghanistan. “You might be right.”

Mace’s smile died as memories assailed him. He’d returned to the States a different man from the callow boy he’d been when he’d enlisted.

He had watched buddies die, put up with orders that made no sense from politicians who had never stepped foot on a battlefield, and been betrayed by the woman he thought he loved. He’d endured all that and more.

But it was the unspeakable cruelties he’d witnessed that had soured his stomach and destroyed his faith.