Читать книгу Relentless - Jan Hambright - Страница 8

The fat cigar pinched between his gloved fingers glowed orange as he puffed it and stared into the night. The backdrop of the bayou made him feel invisible.

He exhaled his last drag and sucked in a breath of mossy air. The eerie hum of the swamp’s carnivorous inhabitants droned in his eardrums. Here in the bayou the cycle of life played out in deadly turnabout. It was his kind of game.

Tearing the soggy end off of the butt, he shoved it into his shirt pocket and flicked the half-finished smoke into the nearby water. It hissed as it extinguished in the brackish muck near the boat he’d pulled ashore. He flexed his hands into fists and felt the leather tighten across his knuckles.

She would be here soon. He’d seen the glow of car lights flicker through the trees on the road to the north. His nerves pulled taut with excitement, anticipation. Like a drug it chased through his body bringing him to arousal.

Beautiful, predictable Kate. He’d chosen well. Caution coiled around his thoughts and constricted his ego. She was a down payment on a bigger prize.

The crush of gravel warned of her approach. He melted into the cocoon of foliage around him, picking up the trail of her movements in the shadows.

KATE ROBEAR COVERED the last ten feet of the road and ducked behind a tree. She leaned against the moss-tangled trunk and peered at the house across the narrow strip of real estate.

A whisper of breeze, heavy with humidity, licked her hair and chased a shiver through her body. Nothing like a late night in a Louisiana bayou to make her skin crawl.

Digging in her backpack, she pulled out her notepad and penlight to study the information her boss had given her on tonight’s repo job. Silver BMW 540i, owner of record Otis Whittley. She checked the address scribbled on her pad. It matched the string of black house numbers tacked on the wall next to the front door, where a naked bulb dangled from a couple of bare wires.

The house, if she could call it that, was little more than a shack. Its once-white coat of paint had long ago melted in the Saint Charles Parish humidity, leaving only flakes as a testament. There wasn’t anything wonderful about its location, either. Bayou Gauche. The end of the universe.

She released the button on the light, drew in a breath and tried to avoid thinking about what slithered behind her in the stagnant water. She’d never been afraid of the dark, but bayou dark had teeth.

Half-light radiated from the lightbulb and pierced the shadows around the house. Massive oaks dressed in long tresses of Spanish moss swayed in the breeze, mimicking the rhythm of a dancer.

Scanning the dappled landscape, she suppressed her apprehension. She was being paranoid, letting her over-active imagination scare her, but the sooner she got out of here the better she’d feel. Besides, the driveway was empty. She couldn’t take what wasn’t there.

Frustrated, she shoved her notepad and light into her pocket. Her ride out of this hole was a cell phone call away. Maybe she should abandon her hopes of snagging the car tonight and come back tomorrow.

Kate dismissed the thought and tried to focus. The idea of standing in the swamp all night scrutinizing every shadow wasn’t her idea of fun, but hard-to-recover assets were her specialty. There was a five-thousand-dollar bonus for the recovery of the car and she needed it, yesterday.

From somewhere in the bayou the low tone of a car engine hummed to her. Could it be the Beamer? Hope churned her insides. She closed her eyes, listening for the change in the motor’s rpms as it slowed for the corners and powered up in the straightaway. It was a BMW. She’d know the sound of its performance 290 horsepower V-8 anywhere and it was coming straight to her.

Adrenaline surged in her veins. She edged around the broad tree trunk as the car’s headlights swept her position. She was here for one thing and it was about to stop less than fifty feet away. It was her lucky night.

Her pulse quickened, sweat formed on her palms, it was a rush she’d come to need.

The engine rumbled, then raced as the driver gunned the motor a couple of times and shut off the engine.

She listened for the horn toot of the alarm. Nothing. The lack of a locked door would give her plenty of time to get into the car, start it and drive away.

Otis’s footfalls in the gravel were somewhere between a shuffle and a stumble. He garbled the lyrics to “Show Me the Way to Go Home.”

The catchy notes of his boozing song amused her. He was drunk. That explained the time. She’d almost feel guilty leaving the poor guy out here in this creepy place with no transportation. Almost.

The creak of ancient wooden stairs and the slap of the screen door were her signal.

She peered out from behind the tree. A single light came on inside the house. Shining through a sheer curtain in what appeared to be a living room. Five minutes and the BMW 540i was as good as gone.

The illuminated hands on her watch pointed to 2:00 a.m. Picking up her backpack from the base of the tree, she dusted the bottom for crawly hitchhikers and slipped it onto her shoulder. The weight of the air had gone two-ton, loaded with rain. There was a storm coming.

As if tapped into her time schedule, the light went out in the front room and came on at the side of the house. The bathroom she guessed. With his pants down, she doubted Otis could beat it out the front door in time to catch her.

She slipped from behind the tree, edging toward the car. Like a soldier on a mission, she focused on the automobile. Focus, move, attack, drive. Her method had never failed.

Pausing next to the car, she pulled the dealer’s key out of her pants pocket. Repoing a car with the key seemed too easy. She hesitated and looked around, her senses on full alert. The acrid smell of cigar smoke hung in the air. Maybe Otis liked them along with whatever it was he’d had to drink tonight.

She opened the car door.

The shrill scream of the horn blasted.

“Dang!” An auxiliary alarm? She jumped in, shoved the key in the ignition and turned it over. The hot engine roared to life. She pulled the gearshift into reverse and tromped on the gas pedal. The headlights came on, the auto locks clicked. The car shot out onto the road in a cloud of dust.

Kate jammed the brake and put the car in drive.

Pop. The screen door splintered against the outside wall of the house.

Her heart jumped in her chest. Otis was loose. Fighting panic, she stomped on the gas. The tires spun, trying to grab the road. “Come on!”

The spinout sent a spray of dirt and gravel out behind her. The tires bit. The car launched forward. She glanced in the rearview mirror as Otis stumbled through the dust.

He raised a long dark object.

Shotgun! Her heart slammed against her ribs. She leaned forward, tucked her head and pushed the accelerator to the floor.

The blast bit through her concentration. Simultaneously, the rear window shattered.

She jerked. Lead tore through metal and raked over her nerves. She straightened and slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed, she countersteered, stayed on the pedal, feathered the brakes and kept the car on the road.

Cranking the steering wheel hard to the right, she maneuvered the sharp turn at the end of the road and jetted toward the main highway.

A sob formed in her throat, but she reasoned it away. The rear window of the Beamer was gone, but there wasn’t a scratch on her.

Should she call the police? Otis Whittley didn’t have any right to shoot at her. She was just doing her job.

Kate geared the car down and braked at the stop sign. Highway 306 was in front of her, Otis Whittley was behind her. She took a right and headed for the storage unit she’d rented in Paradise, seven miles away.

The sleek car devoured the distance and she was relieved when she pulled up next to the storage unit code pad. She punched in the numbers and waited for the wrought iron gate to open.

If Otis had transportation, she was sure he’d have been right behind her. A couple of people had chased her, but shooting was a first. Other drivers could be outrun, bullets were another story. Maybe she should reconsider her current profession.

A shudder built in her insides, its ripple effect forcing gooseflesh up her arms. It had to be because of the nip of April air that breezed through the missing window. She checked her rearview mirror. The red reflection of her brake lights shone behind her in the darkness, but the trunk lid was higher than it should be. A pellet must have damaged the lock.

The gate swung open and she drove the car to the back of the complex where she’d left a double garage-size unit open. She pulled the car in and killed the engine. The auto locks snapped. She climbed out of the car and flipped on the switch to a single fluorescent overhead.

A shower sounded good. Scrubbing the swamp off her skin was going to be priority one, she decided, checking her watch. Two-thirty a.m. Not bad for a night’s work. The paperwork could wait for tomorrow, but she wanted to have a look at the damage caused by the shotgun blast.

Kate rounded the left rear quarter panel.

The notes of a scream raced up her throat, but they came out as a whimper. Caught between reality and disbelief, she watched the buckshot-peppered trunk open without a sound.

“Move and you’re dead.” A man climbed out of the compartment and rose to six feet of lethal flesh and bone.

Time stopped. She stared at the gun in his hand, then back at his face.

“Who are you?” he asked above the buzz of the fluorescent.

She struggled for words and took a step back, gauging the distance between herself, the man and the open door. Her limbs went numb, the air thickened around her. She worked to breathe, to think. Stay cool.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She watched his expression for any sign of what was going on in his head. Her backpack was in the passenger seat, but it was too far away for her to reach it before he blew a hole in her.

“Close the door.”

She obeyed, taking in his size and weight. How strong was he? Pulling the rope, she brought the metal door down slowly. If she waited until it was almost closed, she could roll underneath it. There was a spare key outside in her Bronco.

“Don’t get any ideas.” In two steps he was on her. He clamped his hand on her shoulder, but his fingers didn’t bite into her flesh. The physical contact jolted her; she froze under his touch. Guys like this got off on the fear they could generate. She wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction, or the advantage.

The door touched down on the concrete floor. She had to get to her backpack, somehow.

She turned toward him, determination in her veins.

“Again. Who are you and why did you boost this car?” His voice was low, demanding and cut with an edge of irritation.

“I didn’t steal it. I repossessed it.” If her answer erased doubt, it didn’t register in his sharp green eyes, eyes that seemed to probe into her soul.

“Wouldn’t it be better to do it in daylight with a police escort?”

His solution intrigued her, even while the gun he aimed at her made her wonder about his status. Law-abiding citizen or desperate criminal?

“I obtain hard-to-recover assets. Not everyone willingly lets you take their ride.”

His expression hardened, his eyes narrowed. “Have you got a lock for the door?”

Fear raked across her nerves. “Maybe.”

“Maybe isn’t good enough.”

This was her chance. Kate took a step back. The padlock was in her backpack. “It’s in the front seat. I’ll get it.” Move. She crossed in front of him.

He turned as she passed by and she was aware of him next to her as she opened the door and pulled her backpack out by one strap. She grasped the zipper. If she only opened it partway, she could put her hand in and rummage around. He’d never see his demise coming.

“I’ll take that.”

Before she could protest, he pulled her lifeline away. She swallowed her disappointment. Was this guy a mind reader?

“Head for the table.” He motioned to the card table she used for her paperwork. It was pushed into the corner at the front of the garage. She took hesitant steps toward it. He followed close behind. So close she could feel his heat, feel the arc of his strength connect to her body and drive fear into her soul.

Dressed in black from head to toe. Leather jacket. Early thirties. Clean shaven. Blond. Six-one. Green eyes, yes his eyes were green. She stored the details in her mind for the day the cops caught him. That was, if she lived.

A knot tied her stomach as she thought of her son. She had to make it…for his sake. She stopped at the table, wincing as he slid the zipper on her backpack and dumped it out with a couple of shakes. Her gaze locked on the Taser gun as it fell out with the rest of her worldly goods. An innocent object disguised as a tissue holder.

Attack. She dove for the weapon. Desperation choked her mind and made her movements erratic. She missed her mark and he threw an arm around her waist.

Kate fought to get away, but he was too strong. She ended her struggle, aware of the feel of his hard chest against her back and the sensation of being superheated against him.

“Who are you lady, MacGyver?” He laid his gun on the table, snagged the padlock and carried her to the door.

“I’ll warn you once.” His breath was warm against her ear, his voice soft, but deadly. He set her down, turned her and pointed his finger in her face an inch from her nose. “If you move, I’ll tie you up.”

He opened the lock and put it into the clasp on the door.

Kate kept still, watched him snap the lock shut and deposit the key in his left front pants pocket. She had to have the key.

Mick felt better with the lock in place. The woman beside him was trouble and too unpredictable to take his eyes off. He could see her thinking every second. Planning her escape. The challenge sent a surge of excitement through his veins. It didn’t bother him that she was the sweetest piece of eye candy he’d seen in an eon, but so far he hadn’t been able to get any information out of her that made sense.

The intensity of the burn in his side flared again. He didn’t know how long he had until his shrapnel wound sent him to la-la land. If he lost it now, she’d be gone along with the Beamer, his only link to Otis Whittley.

“Where did you get this car?”

Her eyes were a rich shade of coffee-brown and sparkled with defiance. She glared at him and raised her chin.

Mick knew the make-me gesture. He hadn’t busted a single punk who hadn’t flashed him the same challenge. But she didn’t look the part.

Clean Levi’s hugged her slim hips and brushed the tops of black running shoes. A black sweatshirt was tied around her narrow waist and a tank top with TULANE printed on it stretched across well-rounded breasts. Shiny hair the color of mahogany was parted on the side and splayed well below her shoulders. He put her height at five-six or so. She looked delicate standing in front of him, but he’d felt the repressed strength in her curvaceous body for himself.

He swallowed and tried to focus his wayward thoughts. “I haven’t got all night.”

“It’s the property of Dallas S & L. I’m supposed to deliver it to them on Friday.”

“You don’t understand.” He stepped toward her, his patience brittle. “This car stays put until you tell me who you are and what you really want with a fifty-thousand-dollar ride.”

“I told you. I repossessed it.”

“Yeah, and I’m the tooth fairy.” He was getting nowhere with her and he didn’t have time to mess around.

“Look, lady, I’m not going to shoot you.” He raised his hands, feigning peace. “I need information. If you hadn’t taken the car, I’d have it.” Otis was probably miles away by now.

“Come on.” He grabbed her elbow, steered her around the car and back to the table. If she wouldn’t tell him who she was, then he’d find out for himself.

He shuffled through the contents of her backpack, a virtual smorgasbord of paraphernalia fit to rescue a spy from any situation. Rope, a Swiss Army knife, first aid kit, cell phone, even a cache of tissues to blow her perfectly shaped nose. He’d never seen anyone so prepared. But she wasn’t going to be prepared for him, if she didn’t take him where he needed to go.

His gaze settled on her wallet. He grabbed it, popped the clasp and flipped it open to her driver’s licence.

Kate Robear, 415 Murray, New Orleans. Hatred exploded in his chest, burning him like a red-hot poker. He sized up the woman in front of him while the knowledge ricocheted deep into his brain.

He had a Robear? The family resemblance was indisputable. Dark hair, fair skin, expressive eyes socketed innocently in a beautiful face. For an instant he wanted to make her suffer as he’d suffered, but he sucked it up and tossed her wallet onto the table.

Kate studied the slight tic along his jawline, the faraway flicker in his eyes, and waited for the moment she could reach for the Taser.

“Robear. I might have known, no junk for a Robear.”

His words knifed into her mind. There was contempt in his voice. His body stiffened and revulsion flared in his eyes.

What did he know about her family?

As if lost in some distant memory he looked away for a second.

Attack. She grabbed the Taser and jerked to the right, avoiding his bear-paw swipe.

The device came to life like a live-voltage wire. She slammed the weapon to his thigh and pushed the button. A muscle-incapacitating zap hissed into his body. He stumbled back and collapsed.

She fell forward onto her knees and stared at the man laid out in front of her.

His eyes were wide with surprise, but he lay motionless.

She crawled toward him, determined to get the key before the Taser gun’s effect wore off. He was fit. It wouldn’t take long for him to regain his motor skills. She shoved her hand into his pocket and felt through its contents. Change. Pocketknife. She brushed the elongated metal shaft of the padlock key with her fingertips, pinched it and pulled her hand out.

Sticky red liquid coated her fingers.

Blood.

Her heart raced in her chest as one horrible thought chased another. She stared at the man sprawled on the concrete floor. He was bleeding. Could she leave him here? What if his injury was serious? He could die in front of her.

She slipped the key into her pocket and edged close to him. “You’re hurt. I’m going to have a look, but if you so much as touch me, you’ll get this again.” She jabbed the weapon at him.

He blinked.

Kate’s hand trembled as she pushed his jacket aside and pulled his T-shirt out of his waistband. Carefully she moved the blood-soaked fabric up, trying to avoid touching his bare skin. Under all that black, he was muscular, taut and seething. She sucked in a breath. If masculinity was a crime, he’d be doing life, and if he weren’t incapacitated, she was certain he’d have her on the ground with his hands around her throat.

The thought of her son slammed into her mind like a tidal wave. She stopped. What would happen to Cody if she wasn’t there to take care of him? This man could do that. Take her life.

She swallowed the knowledge and returned to her task. She couldn’t let him bleed to death. She had to take a chance.

A trail of blood crisscrossed his chest. “You must have taken some buckshot when you were in the trunk.” She looked into his face for confirmation.

He blinked.

“It looks bad.” She still hadn’t found the source of the blood trail.

Pushing the shirt higher, she brushed his bare skin with her fingertips.

He groaned.

A wave of warmth burst inside of her and rushed to her cheeks. She let out a labored breath and stared at the spot just above his heart and slightly to the left where a pellet had burned a trail, marring his perfect chest.

“I’m dialing 911.” She stood up, riffling through the stuff on the table for her phone. She reached for it at the same time his hand wrapped around her ankle.

Hot…relentless…inescapable.