Читать книгу Double Take - Jenness Walker - Страница 10

It felt like some crazy Western movie gone awry. Kenzie Jacobs gripped the seat in front of her and wished she could disappear. Her life seemed to be a series of bad days. Just when she didn’t think things could get any worse…

She winced as the first gunman—the one with the leather jacket, the one who had been sitting right in front of her—shoved his weapon into the bus driver’s face again.

“Get away from the radio!”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said, holding his hands high.

The gunman jerked the driver to his feet, then marched him up the aisle with a gun pressed to the back of the man’s head. Kenzie didn’t watch. She couldn’t. She closed her eyes and prayed that she wouldn’t hear more gunfire, more screams, the sound of the driver’s body hitting the floor.

“Keep your hands on the seats!” the second man yelled from the rear. “Heads down. No looking around. The faster we get your valuables, the faster you can get off this bus.”

No shots. The driver would live another few minutes, at least.

Kenzie wished she could pull a Hollywood stunt and save the world…or at least this bus full of people. But she was never any good at saving people. So she lowered her head and closed her eyes and tried to keep the tears from pushing past her eyelids.

She didn’t have anything of value with her. No jewelry. Little cash. One credit card. Even her shoes were inexpensive.

Something bumped her foot. Her eyes cracked open and she saw a gloved hand snatch her purse from the floor. The gunman breathed heavily near her ear. She could feel the heat radiating from him as he dumped her belongings. Her pocket knife hit the floor with a clatter. Lip gloss rolled to the front and thunked down the steps. A package of tissues landed near her shoes. She was glad they hadn’t been open. She might need them today, if she ever made it to lunch with her mom.

When cold metal pressed against her temple, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t.

The second gunman stood just in front of Cole. He could kick the thug’s knees and throw his backpack over the man’s face, if someone else could just go for the gun.

But the gun would go off before anyone could get it. Someone would die. And the bad guys would have to be together, or he’d have to take out the second man when the first one’s back was turned. But how could he know, when he had to keep his head down? Peeking into the aisle gave him a full-on view of the man’s camouflage jacket, Wolverine work boots and nothing else.

Maybe it would be all right. If everyone just relaxed, they could take the money and go, and everyone would be okay. Maybe heroics would be the wrong thing to do—would hurt people more than help.

He winced. Yeah, he was good at doing that. His gaze fell on Obsession—still open on his lap—and he skimmed down to where he’d left off. Where two gunmen told the bus passengers to put their heads down, their hands up, and robbed them.

No…

Where they put a gun to Monique’s head. Where the bad guys jerked her to her feet, marched her down the steps. His eyes jumped to the first line again.

If her car hadn’t died that morning, Monique might not have, either.

Someone was going to die.

No. It was just a crazy book. One he didn’t want to read anymore. He moved his leg, jostling the book closed.

Then he was the one with the business end of a pistol pointing at his head.

Cole settled his foot flat on the floor again and tried to slow his breathing, but his heart raced faster. He could feel the blood pulsing in his neck as he tried to remain motionless, to fight the urge to jerk away from the weapon, to not give the gunman the wrong idea.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the man in the front finally shouted.

The gun shifted, but remained inches away from Cole’s ear. With it so close, he could grab the gun first, if he got lucky. Duck and grab, then drop the guy while the seat still protected him from the first man’s gaze…and weapon.

The one he could use to fire at Cole anyway. Hitting the kid in front of him, or the man next to him. His seatmate met his eyes, blinked, mouthed, “No, son.”

“Don’t move! Keep your hands on the seats, your heads down.”

Something rustled near the front. Cole’s eyes settled on the book cover, with Monique gazing up at him. Frightened. Haunted.

“We’re taking one of you with us.”

The whimpers grew louder.

“If you move before five minutes, if someone calls the cops, if we don’t get away clean, she’s dead. But if you cooperate as well as you have so far, she’ll be deposited somewhere, unharmed, for the police to find.”

Monique’s face merged with the girl from the bench, and Cole’s heart lurched.

Kenzie stood in the aisle after being jerked to her feet. Numb, she looked toward the back of the bus. The man from the bus stop met her gaze for a split second as the guy in the camo jacket held a gun to his head. Then, nothing but a sea of hands. No faces except the two men leering at her with their eyes. No one to come to her rescue.

“Come on,” said the man with the leather jacket, tugging on her arm. The other guy moved toward her and pointed his weapon at a nearby child. The message was clear: Struggle, and she’d take more down with her.

She walked with leaden feet, slowly descending the stairs. Her shoe touched the tube of lip gloss, and she watched dully as it fell to the ground beside the front tire. It was her favorite kind—discontinued. Her purse lay on the dusty floorboard. Maybe when it was all over she could pick up her things. Maybe the bus driver would hold them for her.

Maybe she’d no longer need them.

Her breath hitched as she was led to the road. Her captor gripped her arm, keeping a watchful eye on the bus. The other man disappeared from view. Moments later, a black van skidded to a halt, and the side door popped open.

“Your chariot, pet.”

Just before they shoved her inside, she glanced back at the bus. Something crashed against her head.

Then everything went black.

Cole strained his ears but couldn’t hear over the rumbling engine and crying passengers. Had the gunmen left on foot or in a getaway car?

The crying grew louder. One man raised his voice, shaky with fear. “Don’t move. Don’t want nobody hurt. They said five minutes. Still got four left.”

Cole ignored the timekeeper, inching his head up high enough so he could see out the window. The street appeared empty except for a black van. It disappeared around the corner before he could get the license number. He felt under the seat for his belongings. The book was there. His cell phone, gone. They needed to get help fast, get the Atlanta PD looking for that vehicle before Moni—no, the girl from the bench—wound up dead.

Cole half stood, then jerked his gaze to the side as the old man gasped. His hands clutched his chest, and his mouth hung open as sweat trickled down the side of his face.

“Anyone still have a phone?” Cole yelled, leaping to his feet. “This man’s having a heart attack!”

“Are you crazy?” the shaky voice yelled again. “Sit down before you get us all killed!”

A woman rose from the last seat and strode forward as the old man’s head slumped against the window. “I’m an LPN.”

“Good.” Cole shoved her into his seat. “Someone help her.” He ran up the aisle, but another man beat him to the driver’s radio. Cole stared out the windshield. The van was long gone.

“The radio’s busted,” the man said. “And they took the keys.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

The timekeeper raised his voice from halfway back. “Still got two minutes left, man. You go, you kill that girl.”

Cole stiffened, trying to block the image of the girl’s face—her sad eyes, her lips white with fear. If her car hadn’t died that morning…“I stay, and this man dies.”

Sirens blared. First a patrol car, then a fire truck, with an ambulance not far behind. Cole blew out a breath, glanced down the aisle where the nurse still hovered. It was out of his hands now. He could tell his story and go. The Atlanta Police Department and emergency response teams would take care of everything.

When the first policeman stepped from the car, the subdued silence on the bus gave way to controlled chaos. In a blur of movement, paramedics whisked the heart attack victim away, the bus was emptied and roped off and a staging area was set up farther down the blocked-off section of street.

Cole sat on the curb and mulled over his statement as emergency personnel began weaving through the crowd, treating injuries and checking those with medical conditions. He played the scene in his head, his pen flying over the paper as he jotted down what had happened, filling in as many details as he could remember.

Two men with black ski masks—he hadn’t noticed their faces before the masks went on. Probably should have, because one had been seated right behind him. He should have known, somehow. Should have been able to—

Clenching the pencil tighter, he continued to write. The gun. The boots. Their clothes. The black van. James’s heart attack. The search for a phone…

And that was it. Cole sketched the boots and the little he had seen of the men’s faces, then turned and stared at the bus. All he’d wanted to do was get a little air and some lunch, kill some time while his cousin was at work. Try to find a little peace between jobs.

He’d found a nightmare instead.

Thump-thump.

The sounds faded in and out around Kenzie as she regained consciousness: The hum of an engine. The slow-speed, lower-pitched men’s voices. The sharp pounding of her heart and the rasping of her own breath.

Thump-thump.

Her head throbbed. She tried to lift a hand to feel for a bruise or gash but couldn’t. Something cut into her wrists, binding them behind her back, her fingertips brushing the wall of the vehicle. Her ankles were bound, as well. She tried to force open her eyes, but the blackness stayed.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The walls closed in on her as time stood still in the cloying darkness, dragging her down.

She swallowed hard and shook her head. Not now. Not here. If she didn’t want to end up dead, she had to get a grip.

Deep breath. And again.

The walls backed away slightly. Were they going to let her go, like they promised? Or just kill her once they made good on their getaway? She needed to know. But more than that, she needed to be able to see.

Now.

The need for light grew as Kenzie pulled her legs in close and pressed her face against her knee. She rubbed hard, frantically trying to dislodge the blindfold. It stayed, the material cutting into her head, making the ache worse. Pressing her mouth against her knee, Kenzie muffled a whimper.

Then screamed as a hand touched the back of her neck.