Читать книгу Ricochet - Jessica Andersen - Страница 11

Tucker hit the pavement between two parked cars on his knees and elbows and tried not to squash Alissa flat. Then the world exploded, and flat was the only option.

He gritted his teeth and clung to her, curled around her as the wall of concussion slammed into him and left him limp. The heated air crisped his clothes and skin, and the roar of explosion nearly deafened him.

The windows blew out of the nearby cars. Chips of glass slashed down on the back of his neck, into his hair, and his left leg burned like hell.

Adrenaline hammered through him, fear for himself, for her. Secondary detonations sounded and he braced for added heat before he realized that nearby car tires were blowing out, overpressurized by expanding air.

Then the main explosion rolled over and passed. The heat dimmed slightly, the roaring receded, and other sounds took over. Crackling flames. Shouts.

He felt the burn of hot cloth across his back and legs, the body of the woman beneath him, and the knowledge battered at his brain.

Someone had tried to kill her. The trap hadn’t been anonymous this time, hadn’t been baited with a kidnapped girl that any one of them would have gone after. Alissa’s car had been rigged to blow, which meant one of two things—either the kidnapper had watched them in the canyon and seen the explosion and the escape…or Alissa had an enemy of her own.

Aware of the fading heat and the low-throated roar of hand-held fire extinguishers, of shouts and approaching footsteps, Tucker levered himself to the side. His body parts all worked the way they were supposed to, and even the burning pain in his calf was fading to manageable levels. He reached out to touch Alissa, but she moved before he could rouse her. She rolled to her side, facing him.

Her eyes were stark in her pale face, which was cast orangey-red by the flicker of nearby flames. Shock hadn’t set in yet, or if it had, she was holding it at bay with force of will.

Her lips trembled, then shaped three words. “We’re getting warmer.” His first insane thought was that she was trying to joke about nearly having been killed. Then she shifted to sit up, swaying, and shoved a crumpled piece of paper at him. “The bastard sends his greetings.”

Tucker sat up and grabbed the paper, automatically handling it by the edges, though there was little hope of getting usable evidence from it.

You’re getting warmer.

Tucker cursed as their suspicions were confirmed. The kidnapper was playing a game with the cops. But to what end?

“Here they are!” Mendoza’s voice shouted. Footsteps thundered toward the narrow gap between two cars, where Tucker and Alissa had taken shelter from the blast.

Cassie and Maya were at the front of the group, panicky and frantic looking. But instead of letting them fuss over Alissa, Tucker climbed stiffly to his feet and offered her a hand. The bulk of his body blocked the space between the two cars, creating a small, intimate area for just the two of them.

Surprise showed in her tired, shadowed eyes, and she put her hand in his. The shimmer of contact was a slow, sexy burn he didn’t know how to handle, any more than he knew how to deal with the bright sizzle of anger and fear he felt at the situation, at the bastard who’d tried to kill her twice that day.

He pulled Alissa gently to her feet, giving her time to veto the move if she was hurt. But the glint in her eye and the set to her delicate, feminine jaw told him that, like him, she had little intention of admitting to an injury.

It surprised him to realize they had something in common, after all.

Then he got a second shock when her eyes softened to nearly the openness they’d held that night at the bar, when she’d looked at him like a woman looks at a man when she likes what she sees. She tightened her fingers on his hand. “Thank you.” She glanced over his shoulder and must have seen the growing crowd beyond their small space, because she flushed and dropped his hand. But then she looked back into his eyes as though steeling herself for a difficult conversation. “I owe you one. Two, really. One for digging me out earlier, and one for just now when…” She faltered, swallowed and then continued, “If you hadn’t knocked me down, I would’ve been toast. Literally. So, thanks.”

Nearby, a fire truck’s wail increased, then quit when the vehicle rolled into the parking lot and stopped beside the charred remains of her VW.

Tucker eased away and tucked his scraped hands into his pockets, which were still warm. If he’d learned anything about Alissa Wyatt in the time she’d been at the BCCPD, it was that she didn’t bend easily, didn’t apologize easily and didn’t want to owe anybody anything, except perhaps, her two closest friends.