Читать книгу Loaded - Joanna Wayne - Страница 9

Chapter Three

“What’s up, Ed?” Matt asked as soon as the sheriff identified himself.

“I just talked to Emile Henley up at the Shell Station on the highway west of town. He said a stranger in a black Ford Fusion stopped for gas at his place about an hour before today’s shooting.”

“That’s interesting. Did he think the man might have been drunk or high on something?”

“Nope, just buck-snorting arrogant according to Emile. He said he tried to make small talk when the guy came inside for cigarettes, but the man just made some comment about Colts Run Cross being a hick town and stomped away.”

“Did he notice if the car had a license plate on it at the time?”

“Said he didn’t notice.”

“But he likely would have if the plate had been missing. The culprit probably removed it just before opening fire on Shelly Lane.”

“That’s what I’m thinking as well. I’d be careful if I was you about moving her onto the ranch. She seems nice enough, but truth is she might be mixed up in most anything.”

“I’m in solid agreement. If it were up to me, I’d write out a check for her time and expenses and say adios, but Mom is championing her case—as if she were the only qualified PT north of the border.”

“I hear you, and your mother can be a stubborn woman at times. Can you call Miss Lane to the phone?”

“I’d have to yell awful loud. I’m out at the ranch.”

“Isn’t she there with you?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“I stopped by the hospital a few minutes ago to question her and the nurse said she checked herself out and told them she would be spending the night at Jack’s Bluff Ranch. I figured Lenora had picked her up.”

“No, Mom’s been here all evening. So have I. Shelly Lane is definitely not here.”

“This case is getting weirder by the minute.”

“Is there something more about her past?”

“Not a lot. I ran her through the system. Everything checks out. No warrants out for her arrest. No rap sheet. Not even an outstanding parking ticket.”

“So you’re thinking this might have actually been a case of random violence?”

“Could be. There’s been a rash of them in southeast Houston of late. We’re less than an hour and a half out of the city so it’s reasonable that some of the hoods down there might have connections up here. But then there was the gun.”

“Are you saying you found the weapon?”

“Not the perp’s, but when we were checking Miss Lane’s vehicle for ballistic evidence, I found a loaded Smith & Wesson .45 in her busted-up glove compartment. It might mean nothing. Lots of women traveling alone carry high-powered pistols these days.”

“But it could mean she was afraid of someone,” Matt said, “someone who followed her to Texas.”

“Exactly.”

As far as Matt was concerned, this was beginning to look more and more like the pretty little PT had better reasons than a need for change of scenery for taking a job so far from home. And now she’d lied about where she’d be tonight.

But no matter what she’d told the nurse at the hospital, it was a sure thing she wouldn’t be spending tonight, or any other night, at Jake’s Bluff Ranch until he got to the bottom of this.

FORTUNATELY FOR SHELLY, Hank Tanner’s Garage and Body Shop was on Birch, a quiet side street of mostly closed family-owned businesses less than a mile from the hospital. It should have been an easy twilight walk except that the temperature was still in the eighties and the humidity seemed higher still.

Perspiration wet her underarms and dripped into her eyes. Worse, her arm had stated to throb. Wiping her face with a tissue from her pocket, she crossed the street and turned the corner, thankful when she spotted the sign for the garage in the next block. Her spirits lifted more when she saw her car parked at the side of the old clapboard building.

Hopefully her weapon was still in place. The sheriff would have surely checked the damaged vehicle for ballistics evidence, but he’d have had no reason to check her locked glove compartment. But then he probably had the keys. She didn’t remember giving them to anyone, but either she had or she’d dropped them when she got shot.

Stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, she cut across the corner of the parking lot, walked around the rear of an old pickup truck and got her first good look at the extent of the damage to her vehicle.

The whole side of the car was riddled with bullet holes. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the weapon, but judging from the size and number of holes, it must have been a large automatic. Her nerves grew edgy as it hit her how close she’d come to getting killed.

Attacked in broad daylight on the main street of Colts Run Cross. She could see why that might rouse both the sheriff’s and Matt Collingsworth’s suspicions, but what else could it be except random violence?

The only people with reason not to want her here were the Collingsworths, and it was almost inconceivable that they could have learned her identity this quickly. And even if they had, a careless, open attack like this wasn’t their style.

She let her fingers slide over the damage, then walked to the passenger-side door, opened it and climbed inside. The vehicle wasn’t locked, but even if it had been, entry would have been easy enough with two windows shot out.

Her spirits plunged at the first glimpse inside the glove compartment. The contents—including her weapon—were missing.

There was the possibility that Hank Tanner had her belongings inside for safekeeping, but more likely the sheriff had confiscated them. No problem there. The car and gun registrations would check out.

Still, it was amazing how vulnerable she felt without her weapon, despite the fact that she hadn’t carried it on her body since arriving in Colts Run Cross. It didn’t fit the PT persona and chancing someone noticing that she was carrying a weapon would constitute an unnecessary risk when there was no reason to think she was in any kind of danger.

Her cell phone vibrated—not her regular phone but the CIA one, disguised as a compact. It was her signal to call in at her earliest convenience unless she was free to take the call. She wished she could ignore it, because it was likely her supervisor and she wasn’t sure she was ready to handle Brady Owens just yet. She took a deep breath and leaned against the car.

“Shelly Lane,” she said, identifying herself.

“I got the word you’ve been shot,” Brady said, without bothering with a greeting. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, or I will be in a few days. It was only a flesh wound. Left arm. Random violence. Nothing to worry about—really.”

“Any complication is reason for worry. Where are you?”

“At Hank Tanner’s Garage, standing by my vehicle.”

“Who’s with you?”

“I’m alone. I wouldn’t have answered otherwise.”

“I’m just checking.”

To see if the accident had somehow addled her brain and made her a risk. The Collingsworth case was Brady’s baby and he’d made it clear that he wasn’t comfortable with her lack of experience. She was certain he’d be even less thrilled with her now.

“I’m totally aware of the seriousness of this case, sir, but things are under control. What I meant is there’s no reason the assignment shouldn’t still be a go.”

“That will be my decision. I haven’t made it yet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have there been any new developments since you called in the report?”

“Nothing except that I’ve left the hospital.”

“Were you released?”

“No, sir, but the wound is too insignificant to require hospitalization. I’ll go back in tomorrow to have it checked.”

“See that you do that. Is there anything else I should know?”

“My weapon was locked in the glove compartment of my car at the time of the shooting incident. It’s missing. I assume either the mechanic took it for safekeeping or the sheriff has it. Either way, I’m sure I’ll get it back.”

“Just be sure to explain it away convincingly. Do you think there is any chance the Collingsworths were behind the attack?”

“I’m all but certain they weren’t. Matt Collingsworth was inside the restaurant when it occurred and was the first to come to my rescue.”

“So I heard. That doesn’t mean he couldn’t have ordered a hit. With his money, hired guns are easy to come by.”

“But we have no evidence that any of the Collingsworths have ever used a paid assassin,” Shelly countered. “And Lenora Collingsworth visited me at the hospital. She seemed extremely apologetic about the shooting incident and has asked me to move to the ranch tomorrow. That would be the last thing she’d do if she knew I was with the CIA.”

“It would seem that way, unless you’re walking into a trap.”

“They’re not going to shoot me in cold blood,” Shelly said. “They use money and influence—not guns—to get what they want.” Shelly knew that Brady would have a difficult time denying that.

Besides, she was his best chance—maybe his only chance—to get an agent inside the family circle, and they needed that edge to push things off dead center.

They’d had a mole inside Collingsworth Oil for months. Ben Hartmann was an experienced agent and talented computer hacker, but as yet he hadn’t acquired the proof to seal the case. No proof that the Collingsworths were GAS, Ben’s term for suspects once they had indisputable evidence that they were guilty as sin.

“We’ve spent weeks setting this up,” she argued. “Unless there’s a serious leak in our department, no one could possibly have found out why I’m really here. It would be a major setback if we called this off just because some two-bit hood with a point to prove to his fellow gang members shot up my car.”

“The random violence angle is a huge assumption, Shelly. You know what I think about assumptions.”

“Yes, sir.” But he also knew there was always a gamble in this type of operation.

“I’d like to hear your firsthand, no-spin account of today’s shooting incident.”

She filled him in on the details, leaving nothing out—except for her ridiculous and very momentary attraction to Matt Collingsworth. He listened without questions until she’d finished.

Then the silence on the line seemed thick with apprehension. She knew he was rethinking everything, especially her inexperience. She didn’t breathe easy until she heard the muffled clicking of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a clear signal that he was giving in. All the agents recognized the telltale habit.

“Proceed as planned, while I have this checked into, Shelly. But watch your back and stay on high alert. Never underestimate a Collingsworth.”

“That’s a given.”

Once the connection was broken, she stepped outside the car and looked around. It was almost completely dark now and a sliver of moon hung just over the top of a cluster of sweet gum trees on the opposite side of the street.

There were a couple of other businesses on the block—a machine shop and a tree-trimming business. Both were closed with no sign of life around the buildings, except a black cat, crouched near a trash bin, cautiously watching Shelly.

A welcome gust of wind caught an empty bag and blew it across the parking lot depositing it under Shelly’s banged-up vehicle. Thankfully it was not actually her car, but one the agency had purchased specifically for this assignment.

A pickup truck turned the corner onto Birch, the beam from its headlights fanning her for an instant before returning to the street. The driver slowed, and in spite of her mental reassurances of safety, her nerves skittered nervously.

It’s a small town, she told herself as the driver pulled into the parking lot a few feet away. He was probably just curious why a woman would be out here all alone. Still, she’d feel a lot safer with her weapon in hand. Today’s close call had been an excellent reminder that she wasn’t invincible.

The car stopped, and she got her first good luck at the driver. Her muscles clenched. This wasn’t a curious passerby.

He was here to find her.