Читать книгу Live Ammo - Joanna Wayne - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Tague Lambert stared at the shapely woman in the white shorts and cute little striped T-shirt who’d just jumped into his truck uninvited. Her right eye was swelling like biscuit dough in a hot oven and a nasty lump was forming on the back of her head.

He felt as if he’d just been dropped into a B movie and he was damn sure he hadn’t made a casting call.

“Step on it,” she ordered. “You’re letting him get away.”

Bossy, but frantic and obviously scared out of her wits. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. “Nice to meet you, too.” Tague yanked the car into gear and hit the accelerator. “Who am I following?”

“That gray Honda sedan that just blew through the yellow light at the next corner.”

Tague craned his neck to get a better view of the speeding car. “Who’s driving?”

“The crackhead who just jumped me and stole my car.”

So, she’d been carjacked. That explained a lot.

“Maybe you should go to a hospital. That Honda is not worth our getting killed.”

“It is to me. My son’s in that car.”

“Then buckle up.” Adrenaline pumping, Tague darted around a black Buick, but then lost sight of the gray sedan altogether when a panel truck changed into his lane and blocked his view. He swerved into the left lane.

A few seconds later, he caught a glimpse of the sedan a block and a half in front of them, taking the corner at breakneck speed. Another three minutes and the driver could access the interstate. Then he’d really have to stomp the pedal to the metal to keep up. It was too damn risky.

He lay on his horn and sped through a yellow light.

“Call 911,” Tague ordered. “Give them our location and explain the situation.”

“My phone’s in the car.”

“Use mine.” He yanked it from his pocket and tossed it to her.

He turned the corner to the earsplitting sound of a collision. He spotted the gray sedan as it veered into a wild spin, finally winding up against the front of a vacant one-story building. The red Jeep Wrangler that it had crashed into fared little better, but at least it was still in the street.

Traffic came to a screeching halt. Wary of what he might be rushing into, Tague grabbed his pistol from beneath his seat. He hit the ground running.

From a distance, he saw the carjacker climb from the wreckage and race away from the scene. A white handbag was clutched in his right hand, doubtlessly not his.

By the time Tague reached the scene, the thief had ducked into a nearby alley. Tague lingered long enough to see a tall guy in jeans and a blue sports shirt pull the kid from the backseat of the wrecked car.

The kid wailed for his mother; there was no sign of blood. Tague took off after the thief, pistol in hand, his senses keen to avoid being ambushed. He was used to shooting snakes in the grass, not chasing criminals.

The quick check of the alley was futile. The guy might have climbed through a broken window on one of the deserted warehouses or jumped the fence at the other end and escaped into the maze of side streets. Hunting him down was probably better left to the cops.

He returned to the scene of the accident and quickly spotted his sexy hitchhiker. She was standing in a crowd of bystanders, holding the kid in her arms.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said as Tague walked up and stopped at her elbow.

“Not sure what you’d thank me for.”

“Jumping into the fray.” She hugged her son tighter.

“Has anyone checked on the driver of the Jeep? Is he okay?”

“He seems to be,” a middle-aged brunette standing next to him chimed in. “But I called 911. I think some other people did, too. Ambulances and the police are on the way.”

Approaching sirens were already screaming in the background. Gawkers scattered as a squad car arrived.

“Be right back,” Tague said. He dashed over to his truck that he’d left in the middle of the street. It was blocked in tight, but he slid his pistol back into its scabbard beneath the seat and locked the vehicle. He was licensed to tote, but no need to waste time explaining all that to the cops.

He’d give a statement to the officers and then clear out so that he could take care of the business that had brought him into Dallas in the first place.

Two more squad cars rolled up, lights flashing. Four uniformed cops hit the streets.

“I need the owners of the cars and any eye witnesses,” one of the other officers clipped loudly. “The rest of you need to move on so emergency personnel can go to work.”

To his surprise, Tague spotted the woman, still carrying the kid, but striding away from the cops. Impulsively, he rushed to catch up with her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from the chaos so that I can take care of my son.”

The boy’s arms were locked tight around his mother’s neck.

“Do you think he’s injured?” Tague asked.

“I don’t think so, but he’s frightened and all the strangers and sirens aren’t helping.”

Maybe he’d been rash in trying to avoid getting involved. The woman still looked a bit terrified. Her eye looked none too good, either. And the lump on her head was more pronounced than before.

“You and the boy both need to be checked out by medical personnel,” Tague said. “There’s an ambulance on the way.”

“We don’t need an ambulance.” She started walking away again.

Obviously she was too upset or injured to think straight. He grabbed her arm and tugged her to a stop. “You can’t leave the scene of an accident without talking to the cops.”

“I could if you would mind your own business.”

“You didn’t feel that way a few minutes ago when you were ordering me to give chase. The least you can do is give the police a description of the carjacker.”

She stopped walking and shifted the kid to her other hip. “Okay, you win. I’ll talk to the cops, but I don’t expect it to change anything.”

The lady had an attitude problem. He’d have figured she’d be eager to describe the carjacker to the cops. It made him wonder if she didn’t have other reasons for avoiding the police.

“I think it’s time we met officially,” he said. “I’m Tague Lambert.”

“I’m Alexis.”

“No last name?”

“Beranger. This is Tommy.”

Tommy began to squirm. “Go home, Mommy.”

“Soon, sweetie.” She lowered him to the ground, but held on tight to his hand as a cop approached them.

“I’ll stick around until you’re done,” Tague offered, his interest and curiosity piqued.

She shot him a back off look. “I really appreciate all you’ve done, but I’m fine on my own now. And I’m sure you have better things to do than broil under the midday sun with strangers.”

“No. A car chase and foiling a kidnapping pretty much tops anything I had planned.”

Besides, this might not be a movie shoot, but it had all the elements of one. And he’d always been a sucker for a mystery starring a sexy female lead.

* * *

“O FFICER B ILLY W HITFIELD ,” the cop said as he stepped in front of Alexis. “One of the witnesses said that your son was in the gray Honda at the time of the collision.”

“Yes.”

No doubt everyone in hearing distance had figured that out from the frenzied state she’d been in when she’d rushed to the car and grabbed Tommy.

Now it was the cop who incited her panic. She had to watch every word. Tell him only what he needed to know and make sure he didn’t feel the need to go digging into her background.

“Can I have your name?”

“Alexis Beranger.”

“Were you driving the car?”

“No, I wasn’t even in the car.”

The cop turned his attention to Tommy. “Is this the boy who was involved in the collision?”

“Yes. This is Tommy.”

“Lucky kid to walk away from that wreck with no serious injuries.”

“It was a miracle,” she agreed.

“Who was driving the car?”

“The stoned thug who stole it.” A swell of renewed anger sharpened her tone.

The cop’s stare intensified. “Are you telling me your car was stolen with the kid inside?”

“Yes, from the Clancy Supermarket parking lot just blocks from here.”

His mouth drew into two tight lines. “In that case, we’ve just gone from a major traffic accident to an attempted kidnapping. Excuse me a minute. I need to call the precinct and let them know what’s going on here.”

Whitfield stepped away and made the call on his cell phone. Alexis took a deep breath as her insides began to roll again. The last thing she needed was yet more cops snooping into her life.

“If you know who stole the car, you should level with the officer,” Tague said, keeping his voice low enough that she doubted Whitfield had heard it.

“Are you suggesting I knew that punk?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, except that Whitfield seems to be making you awful nervous.”

“It’s not him that’s making me nervous. It’s the situation.”

It also worried her that Tague’s reassuring manner was so disarming. It tempted her to trust him when she knew she didn’t dare.

A hammering sensation started just below her right temple as Whitfield rejoined them.

“I’ll take a statement from you now,” the cop said, “but a detective will be in touch with you to follow up later today.”

“There’s not much I can tell you or a detective. I had just gotten to the supermarket and was getting out of my car when a thug walked up and demanded my keys. I struggled, but he had muscles—and a pistol.”

“Is that how you got that black eye and the knot on the back of your head?”

She reached back and felt the tender flesh swelling beneath her hair. No wonder she was getting such a headache. “I fell backward and into a rearview mirror when he punched me.”

“Did you call 911?” Whitfield asked.

“I made an attempt while we were chasing after the thief. I’d just started explaining the situation when the collision occurred. I think I just dropped the phone at that point, but I don’t actually remember. I was too panicked to think.”

“You broke the connection. The dispatcher reported it, but we didn’t have a name or a location. We figured it was a hoax, but she was trying to get a location anyway.”

The cop nodded toward to Tague. “Are you the boy’s father?”

“No,” Alexis said quickly, answering for him. “There is no father, at least not one who’s in the picture. I’m divorced.” And please let the cop and the detective leave it at that.

“We’ve just met,” Tague explained. “I happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

“And you are?”

“Tague Lambert.”

“Any kin to the late Hugh Lambert?”

“I’m his youngest son.”

The cop shifted and rubbed a spot over his right ear as his attitude did some adjusting. “Mr. Lambert was a good man. I arrested him once for speeding. I had no idea he was good friends with the chief of police. Not that I would have done anything differently, mind you.”

“Of course not.”

“Point is, instead of pulling rank on me and expecting favors, he sent my supervisor a letter commending me for the professional way I handed the violation.”

“That was Dad,” Tague said. “Praise if you deserved it. A reaming-out if you didn’t.”

“Like I said, a good man.” Whitfield swatted at a mosquito that buzzed his ear. “Did you witness the carjacking, Mr. Lambert?”

“No. Alexis had chased the car into the middle of the street when I spotted her. I threw on my brakes to miss her. She jumped in my truck and ordered me to catch up to the Honda. I could tell she meant business, so I jumped to it.”

“Trying to follow him was a smart move on your part,” Whitfield said, turning his attention back to Alexis. “Had the perp not wrecked that car, no telling where he might have taken your son or what might have happened after that.”

Alexis shuddered at the thought. But Tague had been there for her, a hero in jeans, boots and a cowboy hat. He might be only an urban cowboy, but he looked tanned, virile and hard-bodied enough to be the real thing. He’d be a great guy to have for a friend—had she been in a position to have friends.

Whitfield pulled a pen and a small notebook from his shirt pocket. “So tell me exactly what occurred in the parking lot, Mrs. Beranger.”

Once she started relating the incident, the details poured out. She was amazed at how much she remembered considering her state of mind at the time and how fast everything had happened.

Before she finished, an ambulance arrived on the scene. The sirens sent Tommy into another meltdown. He began to scream.

She picked him up and tried to reassure him as two paramedics rushed to where they were standing, apparently at the directions of one of the other police officers.

It took her several minutes to convince them that in spite of her bruises and the bump on her head, she didn’t require their assistance and neither did her wailing son.

“I’ll see a doctor and I’ll definitely have my son checked out,” she insisted. “But putting him in an ambulance will only frighten him more. Honestly, he seemed fine before you arrived. He’s crying because he’s afraid of strangers and sirens, not because he’s in pain.”

They still had her sign a waiver asserting she’d refused their services.

“I’m sure you realize that your car will have to be towed,” Whitfield said.

“I know it’s not drivable.”

“Since you turned down the ambulance, you should either call a friend to pick you up and take you and the boy to the nearest emergency room, or I can have an officer drive you there. I suggest the former. It would be quicker and you don’t want to stand around in this heat any longer than you have to.”

“I’ve already taken care of that,” she lied. The last thing she needed was to spend any unnecessary time with a cop. Nor did she need the prying questions of emergency room personnel unless it was necessary for Tommy’s well-being. Anonymity was her best protection.

Whitfield asked a few more questions and then put his notebook away.

“There’s been a rash of shootings in this area lately,” Whitfield continued, “all related to drugs or gang activity. Considering the violence these junkies are capable of, you’re fortunate that the car is all you lost.”

“Actually, I think the thief made off with her handbag,” Tague said. “I got a quick glimpse of the driver when he fled the vehicle. He was holding what looked like a ladies’ white purse when he disappeared into the alley. I gave chase but never spotted him again.”

Alexis exhaled, blowing off steam. Now she not only had no car, she had no phone, no ready cash to call a taxi, and worst of all, no driver’s license. And it wasn’t as if she could just march in and request another one in Alexis Beranger’s name, since as far as she knew Alexis Beranger didn’t exist.

“I can’t let you in the car until it’s been checked for prints,” Whitfield said. “But I can see if your purse is in the vehicle.”

Dread squeezed the breath from her lungs. She should have realized they’d do a routine check for fingerprints.

And when they did, they’d find hers and discover her real identity.

“How long will it take you to check for prints?” she asked

“With the backlog they have in the investigation unit, we’ll be lucky if we get the report back this week.”

“What’s the quickest you could get it back?”

“Wednesday afternoon,” Whitfield said, “but that would only be if the chief put a rush on it.”

She couldn’t rule that out. It was Monday now. That gave her two days to disappear again. And she had no car.

“You should go ahead and alert your insurance company,” Whitfield said, “though I suspect they’ll total it. The Honda is what—about eight years old?”

“Ten.” She’d bought it from a used car lot in Vegas seven months ago, a few days after fleeing California. She’d have to settle for one older than that this time. Her ready cash was running low.

“I’ll need Tommy’s car seat before I leave today,” she said.

Whitfield dabbed at the perspiration that beaded on his forehead with a wrinkled handkerchief he’d pulled from his back pocket. “I’ll have one of the cops get the boy’s seat for you now. Then you’ll be free to go. Like I said, a detective from the precinct will contact you, likely later today.”

“My phone is in my purse,” she said.

“That’s okay. I need to get your home address anyway.”

She provided it and a few other relative pieces of information he would have normally taken from her fake driver’s license. And now she’d have a detective making a house call. Could this get any worse?

Yes, she answered herself. It could be a million times worse. Tommy might have actually been kidnapped or seriously injured or even killed in the wreck. And she was the one who’d vowed to keep him safe.

“Want to go home,” Tommy whined as Whitfield walked away.

“I know you do, sweetie.” He was hot and tired and recovering from a traumatic morning. And now he’d have to get used to a new home.

“Exactly how is it you called a friend when you don’t have a phone?” Tague asked.

Her irritation swelled. “So now you’re starting with the questions, too?”

“I’m just wondering how you plan to get home when you have no car and no money.”

“I figured I could bum bus money from you.”

“I never lend money to friends.”

“We’re not exactly friends.”

“We must be. I never offer rides to strangers.”

“I didn’t hear you offer.”

“Give me time.” He made a mock bow. “May I give you a lift?”

Her ready response was no. But she really did need a ride. And it wasn’t as if she’d be around long enough to worry about the cowboy trying to stay in touch.

“I live on the other side of town,” she cautioned. “You might want to consider that before you make those rash offers.”

“In that case, I may have to charge double.”

“You expect me to pay you?”

“I was kidding. Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay, but I have to make a stop before going home.”

“At the hospital, I hope.”

“If it’s necessary. First I’d like to check with my son’s pediatrician. If the doctor can check him out at the clinic near my house, it would be less stressful to Tommy. He’s familiar with the setting and the staff.”

“I can handle that. But you still need someone to check out your injuries.”

“I’m fine, and if you’ll stop with the questions and orders, I’ll accept your offer. But just for a ride,” she emphasized, just in case he was expecting more. Tague looked and acted like a gentleman, but she’d been fooled before.

“A ride was all I offered. You’re safe with me, Alexis. But I can provide references if you doubt me.”

“From your mother?”

“Either her or my parole officer.” He put a hand up to cut off her protests before they formed. “I’m only teasing.”

“Okay, cowboy. You’re on.”