Leaving Las Vegas (Entangled Ignite) (3 page)

Chapter Three

Glory’s teeth sliced into her bottom lip. Everything would be perfect, if she could only get the damn Aston Martin out of neutral and get herself out of the motel parking lot. Unfortunately, the nifty sports car had a sticky clutch. She put her left foot down, hard, on the clutch and shoved the stick up into first gear. The ridiculous thing died again.

Adrenaline made her nerves jangle as she turned the key in the ignition. Once, twice. Luke’s car might be worth money, but that didn’t mean squat if she couldn’t get herself out of danger.

Luke. Her heart slammed against her chest. He’d saved her hide. At least once, negotiating with Tiffanette. Maybe twice, when he hadn’t told Mr. Grant she was dealing from the bottom of the deck. Of course, that last one might just be a wash. Given that it had been for his benefit.

Bang
.

More gunshots? She’d heard a few as she’d run to the car. The thundering violence chilled the blood in her veins. If something happened to Luke—

No, Tiffanette wanted him alive. That much had been clear.

Still, she flicked her attention back to the motel. Scanned the narrow building, searching for any indication of what might be going on inside.

No gunshots. Instead, the door to the motel room slammed open, and now Tiffanette was marching out at the head of a parade of bad guys. Glory managed to slow the car to an idle, hoping they wouldn’t spot her in the darkness. Probably not. The bad guys seemed a little preoccupied with shoving Luke around like a pinball stuck between mammoth paddles that could beat him to death in a matter of minutes.

Hell
.

Leaving Luke to his fate seemed like a mighty fine idea. The bad guys were obviously too distracted to come after her.

Everything in life was a trade-off. Like leaving Luke in the motel parking lot. Sure, she could abandon him to his fate, but she’d feel bad about it come church on Sunday.

A plan started to form in the back of her mind.

Glory took her foot off the brake pedal, allowing the car to roll forward slowly. If she timed it right, she’d have a split second to make her move before Tiffanette and the goon squad realized what she was up to. She’d get only one shot at rescuing Luke, and even then her plan depended on Luke being at least half as smart as he looked.

Saving Luke’s behind meant trusting him to do the right thing.

It meant trusting a stranger who’d never stepped inside the confines of Beaux, West Virginia, and who didn’t know the difference between a yellow-bellied cheater and a desperate woman.

She forced air into her lungs. Everything would be all right. Her left foot found the clutch, and she shifted the car into gear.

The black car growled awkwardly, choked, and slid forward, fast. Glory waited until she was next to the passel of bad guys, her door almost even with the Hellboy-clone holding Luke’s arm.

She hit the horn. Hard.
Beeeeeeep
. The long, soulful noise overrode her sharp intake of breath.

Luke had three seconds to realize what was going on—three seconds and then she would pull away. If he couldn’t take advantage of the situation, then too darn bad.

One.

Two.

Two and a half.

Thr—

The door to the car was wrenched open and a body flung itself across the front seat. She couldn’t see if it was the right body.

“Get moving,” Luke growled.

Sexy voice, nice ass, major-league attitude. Yep, it was the right man.

“Sure,” she agreed.

Then a deep, booming sound filled the air. And another. Glory knew that sound. She heard it every year during turkey hunting season. Gunshots. Warning shots—she hoped. “Hell’s bells.” Sweaty palms slipped on the steering wheel, and the car swerved left. She hit the brakes, then overcorrected, The still-open passenger side door of the car slapped against a brick wall before swinging shut with a bang.

They made it less than a hundred feet before the car stalled, stopping so fast Glory’s body bounced forward against the seat belt and her hands flew off the steering wheel. She shuffled around, hitting various bells and whistles. The horn sounded, alerting everyone within a four-block radius to their location.

“You drive like a crazy person,” Luke snapped, struggling to right himself.

“You’re welcome.”

“Excuse me?”

“We don’t have time to debate my driving skills. I figured we should jump straight to the part where you thank me for saving your life.” She could see the gun thugs scrambling in the rearview mirror, climbing into matching black SUVs. “How the hell do I turn on the lights?”

“Here,” Luke flicked a switch and suddenly the road was illuminated in front of her.

Good. Glory turned the key in the ignition again. This time the car launched into a gentle purr on the first try.

Bang
. Another gunshot sounded, followed by the sound of a soaring symphony and a bubbling aria as opera suddenly poured out of the car’s speakers. She must have turned on the radio while scrabbling about. Great. Just great.

Her body tensed. One foot went down on the clutch; she slammed the car into gear, shifting smoothly from second to third. The man listened to opera? They shouldn’t be inhabiting the same zip code, let alone the same car. The Vanquish leaped forward, peeling into the alleyway as the sound of seventy-six trombones overrode the radio.

Crap
. Either a high school band had chosen that moment to march down the next street over or Glory’s cell phone was going off. The ringtone meant her no-good, dirty, rotten cousin Benji was calling.

Everyone in town liked Benji. They liked his charming manners, his bright good looks, and the firework show he put on at Black Lake every Fourth of July.

Glory knew better. Benji just liked to blow stuff up.

And he was staying at her house. Well, to be technical, her trailer. Vintage 1970s with all original harvest-gold appliances. A nice place, but not built to withstand casual explosions. She could only hope her roof would be intact by the time she got back home.

She flicked a quick glance in the rearview mirror. Was that a black SUV she saw?

“What’s the quickest way we can get to the main road?” she asked. “Heading east.”

“No such thing as east. Just Utah or Arizona.”

“Arizona,” she said a little too loud. Like she wasn’t quite sure. “We’re going to Arizona.”

“Wait—‘we’? There’s no ‘we’ here. I barely know you,” Luke said.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never depended on the kindness of strangers, either. But here we are.” She downshifted, slowing the car as she came to the end of the alleyway. Right or left?

“I gave you a car and you saved my life,” he said. “So I suppose we’re no longer strangers.”

“I don’t even know your last name. Seems pretty strange to me.”

“In that case, let me introduce myself. Properly. I’m Luke Morrison,” he said, his voice low, gravelly.

Left
. Seemed a good enough gamble. She slowed, turned left onto a side street, and caught his soft smile out of the corner of her eye as she made the turn. Luke Morrison. It was a good name, strong and capable like the man. He’d given her something, trusting her with his name. She could give him the same courtesy in return.

She hit the gas and the car rocketed forward, throwing them both back against the seats, then said, “I’m Gloria Allen. People call me Glory. My father was a preacher. My mama ate MoonPies while she was pregnant. My sisters are crazy as hell. And while we’re driving around yapping, my cousin’s probably blowing my house to kingdom come.”

Chapter Four

The city lights were bright, but the only other cars Glory could see were the ancient sedans casino workers drove to their midnight shifts. She waited a beat, scanning the rearview mirror. Holding her breath until she was sure there were no SUVs behind them. She all but squealed. “We’re free!”

“Not if you slow down now,” Luke said. “This isn’t
Driving Miss Daisy
.”

Glory concentrated on keeping the Vanquish from swerving into the other lane. Twisted Sister’s version of “We’re Not Gonna Take It” blared from her cell phone.
Oh, Lordy
. She couldn’t remember whose ringtone that was, Ashley or Hallie’s, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t looking forward to talking to either of her twisted sisters.

Especially since she’d just lost the whole town’s savings in an underground poker game. She was supposed to come back with more than eight hundred thousand smackeroos. Instead, she had a banged-up car, a rich control freak, and a cut on her face where she’d been hit by falling plaster.

The cell phone stopped ringing. The road was coming to an end. Fast. Faster than she’d expected. Glory hit the brakes, hard. The wheels squealed and left black tracks on the pavement. She hauled the wheel to one side, turning right.

The car stuttered and stalled.
Hell
. Her teeth ground together. “This thing is more temperamental than Cara May during a hot flash.” She turned the key in the ignition, heard the car roar to life for the third time in less than five minutes. “Look behind you. Can you see anything? Are they still after us?”

“Maybe—we need to get going.”

“Right.” She shifted up fast, gaining speed again, then cast a quick glance at Luke.

The music from her phone started up a second time. Luke pushed a hand through his dark hair, and for a moment his controlled demeanor slipped. A deep breath. Then his soft lips twitched into a cool smile. “Are you planning on answering that?”

“Not really.” She wasn’t ready to admit to her sisters that she didn’t have the eight hundred thousand bucks.

Luke had given her the car, the price of which would probably take a chunk out of that figure. At least, it would have before the door hit a brick wall.

She sucked in a breath.

The road widened. She could go faster now. She reached for the stick shift to put it into fifth and missed, the palm of her hand touching his leg.

Whoa. The fancy suit covered a surprisingly muscular thigh. She blinked and pulled her hand away.

Hallie would have left it there.

Hallie would have moved her hand higher.

She wasn’t Hallie.

But sometimes—like now—she wished she could be.

The opera’s lamentation, whether it was about true love or just some woman complaining that they were out of double-dipped biscotti at the coffee shop, was getting on Glory’s nerves. “What the hell is this?”

“
Lucia de Lammermoor
. Do you like it?”

“Kind of.” Her nose wrinkled up slightly. “Opera reminds me a bit of what we sing in church. I’m in the chorus, every Sunday morning. Afterward, we always have a picnic. Strawberry shortcake, lemonade, and buckets of fried chicken.”

“It’s the mad scene. Most famous mad scene in all of opera.”

Once upon a time, she’d dreamed about attending those picnics with a man who loved her. Someone tall, dark, and drop-dead gorgeous with high cheekbones and olive skin. Someone with strong lips, capable hands, and emerald eyes.

Green eyes.

She flushed and shifted into fourth. She’d never fantasized about a man with green eyes before. Her ex-fiancé’s eyes had been pale blue, the color like well-worn jeans on a clothesline. The only man she could think of with green eyes was sitting right next to her.

But it wasn’t just the eyes. The fantasy man currently in her mind had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and an expensive jacket.

Luke had strong lips, capable hands, and emerald eyes. He was a damn good-looking man, and his suit had to be custom. It made him look like one of the models printed in the magazines at Daisy’s Clip and Curl. But that was no reason for her body to mistake adrenaline for lust. What did she know about the man, anyway?

He was rich, gorgeous, and sharp enough to see through her poker tactics. If he could fix her plumbing, survive her sisters, and make her laugh, then he’d be perfect.

No one was perfect.

Besides, Luke had a great big stick up his butt. He wouldn’t be caught dead in Beaux. Not for a visit. Not forever.

“I think they’re gone,” Luke commented.

He adjusted his position, and his hand brushed against her leg. She tingled in a rush of sexual heat. He might have a stick up his rear, but it was a mighty fine rear.

“Pull over and stop the car,” he said. “It’s time we got you a different ride.”

The tingle fizzed out. Obviously he didn’t feel the same way about her as she did about him.

“It’s
my
car, remember?” They might be free of the bad guys, but she had miles to drive before she slept. Even if she didn’t have the money—she gulped a deep breath—she still needed to get back to West Virginia. Fast.

Maybe she’d think of a way to get more money on the drive. She could mortgage her diner—ten times over—or just go the easy route and sell a kidney. “You gave it to me. You can’t take it back from me after I rescued you.”

“I’m grateful for your assistance.” The words came out through Luke’s clenched teeth.

“I can tell.”

“I’m not telling you to get out of the car because I’m a jerk,” he said. “I’m trying to save your life. Even in Las Vegas, an Aston Martin Vanquish draws attention.”

Glory looked in the rearview mirror. Two black SUVs were rapidly approaching them. Her heart pounded. “Hell.” She gestured to the rear window. “No stopping now. We need to get out of here.”

Luke turned his head, taking in the bad guys.

A quick punch of the accelerator. “Hold on.”

Forty-five miles an hour.

Fifty.

Fifty-five.

Too late. A big black SUV had edged up behind them. A hand reached out through one window.

A hand holding a gun.

Glory had a funny feeling the next shot wouldn’t be a warning. The next shot would be to the Vanquish’s tires. These guys meant business. She sped down a second alley, then back onto the main street, her attention hyper-focused on keeping the Vanquish on the road. And on breathing. The chase cars were less than half a football field behind her, gaining.

Bullets flew through the air. Glory swore under her breath. For all the trouble she’d gotten into over the years—both on her own and with her sisters—she’d never been shot at before. It was something new and different.

Generally speaking, Glory liked new experiences. Not this one. Her blood ran cold at the thought that she might never see home again, never laugh with her sisters, never swim in the fresh waters of Black Lake on a moonlit night.

That realization ticked her off.

“See, this just makes me angry,” she snapped. “Who is this Tiffanette? What makes her think she can shoot at us?”

“You’d prefer to be shot at by someone else?”

“Damn straight. If someone’s going to shoot at me, they better have grown up within a ten-mile radius of my front door.” Her fingers clenched the steering wheel. “They need to earn the right. Are they behind us?”

Luke glanced in the rearview mirror. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Look harder.”

The man turned slightly in his seat, trying to get a better view, but his broad shoulders didn’t quite fit the car’s narrow cab. “We need to get out of here.”

Stupid car. Too small, too fast. Too hard to control. She took one turn, then another, racing through the maze of Las Vegas streets. City driving was a skill, learned from long years of experience, and she didn’t have it. Beaux had zero streetlights. The city council had talked about putting one in by the town hall, more for aesthetics than traffic calming, but it had never gotten past the planning stages.

“Get on the highway,” Luke said in that demanding tone of his. “This car is made for speed.”

“How?”

“What?”

“The highway,” she repeated. “How do I get there?” A green sign whipped by, telling her to take the next right. “Never mind.” She jerked the steering wheel over, and the bottom of the car scraped along the incline on the highway entrance.

“Careful,” he warned.

“Right.” She had promised to take care of the car. Fine. She hadn’t promised to take care of him. “Damn, I wish I had my purse.”

“Why? Does your purse have some kind of anti-thug radar in it?”

“It’s got my ID, my credit card—”

“Don’t think those would help right now.”

“And my gun.”

“Wait—there’s a gun in here?” Luke bent to rummage around at his feet. She risked a peek to see him dragging a black canvas tote up onto his lap.

“That’s my purse! Where’d you get it?
How’d
you get it?”

“I had it in my hands when I jumped in the car.”

“Great! Find the—”

A loud honk. The black SUVs were right behind them. Only a few feet away. She struggled to concentrate on the highway. One of the SUVs moved forward, grinding against her bumper.

“I don’t see a gun,” Luke said after a long moment.

“I might be the craziest bluefly in the bottle, but I’m not going to walk around some strange town with a gun loose in my purse. It’s in a box.”

“Right. A box.” He rummaged around. Cash fluttered through the car’s crowded interior like so much useless confetti. After a moment, he pulled out the case.

“Why didn’t you use this back at the motel room?”

“I’m reckless, not stupid. Besides, it’s not that kind of gun.” She put her foot on the gas, edging forward. “I’m not a violent person. I was just going to bring a can of pepper spray and my grandfather’s buck knife. Ashley—my sister—was the one who made me bring the gun.”

It was supposed to be her insurance plan, the only way to ensure her safety in a city so strange it might as well have been a foreign country. Something she could use to intimidate fools who didn’t know any better. The thugs back in the hotel room had known better. They had
real guns
.

“Do you know how to shoot?” she asked Luke.

“My father earned his first million making book.”

“He was a publisher?”

“Making
book
. Singular. For the mob. It got him killed in the end. Shot to death over a stack of cash.”

There was a moment’s pause while Glory realized she’d completely misinterpreted Luke’s words. Clever. He probably thought she was an idiot. Someone who should be locked up because her stupidity made her a danger to herself and others. Not tonight.

“That means you can shoot?”

“Probably better than you can drive.” Luke spun the cylinder against the palm of his hand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you should put your foot on the floor. This car is one of the fastest production machines in the world. They shouldn’t be catching up with us like this.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t switch seats now.” The road they were on was small, only two lanes in each direction, but signs up ahead indicated it was about to intersect with something bigger, giving Glory a choice of exits. North or south. She needed to go east. “Which way?

A slight cough. “What?”

Too late. Glory’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tight, and she made a decision. She merged right.

Her heart fluttered in her chest. She could only hope it was the right direction. Las Vegas might be a twenty-four-hour kind of city, but late at night all freeways were pretty much the same. Empty. Desolate. Long stretches of broken-down humanity, so much cracked asphalt.

A bullet hit the side-view mirror, splintering glass and plastic and her reverie. “What are you waiting for?” she squawked. “Get shooting!”

“Right.” Luke rolled down the passenger-side window, bending awkwardly to take aim. “This gun’s a piece of crap. The weight’s all wrong, and the sight’s off. I can’t guarantee I’ll hit anything.”

“That gun was my grandmother’s.” She risked a peek.
Oh, God
. Luke still wasn’t shooting, just aiming down the barrel of the revolver. “Come on! It’s not that kind of gun.”

She reached over, grabbed his biceps and slammed his arm hard against the side of the car. The gun went off, twice. The rounds created elegant colored patterns of light that soared away from the gun’s short barrel. The pretty streaks of light made it a good twenty feet before exploding in a rush of bright lights.

“What the hell is this?” Luke growled, now back in his seat, glaring at the gun.

“A flare gun. My grandmother used it to start races at the county fair.” That job was officially Ashley’s now. Big noises, lots of crowds, spooked horses. Glory couldn’t see the appeal, but her sister said it was good to keep her exposure up—it made things easier come reelection time. Glory figured Ashley just liked petting the ponies.

“Do you think it blinded the guys behind us?”

“I think it blinded me.” He leaned forward, fumbling to put the gun down without setting it off again. “You could have warned me it didn’t shoot real bullets.”

“I did. I said that it wasn’t
that
kind of gun.”

A banging noise sounded behind them. Glory glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed that a blinded driver had collided with a side rail. A small explosion went off—nothing large enough to do any real damage but definitely big enough to draw attention.

There was still one car behind her. Fine. She hadn’t been able to lose the thugs by leaving the crowds—this time she’d head straight for civilization. She hit the brakes, slowing the car just enough so they weren’t going at rocket speed as they took the next off-ramp.

She took a quick right onto the busy street, dodging back and forth between cars until she couldn’t see the bigger vehicle behind them anymore. She kept driving, circling wildly for an extra five minutes, Luke silent beside her, before allowing a soft sigh to escape from between her lungs. She found another freeway marker and pulled onto Route 93 South. The city lights faded behind them, replaced with a soft darkness.