Someone Like Her (17 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

M
aria glanced at the fuel gauge. “If you’re planning on us going very far, we’ll need gas. The gauge is on empty.” Did he even know where he wanted to go?

“You got money?”

“Just a few dollars.” If she steered the car off the road, could she manage hitting a tree and killing Fortunada without killing herself?

When she’d knocked on the door, it had opened and she’d walked in, never expecting to see Carol and Angie bound and gagged. The door had slammed behind her before she could turn and run. Now, she was driving Carol’s Taurus to God-knows-where with a man—who might or might not be her father—who was in possession of a gun, one pointed at her. At least he’d left Carol and Angie behind, and by now they’d surely found a way to get untied and call the cops.

“We need a different car and some money,” he said, looking at her as if she could snap her fingers and make that happen.

The last thing she wanted was a different car. The cops would be looking for this one, something that had obviously occurred to him. Knowing her car would be easy to spot, she’d suggested they take her Mustang, but he’d given her a suspicious glare and ordered her into the Taurus. Lesson learned. Next time she wanted him to do something, suggest the exact opposite.

“How much money’s in your account?”

As if she’d tell him there was enough for him to easily disappear into Mexico and live comfortably for a long time. The lie came easily. “About five hundred dollars.”

She glanced at him. He really wasn’t bad looking with his Latino features, but as hard as she tried to find any semblance to her, she couldn’t. No way this man was her daddy, she decided, and prayed it was true.

“Find an ATM,” he said, lifting the gun.

“Unless you want to be sitting on the side of the road out of gas, you need to let me find a station first.” Where this courage to speak up to him with the black hole of a gun barrel pointed at her came from, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t going down without a fight. What she couldn’t decide was whether or not to tell him he might be her father. Would that help or make things worse?

“There.” He pointed to a Shell station ahead on the right. “You get out and fill the tank and don’t try anything funny. Don’t think I won’t shoot you.”

There went taking off when he got out. On to plan B. She slipped her purse onto her shoulder before leaving the car. Plan B was to run inside the station, but he was waiting at the back of the car when she came around the trunk.

Plan C then. She dug out her credit card and swiped it. “I have to pee,” she said after removing the nozzle from the car’s tank and putting it back on the pump.

“No, you don’t.” He lifted his chin. “Get in.”

Although the gun was in his pocket, so was his hand. No doubt he had his finger on the trigger. She crossed her legs. “Yes, I do. Please, I don’t want to pee in my pants.”

He glanced from her to the station and back. “You try anything and not only will I shoot you, but also anyone else nearby.”

He grabbed the bathroom door before she could pull it closed behind her. “I’ll be right here. Hurry up.”

She did have to pee, or at least she had to before a crazy man with a gun stood on the other side of the cracked door. Unable to bring herself to pull her panties down with him standing there, she hurriedly rummaged through her purse for her phone. Unable to talk with him listening, she wondered whose number she should call. Jake was on his flight by now, and her brother was on his way to DC. That left one person. She dialed Jamie’s number.

“You have thirty seconds before I come in.”

In a panic, she pushed the phone into her bra, hoping Jamie answered and not a recording. Then she prayed he was smart enough to catch on and listen. She flushed the toilet, then turned on the tap. When she went to grab her purse from the door hook, she remembered the tracking device Jake had put in it.

“Thank you, Jake,” she whispered. Afraid Fortunada might take her purse away at some point, she fumbled with the lining until she felt the device, pulled it off the tape, and stuck it too in her bra. As long as Fortunada didn’t make her strip, she at least had two ways for them to find her.

The door flew open, and startled, she shrieked, dropping her purse. “It’s a sad day when a girl can’t even pee in private,” she muttered, bending down to pick up her purse. “Not that a Shell station is my favorite place to pee,” she added, praying Jamie was listening.

“Whatcha got in there,” he said, snatching the strap out of her hand.

“That’s mine, Mr. Fortunada.”
Did you hear who I’m with, Jamie?
God, she wished she knew if he was listening.

Ignoring her, Fortunada rummaged through it, finally settling on taking the forty or so dollars in her wallet. He pushed her out of the bathroom and with his fingers digging into her elbow, he steered her to the cooler. After grabbing a tall can of beer, he herded her to the counter. As he paid for the beer with her money, Maria tried to catch the attention of the clerk. When he finally glanced at her, she mouthed the word “help.” He grinned and in heavily accented English said, “Have nice day.”

If only. “Great place you got here,” she said. “Never knew there was a Shell station on Lumford Street.”

The clerk’s head bobbed. “Have nice day.”

“Shut up,” Fortunada growled as he pushed her out the door.

Back on the road with a full tank of gas, she drove in a wide circle, keeping the Shell station in the center, hoping Fortunada wouldn’t notice. So far, he’d been enjoying his beer too much to give her directions. Did the creep even have a plan?

“Find a money machine,” he finally said.

The only one she knew the exact location of was near her apartment. “There’s one on College, not too far from here.” That would get them back into her neighborhood.

“Go there.” He crushed the empty can, then tossed it onto the back seat. “Why’d you come to my house?”

Crap. She chewed on her bottom lip, debating whether to tell him the truth. “There’s still time to let me go before the cops find you. I’ll get you money and you can take the car, go wherever you want.”

“No. You’re my insurance.” He fiddled with the gun resting on his thigh, sliding it back and forth. “You’re the reason the cops are after me, so you got this coming.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t point that gun at me.” If she could only figure him out, she might be able to decide what to do. Sometimes it seemed as if he was confused as to how he’d gotten in this mess. Other times, he’d look at her with so much hate that she feared he’d pick up the gun and shoot her just because it would please him to do so. Every once in a while he would eye her as if he were trying to undress her.

A shiver traveled up her spine at the thought of him putting his hands on her. Somehow, she had to get away before he either shot her or touched her. Although she continued to check in the rearview mirror for any sign of a police car, she saw none.

“Turn here,” he said all of a sudden.

“Governor’s Square Mall. I love the stores here,” she said, still hoping Jamie was listening.

“Shut up.” With the nose of the gun, he pointed. “Go there to the back.”

Twenty minutes later, they were back on the road in a stolen car. “I’m really impressed you know how to hotwire a car but if we were going to steal one, couldn’t you have picked something nicer than a green Ford?”

“Do you ever shut up?” He changed the radio from a talk show to a country station, then turned the volume up.

That was going to make it harder for Jamie to hear her if he was listening.

“He just stole a car, a green Ford. Don’t know what model or year. She let us know he’s got a gun.”

The bastard was a dead man. Jake walked up the sidewalk to Carol and Angie’s house, the phone to his ear. “She’s still got the tracking device on her, right?”

“We’re assuming it’s on her and not riding around in someone else’s car,” Saint said. “She hasn’t said anything about Fortunada tossing her purse away. We’re following its movements on the big screen, and the direction jibes with everything she’s saying. Right now, they’re on College, a few miles from State Street. You gonna tell the cops we’re tracking them?”

“And risk a shoot-out? Hell no. I’ll tell them about the change of cars, and to search the back of the mall for Carol’s Taurus. Maria’s car’s here; I’ll take it to go after them. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m gone from here.”

A uniformed cop answered his knock. “I need to see Detective Nolan.”

“He’s busy.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Jake said, pushing past the man.

“Hey!”

Jake jerked his arm away when the cop grabbed it.

“It’s okay, Grabowski, let ’em in.”

Nolan held out his hand and Jake shook it. “I was hoping the next time I saw you it would be while we watched Fortunada get sentenced to prison. Whose bright idea was it to let him out on bail?”

“Sorry to say, it was out of my hands. Why are you here, Buchanan? Tell me you don’t got it in mind to play superhero.”

Okay, he wouldn’t tell him. Jake glanced at Carol and Angie, huddled together on the sofa. Tears streamed down both their faces.

“I-I’m so sorry,” Angie said, following it up with a hiccup. “He made . . . he made me call her.”

Jake knelt in front of her, covering her hands with his. “I know. You did what you had to do to keep you and your mom safe, and no one blames you. Does he have only the one gun?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

“How do you know he’s got a gun?” Nolan asked.

The door burst open and Eddie barreled in, running headlong into Grabowski. The two of them fell to the floor, a tangle of legs and arms.

“Jesus,” Jake muttered. He pulled Eddie up by the collar. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Why are all those cop cars out there? Where’s Angie? What’s going on, dude?”

“Angie’s fine. Go sit with her on the couch and try to be quiet.”

Nolan looked at Jake and rolled his eyes. “Shoulda just sent out invitations. Now, you were going to tell me how you know our perp has a gun.”

No, he wasn’t. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

Rummaging in the refrigerator, Jake found a bottle of water. “Want one?”

“I’d rather have a double shot of scotch, straight up, but that’ll have to do.” Nolan took the bottle and opened it. “Talk, Buchanan.”

Jake unscrewed the cap to another bottle of water and downed half the contents, then set the water on the counter and crossed his arms. “I’m more of a beer man myself. Let me ask you something. What happens when a cop spots Carol’s car? He’s gonna call for backup, then they’ll surround the car, guns drawn, right? Or, if he’s a hothead, he’s not going to wait for backup and will try to pull them over instead, then there’ll be a high-speed chase with the likelihood of a crash. You disagree?”

The detective set his bottle on the counter next to Jake’s, then crossed his arms, mirroring Jake’s stance. “Where you going with this?”

If he’d been in the mood, he would have laughed at the old police ploy of aping a subject in an attempt at intimidation. But time was wasting and he had no tolerance for games at the moment. “I notice you didn’t disagree. Why? Because you can’t. I won’t risk Maria being in the middle of a shoot-out.”

“So you think you can save her all by your lonesome, Lone Ranger?”

“I know I can.” He prayed it was true. “I’ll call and tell you where you can come collect your man.”

“Where you going?”

At the kitchen doorway, he stopped and turned. “To rescue a damsel in distress.” His damsel. “By the way, you can find Carol’s car behind the Governor’s Square Mall. Your
perp
stole a green Ford.”

He walked out to the sound of some mighty fine cussing. Although he’d thought he would have to break into the Mustang and hotwire it, he found it unlocked and her keys in the cup holder. “Maria, Maria,” he tsked.

Since he knew she usually pocketed her keys, he could imagine her upset by Angie’s message and her hurry to get inside. He’d told Nolan he would call and tell him where to come get Fortunada. What he neglected to add after Fortunada’s name was “dead body.”

Although her Mustang was souped up, it didn’t have a GPS. From the pouch around his waist, he took the one Michaels had brought, along with two guns—a Glock and a SIG Sauer—a knife balanced perfectly for throwing right between someone’s eyes, a flashlight, a whistle, and a grenade.