Someone Like Her (18 page)

“A whistle and a grenade?” he’d said when examining the contents of the pouch.

“Why not? Who knows, you might want to blow something up. And that’s a dog whistle. I’m never without one.”

Michaels had grinned at his own words, and all Jake could think when seeing the demented twist of his lips was that he was damn glad the man was his friend. “Scares me straight to know our government has a psycho like you on their payroll,” he’d said as he packed the toys back into the pouch.

With the GPS turned on and sitting on the dash, he backed out of the driveway. His foot heavy on the gas, he headed for College Street, her last known location. When he had her safe in his arms, he’d give her holy hell for taking ten years off his life.

“Where’s she now?” he said when Saint answered his call.

“They just left the ATM. He told her to get on I-10 and go west. She’ll be turning onto the entrance in seven.”

The bastard was running. “How much longer you think her phone battery will last?”

“Two hours at most. Even if it dies out before you get to her, we’re still able to track her. Don’t lose your cool, Jake.”

“Easy for you to say when you’re not in love with her.” The declaration so surprised him, he almost hit the car next to him. “I mean, that’s easy for you to say when you’re not here.”

“I know what you meant,” Saint replied, sounding as if he really did. Then his voice turned serious. “I finally tracked down the boss. He’s catching a plane back tonight, but he said the only way he’d fire you for not being on a plane headed for Egypt was if you didn’t show up tomorrow with his sister standing next to you.”

“Just keep me informed on where they are or anything she says.” He disconnected and concentrated on weaving in and out of rush-hour traffic. If the bastard harmed one hair on her head, he really would be sent to hell in a body bag.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

J
ake ran the red light at the entrance onto I-10 West. An oncoming car’s brakes squealed and the driver flipped him a finger as he sped past. “Yeah, yeah, back atcha,” he said as he floored it up the entrance ramp.

He dialed Saint. “I’m on I-10. How far ahead of me are they?”

“They got on the Interstate twenty minutes ago. She just asked where they’re going and he didn’t answer. She’s starting to sound scared. We don’t think she knows for sure if we’re listening, and I’m guessing she’s beginning to think she’s on her own.”

How could she not know he’d come for her no matter what? “Call me if anything changes.” He dropped the phone onto the passenger seat and swerved into the right lane, passing a van traveling at least five miles under the speed limit. “Slower traffic keep right,” he yelled as he moved ahead of the idiot. What was wrong with these people?

Hoping she’d keep to the seventy-mile-per-hour limit or under, he calculated how long it’d take to catch up with them if he drove ninety miles per hour. In a little over an hour—as long as no cops got in his way—he’d have her in his sights.

That she’d thought to turn on her phone was impressive. Although the tracking device would lead him to her, it helped that someone was listening and eva
luating her stress level. So far, it appeared she was keeping her cool, but how long would that last?

Less than twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed and he grabbed it, punched “Speaker” and set it on the console so he could keep both hands on the wheel. “Whatcha got?”

“We’re listening in on all the police radios . . . city, county, and state. The owner of the Ford reported his car stolen so the cops have the model and tag number. It’s a 2009 Fusion, moss-green metallic, and they’ve got an APB out on it.”

Jake memorized the tag number Saint gave him. Another forty minutes at most and he should catch up to them. He glanced at the speedometer and eased off the gas, bringing his speed back down to ninety. As much as he’d like to push the Mustang to its limits, someone would probably call 911 on him if he blew by them doing over one-twenty. Last thing he needed was a cop on his ass.

“Uh-oh.”

He heard someone speaking in the background. “What? Talk to me, Saint.”

“A state trooper just radioed in and verified the tag number. He’s behind them.”

“Does he know the bastard’s got a gun?”

“Hold on a sec.”

To hell with watching his speed. Hoping people would assume he was an undercover cop, he turned on his lights and his hazards, then pressed the pedal to the floor. The Mustang shot ahead as if it’d been catapulted out of a slingshot. Thank God Maria loved fast cars.

“Okay, the trooper turned on his siren about two seconds before his supervisor told him to wait for backup. Fortunada’s ordering Maria to run, but she’s refusing. I’m putting Maria on speaker so you can listen for yourself.” Jake steeled himself to hear her voice, wishing there was some way to let her know he was listening.

“He’s probably stopping us because I was going a little too fast. If we run, he’ll have every cop in the area after us, maybe even helicopters. You need to stay calm, Mr. Fortunada, or he’ll get suspicious. And keep that gun out of sight.”

Good girl, just keep staying cool. Hearing her voice, Jake wanted to crawl through the phone and snatch her out of danger. A car changed lanes in front of him and he laid on the horn, passing it on the shoulder. Once a year, Kincaid signed all of them up for a week of intensive race car driving school, and Jake suddenly felt a deep appreciation for the man’s foresight.

“Take that exit, then pull over.”

Damn, Fortunada sounded panicky. “How far away am I from them?” he asked, knowing Saint would be tracking his phone.

“As fast as you’re moving on my map, I’d say twenty minutes.”

Too much could happen in twenty minutes. “What exit are they taking?”

“The Caryville exit, 104. Unfortunately, it’s isolated. No stations or food joints.”

Jake had a bad feeling the situation was headed south fast. This was no traffic violation stop, and the trooper would be as on edge as Fortunada. As he listened to the heated conversation between Maria and Fortunada, it was obvious they were both losing it.

“What the hell’s going on?” he asked when their voices faded in and out.

“Either her battery’s dying or there’s spotty service where they are. Ken thinks it’s a service problem.”

If their tech geek said it was the service, then that’s what it was. Straining to hear over the static, he could only make out a word here and there. With what he could pick up, it sounded like the trooper was ordering them out of the car and Fortunada was refusing.

Suddenly, gunfire filled the air. “Who’s shooting, Saint?”

“Don’t know. Hang tight a minute. Ken’s got his eyes squeezed shut and his earphones on, trying to listen.”

Another shot exploded through the speakers, followed by a scream from Maria, then silence. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” The trucker he flew
past blew his air horn and, startled, Jake jerked the wheel and almost ran off the road. “Dammit, man. You scared
the shit out of me.”

“What?”

“Just having a friendly conversation with a trucker. Is Maria okay?” If she wasn’t, he’d go on a rampage, and God help anyone who got in his way.

“All we know is they’re on the move again . . . at least, her purse is.”

He should’ve planted a tracking device under her skin. When he had her back and safe again, that was the first thing he was going to do.

“You might want to slow it down. There’re two state troopers coming up behind you, going fast.”

Jake let off the gas and pulled into the right lane. Two minutes later, he heard sirens. A check in the rearview mirror showed the trooper’s cars in the fast lane, red and blue lights flashing.

After they passed, he pulled out behind them and sped up. What he’d like to do was give them a piece of his
mind. If their pal had left well enough alone, he’d be almost caught up with Maria by now and would have delivered Fortunada to them, a shiny red bow plastered to his forehead.

He followed them off the Caryville exit, slowing and gawking like a regular driver would at the sight of a trooper lying on the side of the road. “Hope you’re okay,” he said as he drove by.

“Saint, you there?” he asked, halting at the stop sign. Nothing. Now that he’d verified for himself there was no cell service here, all he had to decide was whether to go left or right.

“You shot him! Why’d you do that? Couldn’t you have just tied him up or something?”

Maria swiped her fingers over the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her vision was so blurry she could barely see where she was going. What she couldn’t stop seeing though was the officer jerking backward, then crumbling into a heap when Fortunada had shot him.

It was her fault. She hadn’t been speeding like she’d told him and had rejoiced at the thought she was about to be rescued. It had never occurred to her it would come to this.

From the moment she’d opened her mother’s stud book, she’d grabbed at the idea of finding her father, dreaming that he would take one look at her and love her. Instead, all she’d done was get a cop killed. Why hadn’t she burned the stupid book?

She wanted Jake but by now, he’d be on his way to Egypt with no way of knowing how much she needed him. She didn’t even know if Jamie was listening in on the phone she’d stuffed into her bra.

Oh, God. She’d gotten a cop killed.

“Stop.”

Maria slammed on the brakes. Fortunada had already killed one person and the gun leveled at her head spoke volumes. She peered around them through her tears and froze at the sight of a gray-haired woman sitting on her porch. Then her gaze settled on the old car parked at the side of the small house and she knew what he wanted.

“No.” No way she was going to be responsible for hurting someone’s grandma, especially just to steal a car left over from the Stone Age.

Fortunada put his thumb on the revolver’s hammer and cocked it. “I just want her car. You’ve been a pain in my ass from the first so it makes no difference to me if I kill you now.”

“Promise you won’t hurt her.” God forgive her, she was a coward.

He pressed the gun to her head. “You got three seconds to drive this car behind that house.”

The part of her that wanted to live screamed at her to obey him, but the decent side of her decided this was where a line had to be drawn. “No.” She waited to die but nothing happened, so she ventured on. “You can’t go around killing people. It’s just not okay. I have no problem with stealing her car, but you have to swear you won’t hurt her. She’s just a little old lady.”

“If you were my wife, I’d be beating the shit out of you about now. Just get us the car.”

If she was his daughter, would he also beat her? The debate on whether or not to tell him it was a possibility raged on, and still, she couldn’t decide. She turned onto the dirt driveway and slowly approached the house.
Please, lady, please get up and lock yourself in the house.

The woman stood and shaded her eyes with her hand, watching them. “Hello,” she called and cheerfully waved when Maria stopped the car. “If you’re selling, I ain’t buying. Best if you know that up front.”

“Park around the back, out of sight,” Fortunada said.

Maria furiously blinked her eyes at the woman, hoping she’d catch on that things weren’t right. “I’m just going to drive the car around the house. I’ll be right back.” The subtle message apparently hadn’t worked as the lady was standing in the same spot when they walked back to the front of the house, Fortunada behind Maria with his gun poking into her spine.

“Don’t try anything or she gets hurt,” he growled into her ear.

As incentives to behave went, that one was right up there. “Hello, ma’am. We need to borrow your car.”

The woman put her hands on her hips. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Maria.” She put her foot on the bottom step. “Maria Kincaid. This is Mr. Fortunada and he’s in something of a hurry.” The sooner she got them away, the less likely he’d do something stupid.

“Well, Miss Maria Kincaid, I’m Mrs. Watkins, and you can’t borrow my car. Looked to me like yours worked just fine.”

A cat appeared and wound itself around her legs. Maria picked it up and held it above her face, debating the wisdom of tossing it at Fortunada.

“His name’s Mr. Kitty.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kitty.” He began purring and she brought it to her chest, wishing she were home and it was Mouse she was holding. Her poor cat was going to think she’d abandoned him. Tears burned her eyes that she might never see him again. Or Jake. Or Logan, Dani, and the kids.

Get a grip, Maria.
She couldn’t afford to fall apart now. Fortunada prodded her forward. Mrs. Watkins took a step back, finally seeming to realize something wasn’t right.
I’m so sorry. I really wish you’d locked yourself inside and called the cops.

“Here,” Maria said, handing the woman her cat. “If you’d just give us the keys to your car, we’ll get on our way and leave you be.”

“I’ve already told you no, young lady.” She turned toward her front door.

“Give me the fucking keys, lady,” Fortunada said, stepping around Maria.

“You need to watch your language, Mr. Fortunada. The Lord don’t take kindly to those kinds of words.” Her eyes widened when he lifted the gun and pointed it at her. “Oh, my.” She clutched her cat to her ample breasts.

Maria put herself between the woman and the gun. No way she could stand by and let him shoot anyone else. “Please, Mrs. Watkins. If you’ll just do what he says, he won’t hurt you.” God, she prayed that was true.

As if backing away from a rabid dog, the woman slowly shuffled toward the house. “You two wait right here, and I’ll go get them.”

“So you can call the cops?” Fortunada caught the screen door and pushed Maria inside.

“I need to use the bathroom,” Maria said, hoping for a chance to see if her phone was still working. As before, he stood in the hallway and made her leave the door cracked. Only difference this time was he made Mrs. Watkins stand with him. She really did have to pee and tried to be as quiet about it as possible.