Christmas Double Cross. Jodie Bailey
needed to know where she was stashing the drugs she’d stolen from her brother so they could keep the supply from hitting the market. Personally, he knew that only her confession could truly give him closure about Greg’s death.
At the sound of the roaring engine, the passenger leapt into the blue car as the driver whirled toward Colt and lifted his arm.
Colt instinctively ducked as a bullet ricocheted off the roof. The others went wide. He didn’t slow, aiming head-on in a game of chicken, man versus machine.
Colt knew he had more nerve than the brute stealing one of Rangers’ most wanted had ever dreamed.
Sure enough, the other man dove into his front seat and gunned the engine, whipping the car into a skid and racing down the narrow alley behind the shops toward the back service road.
This had to stop before they went too far and hit the main road, where bystanders could get hurt.
“Status?” Austin had clearly heard the hit.
“I’m right behind him.” Colt called out street names as the lead car hung a right, deeper into an older neighborhood. The highway waited on the other side.
As Colt skidded the Challenger around the corner and gunned the engine to keep up with the small sedan, the passenger leaned out the window, firing wildly at Colt.
“Are you kidding me?” He muttered under his breath. This guy was an idiot.
“What?”
“We’re in a very bad action movie here. Get me some backup before this guy kills somebody. We’re way too close to Gateway Boulevard.”
“Local law enforcement is on the way. Hang on.”
A wild shot pinged off the passenger mirror, and Colt pulled into the other lane, one eye on the lookout for oncoming traffic on the narrow neighborhood street and one on the kidnappers. His engine had a whole lot more power than the ancient beat up two-door he was tailing. If he could get closer, maybe he’d be able to tap the rear corner and spin the vehicle.
But if the car flipped, or spun and hit anything trunk first, then the woman masquerading as Danielle Segovia could be killed.
More blood on his hands.
Colt gripped the steering wheel tighter, maintaining enough distance to keep the passenger from getting a clear shot but close enough to hold his options open. If they got to Gateway where a higher volume of traffic became a factor, he could lose them. Worse, someone else could be killed.
This had to be Rio Garcia’s men, out to bring his sister in for stealing from the cartel. If they somehow managed to cross the border or they reached the airport... “Tell the LEOs to get in tight at the airport. And let Border Patrol know not to let this guy cross. If he somehow manages to get away from me—”
“They might kill her.”
“No. They want her alive. They won’t find out where Garcia’s money or drugs are if she’s dead.”
“On it.”
Think, Blackthorn. He had to stop this guy. For the past week, he’d cruised these streets, looking for potential ways Danielle Segovia could escape, planning for a moment when he’d have to give chase if she ran. Now he’d have to show his hand and use his knowledge not to capture her, but to save her.
Another bullet pinged off the passenger door. It was now or never. Punching the pedal to the floor, Colt raced up on the rear of the sedan and roared past to the next intersection, pulling the car into a skid that left him facing the other car, leaving the driver with nowhere to go except through Colt.
Another game of chicken. His heart pounded as the headlights roared closer. He held the steering wheel tight. If he died trying to save a killer...
The blue sedan skidded to the side, the driver’s door slamming into the corner of a Dumpster, sliding the massive hulk of metal backward as the car bounced to an abrupt stop.
Dust peppered the air as Colt threw open the door of the sports car and ran for the other vehicle. One look at the driver was more than enough to haunt his nightmares for a very long time. Without air bags or a seatbelt, he’d felt the full force of the Dumpster’s crushing blow.
The wavering smell of gasoline permeated the air. He was running out of time.
The passenger door hung open, the seat empty, and pounding feet raced between the two buildings closest to Colt. A trail of blood droplets led from the scene. The passenger might be hurt, but he was fast and chasing after him would take time Colt didn’t have to spare. As much as Colt would love to pursue, there were bigger things to worry about. With gas leaking from the vehicle, anything could happen before he got the woman out of the trunk.
As sirens wailed in the distance, closing fast, he reached across and pulled the keys from the ignition, then rounded the rear of the vehicle. Popping the key in the lock, he held his breath, praying that what he found inside wouldn’t be as bad as he feared.
The woman lay in the corner, her arms wrapped around her knees. She shook uncontrollably, eyes wide with fear as she stared up at Colt. “Please...” The word rasped from a dry throat and tugged at Colt’s conscience.
Gently, Colt scooped her into his arms as several black and white El Paso police Chargers raced toward the scene, their red and blue lights flashing in the night.
She clung to him, her fingers digging into his arms as she shuddered repeatedly. She was in shock. Terrified.
The ambulance hadn’t arrived yet, and Colt had to get her to the hospital. Sliding her gently into the front seat of his car, he buckled her in and shut the door, then turned to answer to the police officers who skidded to a stop in front of him. Although identifying himself as a Ranger could jeopardize his entire undercover persona, he had no choice. He had to make sure Adriana survived.
* * *
Slamming the door of the sports car, Colt stared over the top at the entrance to the emergency room where, not three minutes earlier, nurses and orderlies had rushed his suspect into the hospital.
His goal had been to keep her close during transport and to stay by her side at the hospital, but he’d lost her anyway when medical personnel refused to let him follow her. Right now, she could be making her way out some entrance he couldn’t see.
Colt slammed his palm onto the car’s roof. Nothing was going the way he’d thought it would. He should have known something was wrong before she was attacked, should have been able to sense it in the air. But no. He’d missed this attempt on their suspect’s life, just like he’d missed Greg’s treachery.
Tipping his head toward the sky, where the stars were muted by the lights of downtown El Paso, he shook his head. Greg. They’d been best friends for years. Fate, God, whatever you wanted to call it, had led them to work together on a few cases, had made them buddies. Cookouts. Football games. All of that male bonding stuff. Colt was supposed to be the best man at his wedding, which had been planned for only a few short days from today.
Now, as the wedding date drew near, Greg’s fiancée was behind bars for attempting to kill Kylie Perry.
And Greg was dead. A traitor to his country, a man who’d taken a small fortune in order to turn his head as drug runners crossed the very borders he’d sworn to defend.
Dead. At the hands of the woman who was somewhere in the guts of the hospital in front of him.
Dragging his hand from the top of the car, Colt’s finger caught in the divot left behind when a bullet had bounced off the roof. He winced and stepped back, for the first time inspecting the black Challenger. The roof had taken a couple of hits. The metal along the passenger side of the windshield sported damage, and a crack wound its way across the top of the windshield on the driver’s side.
He whistled low between pursed lips. Thought about thanking God for not letting any of those hit him. Decided against it. It wasn’t like God was paying attention anyway.
But