Hard Evidence. Susan Peterson
and you blew it. I’m taking care of things now.”
I crossed the street to the parking garage and Jack didn’t follow. I didn’t even bother to glance over my shoulder as I stepped onto the elevator.
Jack seemed to get the message that I didn’t want his help, and he made no attempt to follow. For that I was thankful. Thankful, that is, until I stepped off the elevator onto the third floor of the parking garage.
Damn! The lights were out on this end of the garage. A sprinkling of glass shards among a few rocks laying beneath three of the closest light poles told me that some punk, bored with having to wait around for his family, had taken a couple of pot shots at the overhead lights.
I looked around. The inside of the garage was murky and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. My training kicked in, making me instantly cautious.
I walked down two rows and found my grime-encrusted car tucked in between a silver Lexus and a black Cadillac Escalade SUV. My sturdy little electric-blue Neon looked pretty lonely among all that luxury.
I pulled my key out but before I had it in the lock, I felt, rather than heard, someone come up behind me. I stiffened.
“Don’t scream and don’t turn around,” a voice whispered in my ear.
I tightened my hand on the key. At this point, it was my only weapon. I shrugged and allowed my purse to slide off my shoulder. I shoved the purse back toward the disembodied voice. “Here,” I said. “I don’t have a lot of cash, but whatever’s there is yours. And you’re welcome to the credit cards, too.”
I didn’t mention that the cards were almost maxed out. Let the jerk find that out for himself.
A hand grabbed the purse but immediately heaved it onto the pavement. Concern shot through me. When a robber didn’t want your purse, that was not a good sign. If he wasn’t looking for cash, then there was only one other thing he’d want from a single woman in a dark parking garage. I wasn’t about to give that particular item up without a fight.
As inconspicuously as possible, I shifted my weight onto my toes. But the guy seemed to anticipate the move and he hit me hard between my shoulder blades, sending me stumbling forward against the hood of the car.
I used my hands to keep myself from hitting face-first. He pressed against me with his bulky body, pushing my head down until my cheek rested against the cool metal.
“Don’t even think about running,” he said.
“I wasn’t,” I lied.
My heart pounded against my rib cage and fear thickened in the back of my throat. The guy wasn’t going to make this easy. He was a pro, someone who had done this before. He knew what to look for.
“What do you want?” I asked, desperately trying to keep myself from panicking.
“We want what belongs to us.” His hand held me tight against the car. I couldn’t move.
“Tell me what it is and if I have it, I’ll give it to you. I’m not looking for trouble.”
“We want the key and the package.”
I shoved my key chain in his direction. “Here, take them. Take the car. Just leave me alone.”
He took my keys but I heard them hit the pavement alongside my purse. “These aren’t the key or the package we’re looking for.”
“Well, they’re the only ones I’ve got,” I said.
He snorted in exasperation and grabbed my collar, hauling me to my feet. Reaching around me, he yanked open the door of the Escalade. “Get in and push over behind the wheel.”
I locked my knees, digging my heels into the pavement. Don’t ever let an abductor take you to a new location. I’d heard that particular warning more than a few times from Charlie, Jack and every other police officer I’d ever worked or trained under.
“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you,” I stalled.
He didn’t answer, but instead crowded in behind me, using his thickly muscled body to nudge me into the car. “I said to get in and get behind the wheel.” He shoved me between my shoulder blades, sending me stumbling against the open car door.
I stepped up and bumped my head on the door frame. A stinging pain shot across the top of my scalp. I swallowed against the tears that sprang to the corners of my eyes and slid across the seat.
I reached for the opposite door handle, but before I could grab it and jump out, a hand reached across the front seat and clamped down on my shoulder, anchoring me firmly to the seat.
I jumped, and my fear hit a new high. My abductor had an accomplice. My chances of escape had just taken a rather significant nosedive.
“Don’t even think about jumping out,” a voice said, the sound low and grating, like granite stones rattling in a metal cage.
How had I missed that there was someone else in the car? I was getting careless. Too many years living in the mountains and not enough time keeping my city radar switched on high.
I grabbed the wheel and peered into the rearview mirror. The shadowy figure in the backseat wore his cap low on his forehead, shading his features. His shoulders were wide and bulked up beneath the expensive leather coat. He used two fingers to flick the back of my skull, sending another flash of pain shooting through my head.
“Keep your eyes front and center,” he ordered.
“What do you want?” I tried to keep the fear out of my voice. “My boyfriend is going to be here any minute.”
Mr. Biceps laughed, and it wasn’t anything light or airy. More like the low rumble of a diesel truck. “You ditched O’Brien down below. Ain’t no one coming to your rescue, little sister.”
He knew Jack. Apparently Jack was still hanging with an interesting crowd.
The shooter slammed the passenger side door closed and shifted around to face me. He had a fleshy nose with a boatload of nasty-looking moles and other assorted blemishes spread out across his cheekbones and neck. The guy was in serious need of a dermatologist.
He wagged the gun in the direction of the ignition. “Start it up. We’ll go somewhere a little less public to conduct our business.”
He glanced over his shoulder at his buddy. “The Bay Street exit, right, boss?”
The figure in the mirror nodded and then settled back, apparently content in his belief that Mole Face had things under control. I let him think that as I leaned forward and started the engine.
“Back it out nice and slow,” Mole Face instructed, settling his own shoulder back against the passenger side door, a small smile puckering his full lips.
“Where are we going?” I put the car in reverse and backed out. The bottom of my foot itched to floor it, but something told me I needed to bide my time, pick my opportunity carefully.
My passengers had the attitude of thugs who’d done this drill before. Something told me that there wouldn’t be any second chances. It was now or never.
Up ahead, I could see the ramp leading to the top of the parking garage. Patrons of the garage had to go up to the roof to start back down again. I eased the SUV into Drive.
“Take the back exit,” Mole Face ordered, resting the butt of the revolver on his right knee. He was feeling pretty confident, sure that I was frightened enough to do what he asked.
I shifted my left leg closer to the door and carefully slid my left hand off the wheel, resting it on my thigh. I nodded my head agreeably. “Whatever it is that you two want, I’ll give it to you as long as you don’t hurt me.” I put a little extra plaintive pleading into my voice, hoping they’d concentrate on that rather than the fact that my left hand was now resting on the door handle.
“Just shut up and drive,”