Spy in the Saddle. Dana Marton
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yielding to oncoming traffic.
“How do you know they went this way?” she asked over the blaring horns and squealing tires, her right hand braced on the dashboard, her blood pressure inching up.
“Burned rubber on the road. Wasn’t there when we came. They didn’t slow to take the turn.”
She glanced back but, of course, they’d long passed the spot. Burned rubber... She should have picked up on that. Would have, normally. She needed to snap to instead of allowing him to distract her.
He overtook a large semitrailer and nearly ran a car off the road in the process.
She had to brace herself again. “You can kill someone like this.” She might have raised her voice a little. “What happened to waiting for backup? Also known as standard procedure.”
Back in the day, he’d been a lot more balanced—the sane voice of authority and all that. Rules used to mean a lot to him. He’d had a ton of them. But not anymore, it seemed.
Which he further proved by saying, “We don’t run things by the company manual here.”
“No kidding.”
God help her if the other five were like him. She pushed that depressing possibility aside and put on her business face. The bureau had sent her here to keep this wild-card team in line, and she was the woman to do it.
Shep might have been her parole officer at one point. She might have had a crush on him so bad she hadn’t been able to see straight, but a lot of things had changed since then. She was here to do a job.
She opened her mouth to tell him that, but he pointed straight ahead, cutting her off. “There.”
The red Mustang was a speck in the distance ahead of them.
He floored the gas and did his best to catch up, scaring innocent motorists half to death in the process as he whipped around them like a race-car driver.
But when he finally reached the red Mustang, it picked up speed. So did he. Was he insane? Nobody could fully control a car at speeds like this.
She meant to read him the riot act, but he cut her off, once again, before she could have gotten the first word out.
“Take over the wheel.”
“What? No—” But she had to grab the damn thing when he let go without even looking at her.
Then he took the safety off his gun, rolled down his window, pulled the upper half of his body outside and started shooting at the men in the car in front of them.
Of course, they shot back.
* * *
SHEP TRIED TO HIT the back tire, but the Mustang sat low to the ground and he was high up in the SUV, nearly sitting in the window, so the angle wasn’t much to work with. He couldn’t shoot at the two idiots inside the car, which would have been easier. They needed them alive for interrogation.
“Coming in.” He popped back onto his seat and grabbed the wheel from Lilly, who slid back into her own seat to make room for him, shooting him a murderous look, her full lips pressed into a severe line.
He floored the gas and rammed the car in front of them.
The Mustang nearly swerved into oncoming traffic.
Lilly braced herself on the dashboard. “Slow down! You’re endangering civilians on the road. Shep!”
“Take over the shooting. It’s easier for you to use your right hand.” He needed both hands for the ramming.
“This isn’t how it’s done. Public safety always comes first.”
When the hell did she turn all prim and proper? “The public is safe. Unless you’re a bad shot.”
She said something under her breath he didn’t catch.
“Listen—” He rammed the Mustang again. “I don’t know how you do things at the FBI, but this is not white-glove law enforcement. You’re in the combat-boot section now. If you want to stay here, you’re going to have to step up to the plate.”
She unsnapped her seat belt, muttering something under her breath, then rolled her window down and leaned out.
He did his best to keep the car steady for her.
She shot at the tire, didn’t have any more luck than he’d had, with the Mustang swerving. She leaned out a little farther.
The man in the passenger seat shot back at her.
She didn’t even flinch.
Shep could see from the corner of his eye as she lifted her aim. And shot the bastard straight through the wrist.
“Good shot.” He flashed her a grin as she pulled back into the cab. But then the smile froze on his face.
Crimson covered her ripped suit sleeve.
His blood ran cold as he watched hers drip. “You’re hit.”
He slammed on the breaks and did a U-turn, tires squealing, horns beeping around them as he plowed into the opposite lane, back the way they’d come. Oh, hell.
She was shooting him the megadeath glare. “What are you doing? Are you insane?”
If he was, he was entitled to it with her showing up in his life after all these years without warning. He straightened the car on the road. “Taking you to the hospital.”
“The bullet didn’t hit bone. It’s not that serious.” She held the bloody arm up, bent at the elbow, and looked under her sleeve for a few seconds before she flexed her elbow. She winced and tried her best to hide it, turning her head.
He stepped harder on the gas. Oh, man. He’d had her for only an hour and he’d broken her already.
Jamie was going to kill him. Mitch Mendoza, too. Mitch was probably going to torture him first. “Push your seat back. Head down, arm up. I’m going to get you help.”
“I’m not bleeding out. Take it easy.”
He couldn’t. He’d been responsible for her in the past and that somehow stayed with him. Plus she was Mitch’s baby sister now.
Dammit, he should have never let her come with him to Jimmy’s place.
He glanced into his rearview mirror, but the Mustang had already disappeared. “From now on, you work out of the office.”
“I don’t think so.”
Anger rolled over him. “If you didn’t get shot, I would have those idiots by now.” She had no idea how distracting she was.
“You could have killed us with your driving,” she snapped back. “You could have killed innocent civilians.”
He swallowed a growl, hoping to God they would sedate her at the hospital. He wondered who he’d have to talk to to get her knocked out for a week.
He drew a steadying breath and focused. “When we get to the E.R., you need to keep in mind that my team is doing undercover work here. We’re consulting for CBP as far as everyone else is concerned.”
“I’m not going to the E.R. Seriously.” She paused for a moment before she continued, “If you want to, you can take me back to my hotel. I wouldn’t mind changing clothes.”
“You need a doctor.”
“I have a first-aid kit in my room. It’ll be faster. I go to the E.R. with a non-life-threatening injury, and we’ll be there for the rest of the day.”
He chewed that over. She was right. Not that he had to like it.
“Fine. I’ll take you back to your hotel. But I’m looking at your arm. Then I’ll decide if you have to go to the E.R.”
She scowled and, even scowling, managed to look beautiful. “You were