Live Ammo. Joanna Wayne
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heart slammed against her chest as he pushed his fetid, sweaty body against her. The man was taller than her and burly. And judging from his dilated pupils, he was also stoned.
She scanned the supermarket parking lot. The nearest people were a teenage worker herding a train of empty carts and a pregnant woman. Both were several yards away, walking in the opposite direction and oblivious to her situation.
The man closed his hand over hers. She fought back, kicking and clawing with her free hand as she yelled for help. His strength was overpowering and he easily wrenched the keys from her grasp.
He slapped her hard across the face and then silenced her with a meaty hand over her mouth.
Tommy began to wail from the backseat. She went for the man’s eyeballs, clawing like a mother tiger. Her fingers missed their mark but dug bloody trenches into his face.
His hand left her mouth. “Don’t make me use this, bitch. Get in the car.” His voice slurred, but his body had hardened to solid steel.
That’s when she saw the pistol clutched in his right hand—pointed at her son’s head.
Terror swept through her, and she struggled to breathe. “Take the car. Take my purse. Take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt my son.”
“Want out, Mommy. Want out.”
“Tell the brat to shut up.”
“He’s afraid. He’s only two.” Her voice quivered. “Let me get him out of his seat and we’ll just walk away. I won’t even call the cops.”
“Lying bitch. Get in the car now!”
She heard footsteps and a woman’s voice. Surely this monster would run away. Instead he punched her in the face and sent her staggering backward so hard she careened against the car parked next to hers. The back of her skull collided with the rearview mirror, waves of black scrambling her vision, and she slumped almost to the pavement before regaining her balance.
“Security! Security!” The woman’s calls for help were shrill and loud enough to be heard throughout the lot.
The man jumped into Alexis’s car and slammed the door behind him.
Reeling from the blow, Alexis lunged for the back door handle.
Too late. He’d locked the doors. She pounded her fists against the vehicle as the car pulled out.
The woman and a couple of young men came running over to help.
“Don’t let him get away,” Alexis shouted. “He has my son in that car.”
“I’m calling 911,” the woman said.
One of the men muttered curses. The other put a hand on Alexis’s shoulder. “The cops will catch him. They won’t let him get away with the kid.”
“He already did!”
Alexis pushed them out of the way and took off after the car. Her only chance was for someone to see her, hear her cries, and cut off the fleeing car. No one did.
Desperate, she cut through the maze of parked cars and raced toward the nearest lot exit. She made it just in time to see the car jump the curb and spin into the busy street.
An SUV swerved to avoid crashing into her stolen sedan. Neither driver slowed down. Bordering on hysteria, she dashed into the thick of the traffic.
Brakes squealed. Curses flew at her from passing cars. The driver of a black pickup truck that had just missed running over her skidded to a stop. He opened his door and started to get out.
Before he could, she rushed to his passenger side door, yanked it open and slid into the truck. She pointed dead ahead.
“Follow that car.”
Chapter Two
Tague Lambert stared at the shapely woman in the white shorts and cute little striped T-shirt who’d just jumped into his truck uninvited. Her right eye was swelling like biscuit dough in a hot oven and a nasty lump was forming on the back of her head.
He felt as if he’d just been dropped into a B movie and he was damn sure he hadn’t made a casting call.
“Step on it,” she ordered. “You’re letting him get away.”
Bossy, but frantic and obviously scared out of her wits. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. “Nice to meet you, too.” Tague yanked the car into gear and hit the accelerator. “Who am I following?”
“That gray Honda sedan that just blew through the yellow light at the next corner.”
Tague craned his neck to get a better view of the speeding car. “Who’s driving?”
“The crackhead who just jumped me and stole my car.”
So, she’d been carjacked. That explained a lot.
“Maybe you should go to a hospital. That Honda is not worth our getting killed.”
“It is to me. My son’s in that car.”
“Then buckle up.” Adrenaline pumping, Tague darted around a black Buick, but then lost sight of the gray sedan altogether when a panel truck changed into his lane and blocked his view. He swerved into the left lane.
A few seconds later, he caught a glimpse of the sedan a block and a half in front of them, taking the corner at breakneck speed. Another three minutes and the driver could access the interstate. Then he’d really have to stomp the pedal to the metal to keep up. It was too damn risky.
He lay on his horn and sped through a yellow light.
“Call 911,” Tague ordered. “Give them our location and explain the situation.”
“My phone’s in the car.”
“Use mine.” He yanked it from his pocket and tossed it to her.
He turned the corner to the earsplitting sound of a collision. He spotted the gray sedan as it veered into a wild spin, finally winding up against the front of a vacant one-story building. The red Jeep Wrangler that it had crashed into fared little better, but at least it was still in the street.
Traffic came to a screeching halt. Wary of what he might be rushing into, Tague grabbed his pistol from beneath his seat. He hit the ground running.
From a distance, he saw the carjacker climb from the wreckage and race away from the scene. A white handbag was clutched in his right hand, doubtlessly not his.
By the time Tague reached the scene, the thief had ducked into a nearby alley. Tague lingered long enough to see a tall guy in jeans and a blue sports shirt pull the kid from the backseat of the wrecked car.
The kid wailed for his mother; there was no sign of blood. Tague took off after the thief, pistol in hand, his senses keen to avoid being ambushed. He was used to shooting snakes in the grass, not chasing criminals.
The quick check of the alley was futile. The guy might have climbed through a broken window on one of the deserted warehouses or jumped the fence at the other end and escaped into the maze of side streets. Hunting him down was probably better left to the cops.
He returned to the scene of the accident and quickly spotted his sexy hitchhiker. She was standing in a crowd of bystanders, holding the kid in her arms.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said as Tague walked up and stopped at her elbow.
“Not sure what you’d thank me for.”
“Jumping into the fray.” She hugged her son tighter.
“Has anyone checked on the driver of the Jeep? Is he okay?”
“He seems to be,” a middle-aged brunette standing next to him chimed in. “But I called 911. I think some other people did, too. Ambulances and the police are on the way.”