Hard Evidence. Susan Peterson
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the frame of the car as I stamped my right foot down on the accelerator. The car engine roared, and the vehicle jumped as if goosed.
Both men fell back against the seats, and the gun flew out of Mole Face’s hand, hitting the dashboard. With a grunt, he scrambled to reach it. But the revolver slid to the floor, skittering across the floor and settling beneath my feet.
“Slow down!” Mole Face shouted.
“It’s stuck,” I said, pretending to pry at the bottom of the gas pedal with my foot but instead stomping on it harder.
Mole Face bumped up against me as he blindly groped along the floorboards for his gun. I ignored him and jammed the accelerator flat to the floor. The engine screamed and we hit the top of the ramp going sixty-five.
Come on! Come on! I chanted inwardly, my fingers gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grasp. I willed the car to go faster.
The engine roared, building up more speed. Seventy. Eighty.
We raced across the top level of the parking garage, directly toward the opposite end and a line of cars.
I aimed for the tiny red sports car and when the SUV hit the back end, it reared up and over the little car’s trunk. In seconds, we were airborne.
I yanked open the driver’s side door, tucked my chin and threw myself out sideways. Blackness closed in around me as I twirled and spun in midair.
There was a whirlwind of flashing lights and then pain as I struck the pavement with my left shoulder. Lucky for me, my oversize down jacket provided me with some extra protection.
I rolled and then hit something hard but with a little give to it. Pain shot through my entire body and then darkness settled over me.
GROGGY, I blinked and opened my eyes. I was laying up against the rim of a tire. It had broken my fall, probably keeping me from getting seriously hurt.
Cautiously I sat up and looked around. The Escalade had gone over the side. There was nothing left except the smashed sports car with the M.D. plates. Some doc was going to be royally ticked when he came out after a hard night’s work to find his little plaything a total wreck. Guess more than just his malpractice insurance would go up this year.
I pulled myself to my feet, grimacing a bit when I moved my left shoulder. I’d taken my full weight on it when I fell. It was going to be more than a little sore.
Limping slightly, I walked over to the low wall at the end of the garage and looked over. The Cadillac lay on its side, steam rising up from the engine. After experiencing the speed that monster vehicle had mustered in such a short time, I figured I needed to consider buying one when I won the lottery someday. Nice wheels.
No one moved inside the SUV. If Mole Face and Biceps were still alive, they didn’t appear to be in any condition to climb out. Unfortunate for them, but lucky for me. Charlie would be proud. I had managed not to get myself moved to a new location.
A motorcycle’s engine echoed inside the parking garage, tearing upwards toward the top floor. I glanced around, suddenly desperate to disappear. I didn’t want to have to answer any questions, and I didn’t have any doubts as to who was riding the bike.
Sure enough, a few seconds later, Jack skidded to a stop. He yanked off his helmet, jumped off the bike and headed toward me, throwing the helmet over his shoulder. It hit the side of his bike and rolled a few feet away.
He ignored it, his face angry. “What the hell is going on?”
I shrugged. “Someone must have jumped the wall in a misguided attempt to avoid paying their parking fee.” I nodded toward the end wall. “He sailed right off the side.”
Jack walked over to view the mess below. He shot a suspicious glance in my direction. “Something tells me you’re involved. Wanna come clean?”
“The two gentlemen in the car thought they had my permission to take me for a ride. I disagreed.” I shrugged. “So, we parted company on unfriendly terms.”
“What did they want?”
“I’m not really sure. But they were under the impression that I had something they wanted. A key and a package of some sort.”
A few minutes later, the sound of a siren told us the police had arrived. They were crawling all over the SUV below in a matter of minutes.
“You’re going to have to make a statement.”
I shrugged again, ignoring the nagging pain in my shoulder. “Not my fault they took the short ride off the side of the parking garage. They shouldn’t have told me to drive while holding a gun on me.”
Jack shook his head. He wasn’t convinced I’d told him everything, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue about it right at the moment. “You’ll make your statement and then you’ll come with me. No way are you staying alone at Charlie’s.”
I bristled at his commanding, no-nonsense tone. Who the hell was he kidding? His place was not the safest place for me. Not when my traitorous body hummed like a well-oiled machine with every glance from those dark blue eyes of his. Nope, more like his apartment was the most dangerous place on the planet for me.
Before I could open my mouth to argue, he grabbed the extra helmet off the back of his bike and jammed it none too gently on my head. “Don’t be stubborn. Those men weren’t playing around. You need a safe place to stay. I’ll take you over to Pop’s place, we’ll pick up Sweetie Pie and then you can sleep at my place tonight. Tomorrow you can make whatever other arrangements you want.”
His fingers, warm and infinitely more sexy than my own, worked the straps of the helmet, brushing the soft skin at the underside of my chin.
I clenched my back teeth, my toes curling in the bottom of my boots. God, give me strength to ignore the tingle shooting up the center of my spine.
As hard as it was to admit it, I knew was right. I was tired. We could call a truce for tonight. We were both adults. No reason we couldn’t both handle staying in the same apartment for one night. We were strong. Responsible.
Ha! Who was I kidding. It wasn’t Jack I was worried about. I was the one who’d been living in Upstate New York, where every man seemed to live for his rifle, his snowmobile and Genesee Beer. A good woman was usually the last item on his list of life necessities. Right now, even O’Brien was looking too good to pass up, and that thought scared the hell out of me.
A SHORT TIME LATER, my statement having been given to the police, Jack and I were headed down Pine Street on the west side. Overflowing garbage cans lined the streets. One could only hope that the city sanitation department was headed in this direction tomorrow morning, or else the entire west side looked as though it might get buried under a mountain of Glad trash bags and empty pizza boxes.
Charlie’s apartment was in one of the old row houses that lined State Street, one of many elegant old homes that had slowly deteriorated into dilapidated ruins, propped up with plywood and cheap siding.
As financial times had gotten leaner, a lot of the original owners had divided their houses up into multiple dwellings, cramming as many people in as was humanly possible.
Charlie occupied a small one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of one such house. The owners were two elderly Polish ladies, sisters who had probably lived in the neighborhood since its creation. From the age of them, I figured they had both been born in the house.
Jack parked his bike at the curb, turned the front tire in and took off his helmet. He rested the helmet in front of him, balancing himself on two legs, his expression a bit horrified as he surveyed the garbage littered front yard.
I figured from his expression that this was his first visit to Pop’s new residence. A touch of resentment rumbled in the pit of my stomach, and that little voice in my head reminded me bitterly that it was all his fault Pop lived in such a dump.
I shut the voice off. He and I weren’t going to make it through the night if I had him