Anger overcame her fear. Perhaps if she followed him, she could get his car tag or another clue for the police to find him and bring him in for questioning. Quickly, she raced to her car and started the engine. If she hurried, there was a chance she could make it around the block and onto the street running parallel before he got away. Beth accelerated from the curb, thankful that the streets were practically empty. At the stop sign twenty yards ahead, she barely slowed as she turned right and then took an immediate left.
Ahead, she spotted the Lambert family member hopping into a rusty pickup truck and speeding off as fast as the old engine allowed. Without stopping to examine the risk, Beth hit the accelerator on her sleek sports car. If it came to a speed race, she’d be the clear winner. If nothing else, she had the make and model of his vehicle now. But if she could draw a little closer, she’d get the real prize—a tag number.
Beth pulled up Sammy’s number on her Bluetooth dashboard and punched the button. It rang over and over. His deep, disembodied voice sounded. “Sorry, I’m unable to come to the phone right now. At the tone, please leave a message, or if this is an emergency, please call 911.”
She smashed a palm on the dashboard. Where the hell was he? She didn’t let up on the gas as the truck she followed left town and turned onto a county road, its wheels screeching in the haste to put distance between them. They both began their ascent up Lavender Mountain. The road narrowed and twisted up the steep incline.
Finally, finally the voice recording ended with a loud, drawn-out beep.
“Sammy? It’s me. Beth. I was harassed in town today by someone sent by Dorsey. I’m following his truck now. It’s a rusted-out blue Ford. And the tag number is...” She squinted her eyes. The sun reflecting off the white snow was almost blinding. “It’s GA 9—”
A cannonade sound erupted, followed by a steep drop on the right side of her car. Her vehicle swerved, and she gripped the steering wheel, praying she didn’t spin out of control down the side of the mountain. The entire right side of her car swiped the flimsy guardrail, the metal screech ringing in her ears. At the last possible second, Beth righted the vehicle’s course. A sharp pain bulldozed down her back at the whiplash movement. What had she run over that had flattened her tire and caused so much damage? The truck driver leaned out of the open window on the driver’s side and leveled a shotgun.
Oh, hell. That explained everything. The first shot had blown out a tire. Was she the next target?
Beth slumped beneath the dashboard and hit the brakes. Her car skidded on the icy road.
Boom.
The BMW dropped a foot on the left side. The man had shot out her other front tire. She couldn’t stay behind the dashboard any longer with her car spinning out of control. Death could as easily come from a crash off the mountain as a bullet. Beth rose up and managed to bring her car to a complete stop. The muscle pull in her back spasmed, and she caught her breath, forcing her lungs to take in oxygen more slowly and shallowly.
The blue truck rounded a bend in the road and passed out of sight. She supposed she should be thankful he didn’t hop out of the truck with his shotgun and approach. But he wasn’t trying to kill her. Not yet, anyway. He—they—wanted her money, and that meant keeping her alive.
But what if he came back anyway? This could be a chance to kidnap her and force her to withdraw money from an ATM or write a check. She needed the cops. Beth inserted the car key into the lock, but it wouldn’t turn. Something had jammed the ignition. Okay, then. Her car was dead, but she still had her cell phone to call for help.
Only...where had it gone? Frantically, her gaze roamed the floorboards, but it wasn’t there. She reached behind her to pat her seat, but the movement shot another burst of pain through her spine. She groaned, more in frustration than from the hurt. The phone had to be there somewhere. Steeling herself, she gingerly scooted forward, then extended her arm backward, but her hand only brushed against the smooth leather seats. She really didn’t want to do this, but the alternative was to remain where she was—a sitting duck if the man returned. For all she knew, he might have collected one or two more of his family to come kidnap her and do Lord knows what.
Cautiously she reached a hand under the driver’s seat. She gasped; a sharp knife of pain shot through her as her back protested the movement. Her vision went dark, and she collapsed forward. Deep, deep breaths. Her sight might have forsaken her, but she could hear the wind in the trees, the far-off sound of cars in town. She’d read once that your hearing was the last thing to go before unconsciousness. Unfortunately, she now knew it to be true.
Everything’s going to be all right, she repeated to herself like a mantra. Someone was bound to be along this road shortly. They’d call the police. Sammy would find her. And probably be furious that she’d been so foolish as to chase after a man who’d threatened her. She deserved a scolding, too, not that she’d admit such a thing.
And then she heard it. The roar of a vehicle approaching. The direction the noise came from was in front of her, which meant the person was descending the mountain. It wasn’t someone from town climbing back up. The abrupt squeal of brakes rang out, and then a door opened and slammed shut.
Blood pounded in her ears, and she hardly dared try to lift her head and open her eyes. Good chance that whoever approached might be her tormentor and not her savior. Heavy footsteps crunched through snow and came to an abrupt halt by her car. She feared that if she opened her eyes, she’d find an enemy within a couple of feet of where she slumped, easy prey for the taking.
Chapter Six
From the corner of his eyes, Sammy caught Charlotte waving at him. He pushed away from his desk and crossed the aisle where she sat, phone glued to an ear. Lambert, she mouthed.
He plopped into the metal chair beside his partner, eavesdropping. He’d tried several times that morning to make contact with the forwarding phone number on file for Dorsey Lambert. No one had answered his call, and despite his repeated message that it was urgent they speak, they hadn’t bothered to call back, either.
“Yes, Mrs. Lambert. Good to hear your son’s found a job and is staying out of trouble,” Charlotte said in her most soothing tone. She flashed him a wink. “There’s no problem that a simple conversation with Dorsey wouldn’t clear up. When do you expect him home this evening?”
A long pause.
“I promise we’re not out to fling him back in jail if he’s staying clean. We’ve got a little matter in Elmore County that we believe he can help us with, that’s all.”
Charlotte held up crossed fingers at him, and he returned the gesture. With any luck, they’d get answers from the ex-convict tonight.
“Seven o’clock tonight is perfect. Yes, ma’am. And thank you.”
She hung up the phone and gave a satisfied smirk. “Mama Lambert is convinced her son is a new man. Prison reformed his sorry ass.”
Sadly, he shared her cynical outlook. He’d seen the recidivism rates on felons, and recent circumstances had done nothing to make him believe Dorsey Lambert was going to prove an exception to those abysmal statistics.
Charlotte’s two-way radio emitted a loud crackle, and she unclipped it from her belt. Sammy glanced down at the desk blotter and read the scribbled address for Rayna Clementine Lambert. Ellijay would be a short trip. He’d contact Sheriff Roby in Gilmer County beforehand as a professional courtesy.
“Ten-ten at the Flight Club,” Charlotte announced abruptly, standing and then quickly heading to the station exit.
“This early in the day?” He shook his head as he leaped to his feet and followed on her heels. “Where’s Graham and Markwell? They can take this call.”
He didn’t say what he was really thinking. If he did, Charlotte would give him a good blistering for trying to protect her. Despite starting maternity leave in a couple of weeks, she refused to ask for special accommodations and insisted on carrying out business
as usual. Her husband, James, had given up trying to convince her to take the temporary desk job Sammy had offered.
Despite her stubbornness, Sammy had to admit she was the best partner he’d ever had. He worried she wouldn’t want to return to the job after her maternity leave was over, but she’d assured him otherwise.
With an efficiency born of a long working relationship, Charlotte proceeded to the driver’s side of the cruiser—it was her turn to drive—while he slipped into the passenger seat. She flicked on the blue lights, and they pulled out of the station.
“Who you reckon it’s going to be this time?” he asked. “The Halbert brothers?”
“My money’s on Ike Johnson starting up trouble again.”
“Usual bet?” he asked.
“You’re on.”
She sped through the main street intersection and onto the county road heading south. The Flight Club was less than two miles down the road, an ugly concrete square of a building with a dirt parking lot always filled with worse-for-the-wear vehicles, no matter the time of day or night.
A roll of unease rumbled through his gut as they pulled up to the building, the way it always did whenever he caught sight of the run-down bar. As a teenager, he’d spent way too many evenings here coaxing his inebriated father to get in his car so he could drive him home.
Before they exited the cruiser, two men tumbled out the front door, each grabbing a shirtful of the other as they dragged their fight outside. Bert Fierra, the club’s owner and bartender, stood in the doorway, scowling at the men.
“The Halbert brothers,” Sammy said to Charlotte as they approached the fighters. “You owe me. I’ll take Hank while you take Charlie.”
She shot him a suspicious look. Charlie was the smaller of the two brothers. Lucky for him, there was no time for her to argue that she was capable of taking on the bigger guy.
Within minutes, they had the two separated, hands cuffed behind their backs and inside the cruiser. Both were too drunk to offer much resistance. As was their habit, the two brothers quickly made up and were contrite by the time they’d reached the station and been placed in lockup.
“Not only do you owe me a six-pack of soda, you get to handle the paperwork,” he told Charlotte smugly once they returned to their desks.
“I can finish it in half the time it takes you,” she bragged.
“Then you should file the incident reports every time.”
“You wish.”
“A guy can try.” Sammy chuckled as he slid into his seat. “We make a good team.”
She slid him a sly glance. “Too bad Beth Wynngate doesn’t appreciate our awesomeness.”
His amusement melted. “What do you mean?”
“Overheard her talking to Lilah this morning at the doughnut shop. Seems she wants to pull the friendship card and get Harlan to take over the case.”
Surprise, then resentment, flushed over him. “Did she say why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? She must hold our investigative skills in low regard.”
Either that, or Beth was still put out that he’d questioned the judge’s possible involvement in something unethical or illegal. “What did Lilah say?”
“Basically, that Harlan was too busy at the moment and that she should trust us.”
“Bet that thrilled her.” If Beth was anything like Cynthia, she’d keep demanding until she had her way. Sammy tried to let the insult roll off his shoulders, but found it surprisingly difficult.
He dug his cell phone from his jacket pocket and laid it on the desk. Missed call. Voice mail message lit up the screen. In the bustle of taking in the Halberts, he hadn’t noticed the phone ringing. He tapped Play on the voice mail app, and Beth’s voice, tinny with excitement and fear, spilled into his ears. His chest tightened as he listened and then nearly burst at the unmistakable crack of a bullet erupting. Had Lambert found her? Or had he sent a hit man? Tires squealed on the road. The message played on in eerie silence for thirty seconds before the recording ended.
“Damn it!” He slammed his hand on the desk. What had happened? Where was she now? He checked the time of the recording: 10:18 a.m., almost ten minutes since she’d dialed.
Charlotte quirked a brow. “What’s up?”
“Check with the dispatcher. See what calls have come through in the last fifteen minutes.”
Charlotte grabbed her phone while he dialed her number. Beth’s cell phone rang three times before switching to voice mail. He dialed again. And again. He dug the cruiser keys from his pocket. If nothing else, he’d drive out toward Falling Rock to see if there’d been any accidents. If she were alone and injured, or in grave peril, he had to find her. At once.
“A ten-fifty-two call came in less than a minute ago,” Charlotte announced. “Fuller’s en route.”
An ambulance request? Sammy raced to the front door as Charlotte followed at his heels, passing along more information.
“Address given was County Road 190, about a third the way up Lavender Mountain. A citizen reported a green BMW Z3 blocking the road. A woman was slumped over the dashboard and unresponsive.”
Beth’s car. The tightness in his chest twisted deeper, squeezing his lungs. Had she been shot? Sammy’s mind whirled as he got in their cruiser, Charlotte beside him, and peeled out of the station and toward the accident scene.
“What’s going on?” Charlotte asked.
He nodded at his cell phone on the console. “Play the last voice mail.”
Charlotte did. Again the crack of a bullet and squealing tires ripped into him, doubling his tension.
At last they turned onto the county road. A police sedan was ahead of them, lights flashing and siren blaring. Sammy hit the gas until he nearly overtook Officer Fuller responding to the call. From behind, the wail of an ambulance sounded.
“Don’t get us wrecked trying to assist Fuller,” Charlotte warned. “You’re no good to Beth hurt.”
But he could think of nothing except Beth needing him at once. If Lambert had managed to get to her, this was his fault. He should have protected her. Insisted that she get away from the area and go into hiding.
Fuller came to an abrupt stop, and Sammy slammed on his brakes, jumping out of the vehicle the moment he slipped the gear into Park. He ran past Officer Fuller, nearly falling on the slick, snowy road in his haste. The nose of Beth’s BMW sloped downward, the front two tires completely depleted of air.
Her head and shoulders were slumped over the steering wheel, and her long brown hair hung down, veiling her face. In spite of all the chaotic sirens and lights, Beth wasn’t moving. Sammy rapped his knuckles at the driver’s-side windows before flinging open the door.
“Beth! What happened?”
No blood was visible on her body or in the car’s interior, from where he stood. No apparent bullet wound. This was a good sign. His chest and lungs loosened a notch. Careful not to move her body in case of a neck or back injury, Sammy smoothed back her hair. Beth groaned and leaned back into the seat. Blood poured from a gash on her forehead. Her eyes flickered open, confusion clouding the gray irises. “Sammy?” she whispered, so softly he barely heard her.
“An ambulance is on the way. How badly are you hurt?”
She lifted an unsteady hand to her injured temple and frowned. “I... I’m not sure. Not too bad?”
The EMTs would be there in a moment. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“He shot at me.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know his name.” She straightened and licked her lips. Color returned to her face as she apparently rose from the fog of unconsciousness. “I tried to call you.”
“Right. I got your voice mail. Describe the man who harassed you. What exactly did he say?”
“Big giant of a guy with red hair who demanded I pay him fifty grand. He gave me a piece of paper with a phon
e number to call when I got the money together. When he left, I tried to follow him—”
“Damn it, Beth,” he muttered.
“Coming through!” an EMT shouted by his elbow.
Their time was up. “Anything else you remember about the guy or the truck he drove?” he asked quickly.
“No.”
Sammy nodded. “We’re on it. If you think of something later, call me.” He started to turn away, but Beth caught his arm. “Did you remember something?”
“I just wanted to say...” She offered a wan smile. “We should stop meeting like this.”
Sammy stared at her dumbly before he realized Beth was making a joke.
Brad Pelling, an EMT he’d met many times, squeezed between him and Beth. “Got to do our job,” he explained apologetically, feeling the pulse at Beth’s neck.
“Of course.” Sammy watched as Brad questioned Beth and continued taking her vital signs.
“She’s fine.” Charlotte moved to his side and searched his face, her eyes much too sharp and knowing. “Seems you are unusually focused on this particular victim.”
“We’ve known each other for years. Her brother used to be a good friend.” He gave a casual shrug but knew his partner wasn’t fooled. What was his deal when it came to Beth Wynngate? As he’d explained to Charlotte, she was merely an old friend’s little sister. Nothing more or less.
But as Brad and another EMT pulled out a stretcher and laid Beth on it, he swallowed hard past a thick lump in his throat.
“Go with them and stay with Beth,” Charlotte quietly urged. “I’ll run what I can on the information she provided and ask around to see if there were any witnesses. If I come up with anything, I’ll ring you.”
He was torn between wanting to leap into the case and find who’d hurt Beth, and a desire to stay with her until she was released from the hospital.
“You know the hospital is unlikely to keep her overnight, even for a concussion,” Charlotte said. “We need to consider how to protect her from another attack when they let her go.”
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