I felt around for my gun and almost cried with joy when I felt it sticking into my back, safe and sound. Zeb hadn’t found it when he dragged my body into the trunk of his car, assuming that’s where I was. Any criminal with a half a brain cell would have checked my body for a hidden weapon. He obviously hadn’t done that. Perhaps he had underestimated me.
I knew I had roughly three or four bullets. I’d have to use them wisely.
It was pitch black inside my tomb, but I used my hands to feel around inside. Modern cars have a safety release trunk latch, but Zeb’s car was old. There was no safety release. I kicked at one of the headlights, and with mounting dread, realized it would not be so easy to bust them out. In the movies, they make it look so easy. I could shoot at one, but that would be too risky. I didn’t want to accidentally shoot some poor sap driving behind us on the road. Plus, Zeb would know I had a gun and the element of surprise would be gone.
By the feel of it, I surmised we were on a highway, going at least sixty miles an hour. Even if I could bust out of the trunk, I couldn’t jump from the vehicle at that speed without causing serious damage. My only logical option was to wait.
Wait for what?
It seemed obvious to me that Zeb had panicked and decided to take me hostage. My only consolation at this point was that Carter would be on top of it. An APB on Zeb’s vehicle was surely in the works.
I had to remind myself I was still alive, and since I had no intention of letting that status change, it was in my best interest to stay calm.
The car took a sharp turn to the right and slowed down. Within a few minutes, we came to a stop. I braced myself as I waited for the trunk to open, gun secure in my grasp, ready to fire if necessary.
I could hear the car door open and close. Open and close, again. Zeb was talking to someone but I couldn’t hear anyone else’s voice. He must be on the phone. I listened intently, trying to make out his words. The only words I caught did not give me hope, specifically: just let me shoot her in the head and be done with it.
Not the words I wanted to hear.
It was stifling in the trunk. Thank God it was dark out. When he opened the trunk, my eyes would already be acclimated, unless, of course, he had a flashlight shining directly into my eyes.
My heartbeat reverberated through my head as I waited and listened. I expected the trunk to open at any second. Knowing that Zeb had a gun and that he intended to use it, gave me more resolve to shoot the bastard without remorse, and ask questions later.
Where the heck were we? Somewhere right off the highway, I presumed. Who was Zeb planning to meet here? Mr. Kinlaw? Or someone else who is helping Zeb leave the country?
Then the sound of an engine, loud and ominous, like that of an aircraft. Then it occurred to me; we must be at an airstrip. Mr. Kinlaw probably had his own private jet, and that’s how he planned to get Zeb out of the country.
The engine noise drowned out any conversation that might be going on between Zeb and the pilot. Were they discussing how best to kill me and dispose of my body?
I could understand why Mr. Kinlaw wanted Julian Pike dead, but I didn’t peg him as a sociopathic killer. Which is why I couldn’t imagine he’d be okay with this scenario. Then again, desperate people will take desperate measures. I couldn’t count on his higher conscience to get me out of this jam.
My neck and back were beginning to cramp up, and my head felt like it was about to split open. My hands were sweating, and if I wasn’t careful, the gun could slip out of my hands. If ever there was a time to practice meditative breathing, this was it. I had to keep my cool and think rationally.
Finally, I heard a click, and the trunk popped open. I waited for Zeb’s face to appear, but all I could see was an unobstructed view of the dark sky and a crescent moon shrouded in clouds.
“You can get out if you want to.”
Zeb’s voice sounded like it came from the behind me. I didn’t dare sit up. He was playing it safe, staying out of my view, but why? Did he think I planned to defend myself? If he thought I was capable of defending myself, he would have hog tied me before throwing me in his trunk. I decided to play the victim and beg for my life like a pitiful wimpy woman. Maybe then, he’d let his guard down.
“What are you planning to do with me?” I moaned. “Please don’t kill me. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not gonna hurt you.” His voice could barely be heard over the rumbling of the engine noise.
Of course, I didn’t believe him, but I wanted him to think that I was gullible and trusting. “Okay. Then what do you want me to do?”
“Get out of the trunk. Keep your hands on your head.”
“I can’t move,” I lied, keeping the gun hidden under my shirt. “I think my leg might be broken.”
Two seconds later, Zeb’s face appeared in my vision. He looked even more like a vampire with the silver moon reflecting off his pale face as he reached out to grab me, and that’s when I sprung to life, whacking him upside the head with the poised gun in my hand. He stumbled back but didn’t fall down. I had just enough time to eject myself from the trunk, thankfully both legs in working order.
When Zeb saw the gun in my hands, his expression was one of bewilderment.
“On your knees,” I said to him, in complete control of my emotions. “And hands on your head.”
He just stood there with a smirk forming on his face. “You’re not gonna shoot me.”
“Don’t test me,” I said. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
Then, he actually had the audacity to laugh. “Seriously, that gun isn’t loaded. It’s probably not even a real gun. Maybe you should give that to me before you break off one of your nails with it.”
Something inside of me snapped. I wanted nothing more than to teach this weasel a lesson. He had no idea who he was messing with. Maybe three years ago, I would have been that pathetic, whimpering victim but not anymore. I slowly lowered the gun, letting him think that his words had gotten to me, but instead of dropping the weapon, I aimed at his foot and pulled the trigger.
Wish I could have taken a snapshot of his face as the bullet tore into his sneaker. I think it took a second for the pain to register in his brain. He mouthed a bunch of profanity, but no sounds came out of his mouth as he crouched down to assess the damage to his foot.
There was something peculiar about the way he groped at his pant leg, and I realized he wasn’t as concerned about his foot as he was with the gun holster attached to his ankle.
In the next two seconds, time slowed down just like in the movies. My reaction to this new development was met with calm clarity, like I had done this a million times. I raised my pistol with both hands, aimed it directly at Zeb’s chest, and pulled the trigger.
But not before he got off a shot of his own.
Hyped on adrenaline, I didn’t feel a thing. The only reason I knew I’d been shot was the blood dripping onto the ground at my left foot. Checking myself, I noticed the growing blossom of red at my left shoulder region. The pain finally came a few seconds later.
Then, in my peripheral vision, I could see the plane inching away as the engine noise grew louder. The pilot must have witnessed the shootout and wanted no part of it. Before I knew it, the plane was skipping down the runway and in the air in less than a minute.
Zeb was laying on the ground, motionless, but I didn’t trust that he was dead. I approached him cautiously, gun in my right hand. I kicked at his foot to see if he’d flinch. Nothing. Judging by the pool of blood surrounding him, he was a goner.
“Why are you so stupid?” I yelled to the corpse. “Why couldn’t you just turn yourself in?”
Of course, no reply came.
I felt numb inside, but the pain in my left shoulder jolted me to the fact that I was losing a lot of blood myself. I needed to find Zeb’s cell phone, quick. I leaned over his body and searched his pockets.
I was barely able to stand up by the time I found the phone, so I
just plopped down on the ground, a few feet from Zeb’s body, and dialed 911.
The GPS on Zeb’s cell phone saved my life. Otherwise, I would not have been able to tell the dispatcher my exact location, which turned out to be a small town twenty minutes outside of Bridgeport.
My next call was Carter.
“Sarah? Jesus, I’ve been worried sick. Whose phone is this?”
I could hear the tension and worry in his voice so I decided to downplay my predicament. “Zeb came back to the apartment and cornered me in the alley. He zapped me with a Taser gun, threw me in the trunk, and now I’m standing in the middle of an abandoned airfield in Raymond, New Hampshire.”
“Where is Zeb now?”
“He’s dead.”
“What?”
“Look, I can’t talk. I need to rest and let my heart calm down. The ambulance should be here any minute.”
“Wait. Are you injured?”
I’ve never heard Carter so frantic. It wasn’t his style. There was no point in giving him the gory details when there was nothing he could do. “I’ll be fine, but I need to rest.”
“I’m heading out the door now. On my way to you. Stay on the line with me ‘till the ambulance gets there.”
I struggled to keep my eyes open. I just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. The puddle around me was getting bigger. I was losing blood and soon I’d pass out. I could feel it all slipping away. My shoulder didn’t even hurt anymore; not a good sign.
The sound of sirens in the distance gave me a jolt of hope and Carter’s voice in my ear a reminder that I must hang on another minute.
I was barely conscience as the paramedics lifted me up onto the gurney. Two cop cars showed up simultaneously, and one of the officers rode in the ambulance with me on the way to the hospital.
Chapter 20
The next time I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital room with tubes connected to my arm. My brain felt all fuzzy. Turning my head to my right, Carter was slumped in a chair sleeping, just a few feet from my bed.
Didn’t take more than a few seconds to realize where I was.
For the next few hours I drifted in and out of sleep until the sun shone through the window. Carter wasn’t in the room, and I began to wonder if I’d dreamed he was there before.
The pain meds coursing through my veins were doing their job, but my body felt achy all over, my head still foggy. I tried to sit up, using my good arm. Finally, a nurse strode into the room and helped me. “Are you thirsty, dear? Need to use the bathroom?”
Yes and yes. I was able to accomplish both with her help, and I felt better after my bladder was empty. “Which hospital is this, by the way?”
“Bridgeport. You were transferred here right before they took you into surgery.”
“Was there a man here, earlier? He has gray hair and wears a leather jacket.”
“Yes. Your husband just went down to get some coffee. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He hasn’t left your side since you got out of surgery last night.”
I wondered if she just assumed he was my husband, or if he that’s what he’d told her.
“Did they get the slug out of my shoulder?”
She gave me a funny look. “Well, I should probably let the doctor explain how the surgery went.”
I didn’t like the evasiveness of her tone. “But my shoulder is going to be fine, right?”
She patted my leg and smiled, but she didn’t look me in the eye. “Are you hungry? We have some chicken broth.”
A knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Jeesh, how bad could it be? “I’m not hungry, but thanks anyway.”
She nodded and patted my leg again. “Kay, then. The doctor should be here soon. Just take it easy, dear.”
If I took it any easier, I’d be in a coma. “Sure, thanks.”
When Carter returned, he stopped in the doorway, as if shocked to see me sitting up in bed. He quickly set down his coffee cup and was at my side in an instant. Perched on the edge of the bed, he hugged me for a long time, saying nothing.
“Why is everyone acting as if my arm’s been amputated?” I finally asked.
Carter released me and looked into my eyes. “Not going to lie to you. The surgery didn’t go as well as they’d expected.”
“What does that mean?”
“The bullet really messed things up in there. Shattered the bone. They got the slug out, but not without causing some long term damage. Physical therapy will help.”
I swallowed hard and wondered if Carter was being optimistic. “Okay. But I’ll be able to use my arm, eventually, right?”
“We’ll get the best physical therapists if we need to. I don’t want you to worry about it right now. Main thing is, you’re safe.”
I didn’t know how to react to all this. Carter was right. I should feel lucky to be alive. But all I felt was confusion. “Tell me, did Kinlaw order Zeb to kill me? Did he?”
He seemed hesitant. “You really want to discuss this right now?”
“Of course I do. I almost lost my life to that bastard. Please tell me he’s in custody.”
Carter took my hand. “James traced the last call Zeb made from his cell phone last night. They were able to recover the whole conversation. Mr. Kinlaw was trying to talk Zeb out of harming you. Zeb was the one who insisted that you had to die. He was paranoid and desperate and pissed that you knew he was going to Africa. Mr. Kinlaw begged him to let you go. He turned himself in as soon as he realized that Zeb went off the reservation. He’s been cooperating with the police ever since. Gave a full confession last night. As a matter of fact, Kinlaw has offered to pay for all your medical expenses and pay for lost work wages.”
“So he admits that he hired Zeb to kill Julian?”
“Yes. He’s taking responsibility for that. At this point, I’m not sure what he’s being charged with. The fact that he’s cooperating will help him in the long run. His lawyer will probably cut a deal with the DA.”
My shoulder was beginning to ache and I tried to ignore it. I thought about my son, Brian, and assumed Carter had called him already. Same with Andrew and my uncle Sammy.
As if reading my thoughts, Carter said, “Your family was here last night after you got out of surgery. They wanted me to call them as soon as you woke up.”
As he got on his cell phone, I stopped him. “I really want to see everyone, but I have an important question to ask you, first.”
He put his phone away and leaned toward me, clasping my hand. “Sure, what is it?”
“What’s going to happen to me? Will I still be able to work even if I’m crippled?”
The softness in his eyes warmed my heart. “The Sarah I know isn’t capable of giving up. Bum shoulder or not. Together, we’re gonna find a way to make it all work.”
I squeezed his hand and smiled. Carter knew the right things to say at the right time and I believed him. It wasn’t just to make me feel better. “Okay. Let’s go with that.”
The nurse returned to the room just in time. The pain in my shoulder had become almost unbearable. She was able to set me up with some painkillers through the I.V. I began feeling the effects within a few minutes. Thank God for modern medicine. “You’ll start to feel drowsy,” the nurse said. “Best to get some more sleep, to help you recover.”
After the nurse left the room, Carter’s face became fuzzy and I knew the meds were working their magic. Carter released my hand as he got to his feet.
“Where are you going?” I asked, worried he might leave.
“You need to rest,” he said in a calm, sincere voice. “Don’t fret. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
I wanted to tell Carter that I loved him. I had been waiting for the perfect moment to say it. Not that I needed a perfect moment, but I also had been scared to bear my heart in that way. Even though I sensed he loved me back, the words had not yet been spoken by him, either.
Actions speak louder than words, it’s true. But I wanted to let him know how I felt with words. Tell
tell him that I loved him. That I appreciated everything he’d ever done for me. That he would be the only man I’d ever love again. I felt so certain of that.
As I opened my mouth to speak, my mind went blank and no words came. The medicine had rendered me incapable. But Carter must have known what I was thinking. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was his smiling face, looking down at me.
The End
Thank you for reading the Sarah Woods Series.
I am excited to announce a brand new series for my dedicated readers. In this new series, the stories are told from Carter’s point of view.
I have enlisted the help of my writing partner, Al Boudreau, who will be writing as Carter. I think you are going to love the new direction we are going in. This first book takes place a few days after the end of book 18. Sarah is still in the hospital, recovering from her gunshot wound.
If you would like to read the first chapter, please continue. At the end of the sample, you will find a link to pre-order the book on Amazon.
************
A Case Too Close
(Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 1)
Chapter 1
“Do I want her belongings sent by courier? I just left her room ten minutes ago. She’s not due to be released till after her doctor examines her at three.” I checked my watch. 1:45pm. “What do you mean she’s already gone? Hold on, are we talking about the same patient? Sarah Woods, my partner, room 307, gunshot wound to the shoulder?” I stood on the brakes and pulled over to the curb. ”My name? This is Carter Peterson. I just left … yes, Sarah Woods. Her birthday is April 8th, 1971.” The on-hold click in my ear clinched it. I cut the wheel of the Buick hard to the left, dodging heavy two-way traffic, and accelerated back toward Bridgeport Hospital, a lousy instrumental rendition of “Here Comes the Sun” marking time in my ear.
Sarah Woods Mystery Series (Volume 6) Page 30