Vacant Eyes slammed the lid shut.
I hurried back to Dakota. She was staring up at Top Dog, fear in her eyes.
‘Get in the car,’ he said. ‘You’re driving. Put her in the back seat.’
I led Dakota to the Mustang, folded the driver’s seat forward and helped her climb into the jump seat beside my battered leather carryall.
As she belted herself in, I leant closer and whispered, ‘Sweetie, I’m going to pull the tape off your mouth. It’s gonna sting, but I need you to be real brave. Can you do that for me?’
She nodded.
I peeled back a corner of the tape. Figured whichever way I did it it’d hurt. A fast pull would get it done quicker. I yanked it off. Dakota cried out and I pulled her to me, muffling her cry against my shoulder. When she was silent, I released her. ‘Good job.’
She looked up at me. Put her hand on mine, curling her fingers around my thumb like she used to as a baby. ‘Can we go home, Momma?’
I forced a smile. ‘Real soon, sweetie.’
Top Dog opened the passenger door and slid the seat forward, ready to climb in the back. He looked at me. ‘Enough of the family reunion, just get in the car already.’
Vacant Eyes hurried around to join him. ‘You want me riding shotgun?’
Top Dog shook his head. ‘I got this.’
Vacant Eyes frowned, a puzzled expression on his face. ‘But I thought the boss said—’
‘Plan’s changed.’ Top Dog glared at him. ‘Get the jeep out of here, and tell the boss we’re en route.’
Vacant Eyes paused a long moment then nodded. ‘Sure, Boyd.’
I stared at Top Dog: Boyd. He was Merv’s contact – the man who’d had those three rednecks killed in West Virginia, who’d ordered the attack on us at the gas station, snatched my daughter and tried to take us in Savannah.
He waved at me. ‘Get in, you’ve got driving to do.’
But I kept staring at Boyd. My mind felt scattered; I couldn’t think straight; the thumping in my head was so loud I could hear little else. The pain in my leg and ribs had intensified. The exhaustion, the hopelessness, added to the blazing sun and the fact I’d not eaten or drunk anything for hours, threatened to overwhelm me.
I thought of JT, blood-soaked and cramped in the trunk; of Dakota, terrified and strapped into the explosive life preserver. It was all my fault. I should never have taken the job.
Still, for all my regret, I couldn’t think of a plan. So I did as Boyd said. Slid the driver’s seat into place. Held on real tight as my legs turned to jello.
‘Now get in.’ Boyd raised the gun, nodded towards the back, where Dakota was sitting. ‘Don’t make me use this.’
For a brief moment I thought I might vomit, or pass out, or both. Boyd got into the back, next to Dakota. He peeled off his sport coat and laid it over his lap, concealing the Glock. I took a long breath then climbed into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine.
As we exited down the long private road back to the highway we passed by a bunch of new arrivals.
Not one person gave us a second glance.
44
As I drove, Boyd searched my carryall. Leaning across Dakota, he opened the zippers and felt inside. Pulled out my Wesson Commander Classic Bobtail and the ammo.
‘Well, lookie lookie,’ he said, loading my gun, and sticking it into his waistband. ‘You got anything else?’
I shook my head. Didn’t tell him about the taser hidden beneath my clothes in the main body of the carryall.
He gestured to the ramp a little ways ahead. ‘Take I-95 towards Miami.’
I did as he said and kept driving. The freeway stretched ahead of us. Miami was near on three hundred miles. Factoring in a gas stop, it’d take us four hours, minimum; time enough to work on my game plan.
Behind me, Dakota sighed. I felt her fidgeting, her feet digging into the back of my seat. ‘You okay, sweetie?’
‘I’m hot, Momma.’
No surprises there. It was damn hot, the temperature pushing ninety at least, and for Dakota, trussed up in Boyd’s homemade suicide vest and the rain jacket that covered it, the heat had to be even worse. I peered in the rear-view mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, sweat beaded across her forehead.
‘I know it’s warm, sweetie. I’m sorry.’ I felt the sweat forming on the back of my own neck. It ran down my back, between my shoulder blades and along my spine. We needed air. I reached for the lever to wind the window down.
Boyd leant forward. ‘Windows stay up.’
Damn. The Mustang was too old for air-conditioning, and the fan had little effect on the sauna-like heat. I could only imagine how much worse it would be for JT in the trunk. ‘But it’s—’
‘Enough talking, I’ve got the gun.’ He turned to Dakota. ‘And, kid, that button is still good to go.’
She whimpered.
I glanced in the mirror again. Her face was turned towards the window, like she was watching traffic, but her eyes looked vacant, unfocused. I hoped the fear hadn’t sent her catatonic. ‘Baby, are—’
‘I told you to be quiet,’ Boyd said, his tone real serious.
I nodded, no sense in making him pissed. Kept the Mustang at a steady sixty and moved into the right lane. When I glanced at Dakota next, I saw she was blinking. Hoped it was a good sign.
Boyd had his cell out. He dialled a number, and spoke real quiet. ‘I have Tate … gotta do something first … six hours, seven max … I’ll call when I’m close … yeah, I get that.’
Who was he calling? Boyd had told Vacant Eyes to tell Emerson we were en route, so why the need for a second call? Also, if we were heading to Miami, it’d take us nearer four hours, not six or seven. I thought back to the parking lot. Vacant Eyes had seemed real surprised that he’d not be riding with us – like Boyd had changed the plan last minute. Didn’t make no sense, unless taking us to Emerson wasn’t Boyd’s endgame.
I glanced in the mirror at Boyd. He’d ended the call and was sprawled out, his left arm resting real casual along the back of the seat, his fingers inches from Dakota’s head. It sickened me how close he was to her.
He noticed me looking. ‘What?’
‘Why’d you do it – work for Emerson?’
He shrugged. ‘Money, why else?’
‘And it doesn’t bother you, what he does?’
‘It’s business.’
‘It’s children.’
‘It’s a service plenty of people want to pay for.’
Emerson’s man, definitely. ‘It’s sick. You’re no—’
‘Enough talk.’ He shifted in his seat and pulled back the sport coat lying across his lap, uncovering the Glock beneath. He raised the gun a fraction. ‘Just drive.’
So I drove on in silence, very aware that Boyd, with his black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, was watching my every move.
As the miles passed, it seemed we had ourselves an uneasy truce, at least for a little while. But I couldn’t let it fool me. There was still more than enough danger. Boyd had my gun in the back of his pants, his own Glock concealed beneath the sport coat on his lap and the button, the trigger for Dakota’s vest, somewhere. JT was still bleeding in the trunk. Getting safe was never going to be easy.
We’d taken a gas stop a few miles back, but it had offered no chance for escape. Boyd had picked an old-style place, where the attendant pumped the gas for you. Asked the guy to bring us water and corn dogs. Had me pay cash. It meant we got to eat, but none of us left the car. Still, I devoured the corn dog, and Dakota wolfed hers down too. I slugged the water fast, almost vomiting from the liquid hitting the back of my parched throat. I worried about JT in the trunk with no water or food, and said as much to Boyd. He just laughed. There was nothing I could do to help JT right then.
So I kept driving. Glanced back at my baby every few minutes, checking she was doing okay. I was her Momma; it was my job to protect her. I’d found her, now I had to get us free.
I focused on the freeway, kept
a few car lengths from the Dodge Grand Caravan up ahead. Tried not to get distracted by the two little dogs, the yappy kind, peering out of the back window at me. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something real important.
I counted the miles as Miami got closer. With the noise of the wheels on the blacktop and the ever-oppressive heat, I just couldn’t seem to focus. The adrenaline hit I’d gotten from the fight in the parking lot was long gone. In its place came exhaustion.
The situation was simple: I needed a plan. Before long we would get to wherever the hell Boyd was taking us, and I would have to be ready. But my mulish brain refused to work. The facts seemed scattered and disjointed, just out of reach.
Look at the wider view, JT had always said. I knew I’d stopped doing that the moment he was taken. I’d gotten myself drawn into Boyd’s trap, not worked on the long game, as I should have done. I’d made that mistake before.
I thought about what the crazy old bastard at Motel 68 had said about Sal. He’d been talking shit. Dead is dead, and Sal had died because I’d focused only on Tommy, because I’d not made the call when I should have done. JT had been drawn into the sights of the Miami Mob because I’d been so damn tunnel-visioned about finding Tommy – about getting justice, even though it was too late because Sal was already dead and nothing would ever bring her back.
I wondered what Sal would have said about the situation I’d gotten into. I could almost picture her sitting in the passenger seat, those long legs of hers stretched out, pink-glitter pumps kicked off in the footwell. She’d have been shaking her head, for sure. Telling me to focus. Wanting me to remember the thing that was missing, the thing Boyd didn’t say.
Why hasn’t he asked for the device?
Son-of-a-bitch. I replayed the whole parking-lot conversation again. Shit. That whole exchange, Boyd never mentioned the device. Not once.
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Caught his eye. ‘Why haven’t you asked me for the device?’
He smiled, real smug. ‘I know you’re good for it.’
‘How?’
He nodded towards my ribs. ‘Inner jacket pocket, left side. I got your friend, Tate, to tell me all about it while you were off having your little adventure. Had my associate back at the park check it was on you when you had your little tango.’
‘JT would never have told you—’
Boyd laughed. ‘You sure about that? It’s amazing what a good bit of pain can do. A bullet in the leg – well, you apply enough pressure to the wound, I find a man will tell you pretty much whatever you want.’
Bastard tortured JT. ‘You son-of-a—’
Dakota’s scream jerked me back to reality. ‘Momma, the red car!’
My heart pounded like I’d been scared awake by a nightmare. The Dodge’s bumper was just inches ahead. I braked hard, put some distance between us. Glanced at the speedometer, and realised I’d been more than twenty over the limit.
‘It’s okay, honey,’ I said, glancing in the mirror at Dakota. But it wasn’t okay. It really wasn’t.
Boyd cussed. ‘Keep your shit together. We don’t wanna get dead before Miami.’
His meaning was real clear. The killing would start once we reached our destination. ‘And is Emerson waiting for us in Miami?’
‘He is.’
Sal had died because of me. I would not, could not, let Dakota and JT join her. We needed to shake ourselves loose. I had to do something that’d flip the odds in our favour.
Whatever Emerson had planned, it wasn’t going to be good. I had to be ready, and one of the first rules of preparation was know your environment. ‘So this place we’re heading got a name?’
Boyd chuckled. ‘Sure it does, but it’ll be way more fun if it’s a surprise.’
I did not like the sound of that.
The minutes passed in silence. Boyd was studying me closer; Dakota was alert and watching the road. No doubt both were worried I might mess up the driving again. But that wasn’t going to happen. I was thinking about escape.
We passed a sign for Coral Springs. It was barely forty miles to Miami.
Boyd leant forward, nudged me in the ribs with the Glock. ‘Take the next ramp.’
A flash of blue caught my eye. I glanced in the rear-view mirror. Inhaled real quick and clutched the wheel a whole lot tighter.
Next moment, I heard the siren.
45
The State Trooper was right up my ass, and not in a good way, lights all flashy and shit. Ahead, the freeway stretched straight and clear. Real inviting. The Mustang was purring nice, I had plenty of gas and way more horsepower than the Trooper. But the blue lights had dazed me. Black spots danced across my eyes, the blacktop seemed to blur and warp. Made me pause, made me think.
The way I saw it, we’d got ourselves two choices: stop or run.
I glanced in the rear-view mirror. Boyd had slouched a little lower on the back seat, his sport coat still covering the Glock. Sure, the gun might have been hidden, but I knew he’d got it pointed at a sweet spot between my ribs. A bullet at this close range would be game over and we both knew it. ‘What do you want me to do?’
He tugged down his ball-cap, shielding more of his eyes. ‘Pull over.’
I indicated right, and steered on to the dirt at the side of the freeway.
Boyd leant forward. Stuck the Glock against my ribs, just firm enough that I could feel the outline of the barrel. ‘Act natural, the both of you. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.’
The State Trooper had gotten out of his ride and was stomping towards ours like he was the king of the friggin’ road. ‘Dakota. Stay calm, sweetie, okay?’
‘Will we tell him, Momma?’ she whispered, panic in her voice.
Not this, not now. Who knew what Boyd would do if the Trooper got him spooked? I twisted around to look at her proper. Used my serious Momma voice. ‘Sit still, baby. I’ll talk.’
Beside her, Boyd reached over and did up the top button on her rain jacket, making sure the life preserver was totally hidden. He looked at me, held my gaze till it got real uncomfortable. ‘Don’t screw up.’
The State Trooper, all mirrored aviator shades and overly fitted shirt, leant in through my open window. ‘Hands on the wheel, ma’am.’
‘Why sure, officer,’ I said, trying a broader southern accent for size. I placed my palms against the centre of the wheel and rested each of my midnight-blue nails on the rim. ‘Is there a problem?’
Up close the officer looked younger – much younger – and a whole lot greener. Just a babe. Wasn’t any wonder that he didn’t realise what was really going down. ‘You know why I pulled you over ma’am?’
I shook my head, batted my lashes just a little. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I do not.’
‘You got a taillight out.’ He leant in a little closer, no doubt checking out my legs under the cover of those mirrored lenses. ‘I’ll need sight of your licence and registration.’
Yeah, like that’ll happen. Damn that taillight.
I gazed into the officer’s eyes. Calculated the risk. Could I tell him? Whisper it real quiet. Hostage, I’d say, or maybe kidnap. Or help.
I wanted to, real bad. But I didn’t. Wouldn’t do no good, not even if I mouthed the words. Boyd would have a bullet in my side and one in the officer’s brain before the poor boy had reached for his radio. No, that play just wouldn’t do.
That was the moment I heard the first thump.
My first feeling was relief. Despite everything, JT was still alive. Then the officer stepped away, turned his head towards the rear of the Mustang, listened real hard.
A second feeling kicked in: gut-punching, breath-stopping fear. I glanced over my shoulder. Boyd’s gun hand had gotten real tense. Shit. I needed to divert the Trooper’s attention, find a way to get us all out of this alive.
‘What was that, my licence and registration?’ I said, all sing-song. ‘Well I know they’re around here someplace.’
But my jibber-jabber couldn’t disguise t
he third thump, quickly followed by a fourth. I didn’t need to look at Boyd to know what he was thinking. What with him being a man of little patience and no compassion, he’d be waiting on the right moment to end the good officer. But with the traffic moving pretty constant along the stretch of freeway beside us, it seemed that, just maybe, luck was taking my side. Multiple witnesses would be real undesirable. I hoped to hell it’d buy me enough time.
Still looking towards the rear of the Mustang, the Trooper said, ‘Ma’am, I need you to pop the trunk.’
I played real dumb. Frowned a little, looked vacant. ‘Officer?’
He leant back in through the window, his elbows resting on the walnut trim. I pressed myself closer to the door, got the angle just nice so he’d get a look-see down my top. I glanced in the mirror, caught Dakota’s eye. Flicked my gaze to the carryall on the back seat beside her, my go-bag. She knew I always packed my taser, and she also knew how to use it. Learning how had been another of our self-defence games. Right then, I needed her to use it to save the Trooper.
She gave a little nod.
I gazed up at the officer. ‘Why I thought you wanted my licence? I’ll have it for you in just a moment.’
As I made a show of flipping through the papers in the side pocket of the door, I hoped to hell that Dakota had gotten my meaning. If she had, she’d be easing her hand into the pocket of my carryall and finding the taser. I hoped that she’d have the courage to use it.
‘Got it,’ I said, smiling up at the young, green, clueless officer’s face. ‘And then would you like for me to pop the trunk?’
He nodded. Reached in to take the licence.
I handed him JT’s library card, hoping the bluff would buy Dakota enough time to act. Forced a smile.
I felt Dakota’s feet press hard against the back of my seat. I imagined her fist curled tight around the taser, her finger on the trigger. I smiled at the Trooper. Felt tension radiating from Boyd like shockwaves. Told myself this was right, justified.
Deep Down Dead Page 28