The Ultimate Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Bestsellers)

by Perkins, Cathy

The cars careened around a corner, the Honda swinging wide onto the shoulder. Bowden kept his car tight in the curve and made up a few more feet. He didn’t want to get too close in case the lead car was involved in an accident. He didn’t want to plow into the back of the car.

  He reached for the phone in his coat pocket. No phone. It must have dropped out when he picked up his coat so hurriedly. He swore and pounded the dash with his right hand. Things weren’t going well. The only break he’d caught was finding the keys.

  He watched the fight continue in the front seat of the Honda. Tara seemed to be holding her own. The driver couldn’t control her and the car at the same time. Who was this man?

  After seeing the way Barry Miller responded to his accusations of murder, he’d believed Barry was guilty. So who was this idiot?

  The Honda slid sideways in an intersection as the car turned right. It crossed over into the oncoming lane of traffic where another car was stopped at the light. The driver-side doors of the two vehicles smacked together, then the Honda sped off towards the freeway.

  The freeway was only one hundred yards away, packed with rush hour commuters. He knew if the Honda made it down there, it would to be hard to follow. It could easily get lost among the thousands of taillights.

  Two King County patrol cars sat at the light for the eastbound exit ramp. He smiled and then prayed they would follow. The Honda sailed past the two cars and Bowden saw the officers look, but they didn’t activate their lights. He flew by, honking, and hoped they would respond.

  The black Honda hit the westbound ON ramp at 45 mph and he followed it. He didn’t need to check his rearview mirror for the cops. Their sirens were blaring, while the red and blue lights reflected off the road signs in front of him.

  The four cars sailed down the shoulder of the freeway, making startled drivers look out their windows as the cars swept by. Tara stopped fighting and sat docile in the passenger seat. Chase hoped she wasn’t hurt. He glanced down at the speedometer. 80 mph. It was way too fast. Someone could get killed at these speeds, he thought, reaching across and grabbing the seatbelt. He clicked it home, determined that it wasn’t going to be him.

  Brake lights in the traffic lanes caused him to back off a little. Something up ahead was slowing traffic. He passed several more cars before he realized that the right lane was merging into the one next to it.

  Suddenly, the driver in the Honda slammed on the brakes. The nose dropped and the back end rose up into the air. The tires fought for traction and lost the fight to the wet pavement. The car slid almost two hundred feet before the brakes were released and the driver wedged the car between two cars in the lane next to him. He still didn’t get stopped in time, and rear-ended the car in front of him.

  Bowden could now see that the Honda had been forced into traffic where the shoulder ended. He applied his brakes without losing traction, keeping his car under control. He forced his car into the few feet of room behind the Honda.

  The Honda pushed the car in front of it out of the way and pulled into the six-foot wide slot between the two lines of cars. There wasn’t enough room and the car stopped. The passenger door opened and Tara tumbled out. She hit the cement with her back and rolled over. At speeds below 10 mph, Bowden thought she would be all right. He nodded solemnly as he saw her crawl to the side of the road.

  The lead patrol car ignored her, but the second one stopped. The three cars forced their way through traffic. It was at a standstill, something that he hadn’t foreseen. They plowed past several more cars, scraping metal, until the shoulder lane opened up again and the Honda cut back out to it. He swung over too, and heard the siren of the patrol car following him.

  He reached up and wiped the sweat away from his eyes. Traffic in the right lane was moving again. An exit was coming up, and the Honda took it. It sailed through the green light at the bottom of the exit and made a left hand turn onto Front Street, headed into Issaquah.

  The light turned yellow. He swallowed and gauged the distance, then accelerated and turned the car early. The light turned red and the cross traffic started to move. The back wheels of the Toyota broke free, loosing traction, and he slid sideways out into the intersection. He removed his foot from the brake and hit the gas. The wheels caught and the car lunged forward.

  He found the Honda with the driver’s side door open behind a line of cars waiting at a light. Bowden threw the Toyota into park and jumped out. He saw only one person running away on foot and assumed that the runner had been the driver. Bowden sprinted after him. The Colt Python tucked into his waistband interfered with his running, so he removed the gun and held it in his right hand.

  He was about thirty yards behind the driver when he reached the freeway overpass. He was off to the side, running well away from the traffic so that he wouldn’t get hit when his right leg was struck with sledgehammer-like force. He heard the shot as he fell and it echoed underneath the concrete lanes.

  He threw his left arm out to break the fall and the pain to the wounded arm stopped him cold. He hit the pavement with the right side of his face and the skin broke and peeled away.

  He looked up. The man he was pursuing was gone. He rolled over onto his back and looked behind him. The deputy stood in a bladed stance holding his gun in both hands. He was still thirty yards away, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  “Drop the gun! Drop the gun!”

  He let the Colt slide from his fingers. The revolver slid a few feet down the decline and stopped.

  The deputy ran forward until he stopped about fifteen feet from him. “Roll over,” he commanded.

  He did as he was told. He heard the scuff of the boots on the pavement, and then a knee dropped onto his neck.

  The deputy cuffed one hand and slapped his lower back. “Put your other hand here.”

  Bowden complied and felt the cold steel enclose his other wrist. A split second later and the cuffs were double locked. The deputy grabbed his radio and, between breaths, gave his report.

  “One in custody. Shots fired. One suspect still on foot, southbound on Front Street from I-90.”

  “Your status?”

  “Code four. One in custody. He’ll need an aid unit.”

  “Received, and your location?”

  The deputy stood up and looked around. “I’m under I-90 on Front Street.”

  “Received.”

  Bowden got his feet downhill and then rolled over and sat up. He watched as the deputy bent over and picked up the gun. The man opened the cylinder and noticed that one of the rounds had been spent and a smile broke across his face.

  He leaned down next to Bowden, but safely off to the side. “Don’t feel bad. You just lost to the best.”

  “I just lost to the stupidest,” Bowden shot back.

  “How’s that?”

  “You let the kidnapper go, and stopped the one who was trying to catch him.”

  “B.S.”

  “Which car did the girl bail out of?”

  “So what? She didn’t like the ride.”

  Bowden could hear sirens approaching. He wasn’t getting anywhere and decided to shut up. His leg started to hurt, a dull deep aching that he had hoped never to feel again. He knew that it would soon burn and the pain would radiate throughout his whole leg. He couldn’t see an exit wound, so the bullet was still inside him. That meant surgery. He’d be out of action for a while.

  Blood dripped off the back of his leg and formed a small pool on the pavement. The patrol cars arrived almost simultaneously. The officers rushed up to the deputy, grinning and full of congratulations. He showed them the .357 and talked about the shot he’d made.

  A medic unit arrived a moment later and the team dumped their kits on the concrete.

  “Where you hit?”

  “The right leg.”

  The medic reached under Bowden’s leg and probed the entry wound. Bowden winced at the rough treatment.

  A second medic pulled Bowden’s coat off in order to take his blood pressure. He
found the Glock, still in the shoulder holster.

  “A gun!” he yelled, backpedaling away. “He’s still got a gun.”

  The medics fled and the cops drew down on him. The arresting officer stepped up and slowly removed the Glock from the holster. His face was bright red.

  Bowden smiled. “That’s two screw-ups.”

  “Shut up!”

  “How about you letting me go and I drop the lawsuit?”

  “In your dreams.”

  Bowden adjusted the cuffs behind his back to find a better position. The metal was cutting into his wrists and his fingers were starting to go numb. He flexed them a couple times to get blood into them, and he watched as the officers unloaded the .45 caliber gun and search for a serial number.

  An unmarked car arrived, and Cooper walked onto the scene. He walked passed the four deputies that were standing around watching the medics as they cut Bowden’s pant leg free.

  Cooper stood over Bowden and shook his head. “Now what?”

  “One of your hotshots plinked me in the leg.”

  Cooper glanced back at the group and saw the two guns that they were passing around. “Looks like you got a replacement or two.”

  “Momentarily.”

  Cooper indicated the wrecked cars. “That’s the rental you were chasing? The one belonging to Bill Kent?”

  Bowden nodded, knowing that Cooper already knew the answer.

  “Where’d he go?”

  Bowden flicked his head in the direction that the kidnapper had fled. “I’d check the hotels in this area.”

  Cooper nodded and motioned for two of the deputies. They walked up to him, still grinning.

  “Check the hotels. We’re looking for the driver of the Civic. He uses an alias of Bill Kent.”

  The smiles quickly vanished. The older officer said, “Oh, come on. Get some detectives out here to do that.”

  “You aren’t doing anything.”

  “We’re back-logged on calls.”

  “They weren’t important to you five minutes ago. They can keep waiting. Consider the suspect armed and dangerous.”

  Cooper’s last words got an instant, enthusiastic response. The deputies ran back to their cars and used their sirens to clear a path through the traffic.

  “You think they’ll find him?” Bowden asked.

  “Not if they leave the sirens on.”

  The medics brought a stretcher over and he stood on his one good leg with some support from the medics. He sat on the stretcher and swung his left leg up. A medic picked up his right leg and laid it beside the other one.

  “You ever been shot?” Bowden asked.

  Cooper shook his head indicating that he hadn’t.

  Bowden sighed. “It’s no fun.” He flicked his wrists. “Do you think you can take these off?”

  Cooper pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the cuffs. He ratcheted them closed and tossed them to the deputy, who came unglued.

  “Don’t touch my prisoner!”

  “You got the wrong one.”

  “B.S. I got him with the gun and one round fired. Felony eluding and assault with a deadly weapon. We might even be able to go with attempted murder.”

  “All you have is a royal screw-up.”

  The deputy slid the cuffs into his right hand and stepped towards Bowden. “He’s under arrest. If you want him, you get him out of jail.”

  “Look, if you arrest him, you’ll have to ride with him to the hospital and un-cuff him there. You’ll have to sit on him through the surgery and the recovery. Your whole night will be spent sitting in a hospital ward.”

  The deputy paused.

  Cooper set the hook. “I didn’t think you were a babysitter.”

  “Screw you!” The deputy spun away as Bowden was lifted into the back of the medic unit.

  Cooper spoke to the other deputy. “Be sure to get prints off the Civic.”

  “I still got the girl in the back of my car. You’ll have to get someone else to do it.”

  Cooper swore under his breath, and walked to the deputy’s car. He opened the door and let Tara out. Her clothes were torn where she had hit the pavement.

  Cooper led her to the medic unit and helped her climb in, then turned to the deputy who had just offered the excuse. “Now you can lift the prints.”

  The deputy cursed him, but opened the trunk of his car and took out a print kit.

  “Do you want a tech to do that?” Bowden asked.

  “Shut up!” Cooper shot back. “It’s rush hour. I want to get the car out of here.” He climbed into the back of the medic unit and wedged himself into a corner.

  “Are you riding in with us?” a medic asked him.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll need to buckle up.”

  “There aren’t any more seats.”

  “There’s one in the cab.”

  “How am I going to ask questions if I’m in the cab?”

  The medic shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, but we’re not moving until you’re buckled in.”

  Bowden tried to lift his head off the stretcher, but found that it was taped down and grunted as his head snapped back. “You could follow us.”

  Cooper jumped out of the back and slammed the door.

  Bowden grinned and looked over at Tara. “How you doing?”

  “Fine. Thanks for coming after me.”

  He tried to nod but wasn’t successful. He felt the truck roll forward and the driver chirped the siren to merge with traffic.

  He asked his next question. “Do you know who that was?”

  “The guy that grabbed me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He looked familiar, like I’d seen him somewhere before. But I can’t remember.”

  “Did he say anything to you, while you were in the car, that might have, um, keyed you to his plans?”

  “He said something like, ‘Maybe you’ll talk,’ as if someone else hadn’t.”

  Bowden sucked in some air as a medic stuck him with a needle. He wondered if that someone else could be Michelle. He rolled his eyes towards Tara and wondered if she even knew that Michelle was missing.

  He felt lightheaded and the roof of the truck split in two, each piece going in a different direction but never separating.

  The medic spoke, and it sounded as though he were a mile away. “I gave you a pain killer and a relaxant. You should start to feel it soon.”

  “I already do,” Bowden blurted back, his tongue as thick as a ham.

  He fought to maintain his line of thinking but couldn’t string any thoughts together. He only caught snapshots: a man running, a ghost, a gunshot, an edge of a painting, a knife, the corner of a map, a number, and a girl.

  He realized he was being pulled out of the back of the truck and then taken into a building with many voices and bright lights and people running around. He thought he saw Cooper. He thought he saw Tara and then someone put a mask over his face and suddenly he was in another room. An IV hung beside him as he squinted against the lights. He tried to raise his hand and it came up off the bed, about an inch, before falling.

  He tried to look around. People dressed in white hurried past him. There was another bed across the hall and someone was holding the person’s hands and saying, “You’re in the recovery room. The surgery went great. You’ll be waking up soon.”

  Bowden shook his head. He was having a hard time waking up. He felt himself drift off again, and woke up feeling nauseous. He tried to take a deep breath, but his chest muscles hardly responded. He tried it again and managed to suck in a little more air. It was hard work, but it made the nausea fade.

  “We got the bullet out.”

  Bowden rolled his eyes. Someone was standing next to him.

  “The surgery went fine. As soon as a room opens up, we’ll take you up there. It should be thirty minutes.”

  He said, “Okay,” then wondered if he had really said it. The voice was muffled and came from far away.

  He blinked a
nd found himself being wheeled down a hallway. The lights overhead hurt his eyes and he closed them.

  “Your daughter is waiting in your room, along with a police Lieutenant.”

  “My daughter?”

  “She rode in with you; in the medic unit.”

  “Tara?” Bowden nodded to himself. She was almost young enough to be his daughter but he knew that wasn’t the problem. He looked older than he was. That’s what threw them off.

  A door opened and he was wheeled into his room. Tara sat there and he nodded at her. The Lieutenant wore his Class “A’s” and loomed over the side of his bed.

  13

  The Lieutenant held up a piece of paper and the orderly pushed him out of the way.

  “Not now, sir. We’ve got to get him onto the bed first.”

  Three people slid their hands under Bowden’s back and he was pushed and rolled until he lay on the bed. He realized that he was in a hospital gown and hoped Tara hadn’t seen what all had been uncovered. Someone pulled a sheet and blanket over him and shoved a table close to his side.

  “There’s water on the table. Drink as much as you can.” A plastic bottle was held in front of his face. “Use this when you have to pee. The IV has antibiotics in it.”

  The hospital orderlies left, and as soon as they shut the door, the Lieutenant pounced. “I can cut you a check right here, right now, for fifteen thousand dollars. All you need to do is accept our apology and sign for the money.”

  Bowden looked back and saw the Lieutenant open up a checkbook. He held a pen in the other hand and it hovered over the check.

  The sight made him laugh and it hurt his raw throat, which made him start coughing, so he picked up the cup of water and sipped some through the straw. He knew the Lieutenant wanted him to sign away his right to sue, so he took the time to think. “Twenty-five thousand and I won’t even tell the press.”

  The Lieutenant stared down at him. “I only have the authority to write out a check for fifteen thousand.”

  “Then call the Chief or Sheriff. Tell him how much money and bad publicity you’ll save. Tell him the deal is clinched with twenty-five… nothing less.”

  Tara interrupted the conversation. “Don’t do it Chase. You could sue them for two or three million. Wait until the drugs wear off, and you can think more clearly.”