Gigi said, “if you don’t want to talk about Mr. Hollywood, let’s talk about our brother. You heard from him?”
Another flop of her stomach. Jeremy hadn’t called or answered any of her texts and voice mails in several days. It wasn’t like she could pop on over to his apartment, since he lived in Memphis, though she’d tried to get him to move to Hope. Closer to her and Gigi since their father traveled regularly now that he was retired. Right now he was off in the West Indies and her brother was AWOL. Surely Jeremy hadn’t relapsed. He’d been doing so well. Lord, please keep Jeremy out of trouble again. Watch over him.
The SUV changed lanes and zoned in on her bumper. Blair white-knuckled the steering wheel and slid her upper lip into her mouth, concentrating. Thinking. Praying. Lord, let me simply be paranoid. She shifted back into the right lane, hoping the driver was in a hurry and would pass her.
Please. Please. Please.
Pulse pounding as they shifted in behind her, Blair inhaled and exhaled. “Can you turn the radio down?” She couldn’t think straight. Her head buzzed.
“Why?” Gigi lowered the volume but huffed. “Blair, what’s wrong with you?”
The SUV rammed the back of her truck.
Gigi squealed. “What was that?”
“Sit tight.” Blair increased speed. Nothing but fields for miles on their way home. Of course, she wasn’t dumb enough to try to make it there and lead her pursuer to the house, but she didn’t know where to go or what to do. She could hardly swallow.
She glanced in the rearview.
The SUV was gone!
But there it was in her side mirror, gaining.
“Reach under the seat and get my gun, Gigi!”
“Gun! You carry a gun?” Gigi’s eyes widened, hysteria and questions blaring loud and clear.
Blair didn’t have a choice. “Now is not the time. Get it,” she hollered, and floored it. Gigi’s hands trembled as she handed Blair her Glock.
“What are you going to do?” Gigi’s voice squeaked with panic.
Good question. She had to protect Gigi and herself. Blair had learned a thing or two—if only indirectly—being married to Mateo. Always be wary and always be on the offense.
She rolled her window down and aimed the gun, hoping her time at the gun range and some prayer would help her hit the tire and spin the SUV out.
Gigi’s anxious cries echoed through the cab.
Blair gripped the gun with clammy hands, lungs squeezing, and fired a round.
The SUV rammed her again, sending them lurching. What was that thing made of—steel? The passenger window lowered. A man she didn’t recognize, wearing dark glasses, raised the barrel of a gun.
Blair cracked off another shot, missing the tire, but hitting the metal around it. The SUV swerved, giving them time to veer ahead.
Gigi screeched.
Cracks sounded in the body of the truck.
“Lord, save us!” Blair prayed, then shifted in her seat. “Take the wheel and the gas!” she commanded, and raised her gun, firing at the tires again. Blood whooshed in her ears, and her throat had turned as dry as dead grass.
Gigi scooted over, gathered the wheel and replaced Blair’s foot with hers on the gas pedal. “I’m scared!”
“Me, too, G. Hold on and pray.” Blair didn’t want to hang out the window, but she couldn’t get a clear shot at the tire. What other choice was there? If she didn’t spin the SUV out, she and Gigi might get killed.
Blair turned in the driver’s seat and leaned out the window.
Another pop pierced the air, and the SUV struck the corner edge of her vehicle.
“I’m losing control,” Gigi shrieked, and flinched. “Blair!”
Her truck swerved and Blair whirled around to take the wheel, but it was too late. They sailed into the ditch on the right side of the road.
Shots were fired in rapid succession as if a gun war was happening behind them.
Blair’s head nailed the steering wheel. Her neck popped and a blinding pain shot clear to her toes. Gigi, eyes closed, slumped against the passenger-side door, her long walnut hair covering her face.
“Gigi!” Blair called.
Another round of shots were fired.
With blurred vision, she groped for the gun that had clattered to the floorboard and grabbed it. She had to save them from whoever was trying to kill them. Why were they being targeted?
Blair forced the driver’s door open. Hot, sticky blood oozed down her forehead and cheek. Hands shaking, she stumbled into the brush on the side of the road. The world tipped.
The SUV fled the scene as a red truck stopped on the side of the road.
A man bounded toward her as she tottered to the ground.
* * *
DEA Agent Holt McKnight raced toward the woman he’d identified as Blair Sullivan, who had collapsed into the waist-high weeds. He’d been on his way back from the auction outside town but had to stop about six miles back for gas. Somewhere between the gas station and here, someone had emerged and tried—worst-case scenario—to kill Blair and her sister. Best-case, scare and run them off the road.
Based on things her brother, Jeremy, had told Holt in casual conversations, Blair wouldn’t hurt a fly. From the hailstorm of bullets, Holt wasn’t so sure. Not exactly the same innocent-looking woman he’d observed at the storage auction this morning.
Either way, Holt had a job to do and Blair Sullivan’s sunny smile and warm eyes weren’t going to interfere. Jeremy, his criminal informant, and Bryan Livingston, his DEA colleague, were missing. The only connection between the disappearances was Alejandro Gonzalez, the right-hand man of the Juarez Mexican Cartel, who had last been seen in Hope.
Holt had jumped on the undercover assignment to investigate and hopefully find Agent Livingston and Jeremy alive. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to Jeremy. Not only was he his CI, but Holt had been mentoring him over a year after helping him get into rehab in Memphis.
Holt knelt over Blair. Blood slicked her cheek and neck, but the injury didn’t appear too bad. Next to her lay a Glock .380 auto. Slimline. Nice choice. It appeared Blair knew guns. But then, she’d been married to a criminal who trafficked them along with drugs. How could a woman who seemed so kind and gentle have gotten messed up with someone like Mateo Salvador?
Holt checked her pulse. Steady.
Blair’s long eyelashes fluttered and rose to reveal dazed eyes the color of medium-roasted coffee beans. Man, but she was beautiful. Get a grip, Holt. She’s a person of interest and you know her past. She shot up and skittered back.
