“Pull up,” Sierra said. “Let’s see if these kids saw anything.”
Ace slanted a dubious look her way. “You really think they’ll talk to us?”
With all the emphasis in the news on children avoiding strangers, Ace suspected this gaggle would scatter if approached by adults.
“Not you, most likely, but let me give it a shot in my doctor get-up—unless you have a better idea.”
“Fresh out of those,” he admitted as he pulled to the curb around the corner.
She jumped out and headed directly to the group of about ten, which looked to be anywhere from about eleven to maybe fourteen or fifteen years of age. Though a couple darted suspicious looks in his direction, most ignored him, sitting out of earshot about thirty yards away.
While Sierra talked, the two biggest boys continued tossing the football back and forth, spiraling it aggressively fast and close as if to let her know they didn’t appreciate her barging into their domain uninvited.
That ended when Sierra deftly snatched the pigskin from the air and tucked it close to her white lab coat. After that she gained the whole group’s full attention. But over the course of their brief conversation, Ace saw the crossed arms and hostile faces give way to gestures toward the south and nods before a number of the kids started talking excitedly at once.
A few minutes later she nodded approvingly before tossing back the football to the tallest boy and trotting back toward the car. Several of the younger kids waved after her, big smiles on their faces, and the biggest girl pumped her fist and yelled, loudly enough for Ace to make out, “You go take out that trash, Doc!”
“Down that way,” she said, pointing in the same direction the kids had pointed out. “They saw the Camaro speed past—almost hit the littlest boy there.”
“You’re sure it’s the same guy?”
“Oh, yeah. I told them I was an ER doctor, and my detective friend and I were tracking down this guy who’d beat up his little girl and then skipped out on the hospital bill.” Her seat belt snapped crisply into place.
“I see that once again,” Ace said as he sped off, “I’ve vastly underestimated your skills. You’re not only a genius when it comes to improvising, you’re also not half-bad with kids.”
“Kids are very cool. I’ve done some coaching with my friend Brie down at the gym.” She winced. “I hope they aren’t too upset when they hear that fake news report about my—my so-called murder.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “You coach boxing?”
“Sure. Cops’ve got a program in my neighborhood, and it’s been a way to pay them back...for being there for me back when I needed them.”
“After your mom took off? Weren’t there any other relatives, or family friends to help look after you?”
Her face tightened. “Listen, Ace. I promised you, back after Ice Veins, that I’d earn that money that Selina gave me for bringing you in by helping to clear your name. But the personal part of this conversation is over.”
“That’s not what you want. You’re just scared. Scared of getting in too deep. Afraid of being trapped.”
“So let’s just focus on getting your father’s real shooter in custody,” she went on, talking over his objection as if she hadn’t heard it, “so I can be safely on my way.”
Part of him wanted to shout at her, to tell her that she couldn’t go. He’d be damned if he’d let her get herself killed just to prove a point. But right now they had a would-be murderer to track down, and a thick tangle of crucial questions that needed answering—questions of who this vaguely familiar-looking younger man was, why he wanted Payne Colton dead and what, if anything, he knew about the circumstances of the baby switch that had taken place forty years before, along with a mind-boggling string of other crimes.
Which meant, Ace reminded himself, that just as Sierra had reminded him earlier, he needed to keep his temper in check. To tamp down his fury—along with the desire to shoot the worthless piece of trash with his own gun the first chance that he had.
Chapter 14
Five minutes became ten, neither of them daring to speak as the tension coiled in their bellies wound itself up ever tighter and the red needle on the Porsche’s speedometer crept higher.
The longer they drove with no sign of the Camaro, the more worried Sierra grew that this chase had been nothing but a fool’s errand—and even worse, one that was wasting valuable time as the sun slipped out of sight. Had she been working a job on her own, she would’ve known better than to blunder through town like this, rushing around after a high-stakes suspect that she no longer had eyes on.
The moment she’d realized that she didn’t have her cell phone on her, she would’ve pulled over somewhere to alert the authorities, offering a description and her best estimate of speed and direction. Surely, in a case like this one, they’d quickly put a BOLO over the radio and have the whole department looking, giving them a far greater chance of taking the shooter into custody before anyone else could be hurt.
She knew she wasn’t thinking rationally, hadn’t been since Ace had told her the man lurking in his father’s room had intended not only to finish off Payne Colton and Ace himself, but also to plant the gun in Ace’s own dead hand. The moment he had told her that, all her professionalism, her experience and objectivity, went flying out the window. She’d ignited from the inside, burning with the need to bring in this monster, even if it turned out to be her parting gift to a man she knew she’d never forget.
When she looked over at Ace, she saw that he was even further gone, his grip on the sports car’s steering wheel white-knuckled and a muscle in his clenched jaw twitching as his fierce gaze swept the buildings they passed leaving the town center. In hunting mode, he’d lost sight of any possibility other than the outcome he so desperately desired.
She drew in a deep breath, knowing she needed to be the one to reel him in. “We need to turn around, Ace. It’s past time we called for backup.”
“He has to be out this way somewhere. You said yourself that’s what those kids told you—unless you think they might’ve been lying?”
“Lying, no,” she said, “but it’s possible he’s managed to peel off on one of these side streets, or pulled in behind somebody’s shed or something and we missed him. Or maybe he’s outrun us. But it’ll be a lot harder for him to outrun the whole Mustang Valley PD.”
“This isn’t Las Vegas,” Ace argued, pushing the accelerator harder. “It’s a tiny department, and it’ll be dark in another—”
“Watch out!” she barked, seeing he was about to blow a stop sign—and cut off a pair of adult bicyclists, both wearing form-fitting jerseys and leggings with their helmets, entering the intersection.
Screeching to a halt, he gritted his teeth as the two riders safely cleared his path by a few feet.
“No, this isn’t Vegas—” the edge in Sierra’s voice was sharp enough to slice flesh “—which means you may be mowing down a friend or neighbor. Or maybe a family member, given how you’re somehow related to half of this town, if you don’t slow down and think.”
“Point taken,” he said gruffly, “damn it. But it just kills me giving up now, when back at the hospital, I was so close I could—well, so close I did—touch the bastard.”
She touched his arm, sighing as she reminded him. “Let’s not forget, you saved your father’s life this afternoon, along with your own. Plus, you’ve seen this shooter and the car he’s driving, so why don’t you go back to that little standalone Mexican bakery we passed about two blocks back and ask to use their phone?”
With a growl of frustration, he conceded, and turned the car around. Just as he pulled in front of the small, tan stucco building, the bright yellow ’69 Camaro came blasting out from behind it, spraying up gravel as it exited the unpaved lot.
The muscle car’s passenger-side window was down, allowing Sierra a glimpse of th
e wild-eyed male driver on her side. And letting her see the barrel of his pistol swing to point at her.
“Gun!” she shrieked, flinging herself forward. Ducking her head, she heard the pop—along with the splintering of the glass just behind and to her right.
Then the Camaro was speeding past them in the same direction they’d just come from, leaving behind a circular hole in the passenger window next to where her head had been only seconds before.
“Are you hit? You all right, Sierra?” Ace shouted.
“F-fine,” she managed, her teeth chattering with adrenaline—and the realization that the bullet must have passed only a few inches behind her before flying—Her heart nearly beat free of her chest to see an exit hole in the driver’s side window, just in front of Ace’s body. “H-holy—how are we both still alive?”
Ace executed a neat three-point turn and then floored the accelerator. “We’re alive because we’re meant to stop him—only this time, I’m not letting him out of my sight—or allowing him to get far enough ahead to try another ambush, either. I can’t believe that jackass had another gun stashed in his car.”
“That might not be the last surprise he has in store for us,” Sierra warned him as she reached for the weapon he’d taken from the shooter, which he’d stowed in a compartment of the Porsche’s center console.
“What are you doing?” Ace demanded, sounding irritated.
“Since you’re a little busy right now breaking nine kinds of traffic laws, why don’t you let me concentrate on the gunplay? Especially since I’m pretty sure I have way more training and experience than you’ve gotten in the boardroom.”
“You also took the kind of knock to the head that affects vision and coordination. Can you even shoot straight, Iris?”
She made a huffing sound. “Call me Iris again, cowboy, and you might find out exactly how straight I can shoot.”
To her surprise, he laughed at that. “Sorry, Sierra. And I’m sorry about before, with the zip tie, too. I wish I’d handled things differently, but—”
“Hey, where’s he going?” she asked, seeing the Camaro abruptly veer onto a dirt track leading toward the foothills. “What is this?”
They passed a sign that read: Warning—Ungraded Road. Four-Wheel Drive Recommended. Bring Tools, First Aid, Water, Phone.
“Looks like he’s taking the abandoned mining road up into the desert mountains. That’s crazy,” Ace said. “The only things out that way are tumbleweeds and tarantulas and this tiny old ghost town by the name of Gila Gulch at the end of the road—where he’ll be completely boxed in.”
“So what do you want to do about it?” Sierra asked him.
“If you’re with me, I say let’s go get my father’s shooter and bring him the hell in.”
“I’m with you, but only on one condition,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“If you do happen to spot any of those horrible spiders you mentioned—” Her skin rippled with revulsion at the thought of the disturbingly large arachnids, whose hairy legs had always creeped her out “—you have to be the one to stomp the things into oblivion before I get a glimpse.”
* * *
“This is a seriously bad idea,” Sierra said, groaning and holding her stomach as they slammed and jolted their way along the punishing road.
Cutting a quick look her way, Ace winced to see how miserable she looked, bracing herself against the dash as they drove over rocks and potholes that were rattling every nut and bolt in the low-slung sports car. And the choking dust, kicked up by the Camaro, now only about thirty yards ahead, since both vehicles had been forced to halve their speed, was making it tough for Ace to see well enough to avoid ruts and obstructions in the deepening twilight.
“Maybe we should turn around, then,” he said. “Considering your concussion—”
“Absolutely not,” she insisted. “We aren’t losing what might be our only shot, when we’re so close. Not over a little carsickness.”
It was more than carsickness and they both knew it. But as their climb grew steeper, Ace decided that, with their quarry in sight, she’d never forgive him if he made this decision for her. Just as he would never forgive himself if his choice to continue forward ended up hurting her in any way.
“Look out. Someone’s coming,” she warned, pointed out a pair of headlights coming down the rocky mountainside ahead of them on the narrow, one-lane road.
The Camaro moved to the right just in time to miss a Jeep. Ace had to shave a rock wall, knocking off his side view mirror and eliciting a startled yip from Sierra, to allow the driver to get past him. As he did, he recognized the shocked faces of the local outdoor adventure tour guide and his passengers, who were probably astonished to see the two low-clearance sports cars risking serious damage by attempting this rugged trek. Besides, with darkness falling, they had to know there could be no legitimate reason to visit the isolated ghost town.
Before Ace could make any comment, the road jogged abruptly to the left and the Porsche’s right front end slammed down into a particularly deep washout.
Sierra moaned. “On the way back to town, please remind me to stop and pick up my teeth. I’m pretty sure I left a few back there.”
“Sorry about that,” Ace said, wishing like hell he’d had the four-wheel-drive pickup he used out at the ranch for this trip. But he had to keep his full attention on the road to negotiate what he was almost certain would be the final switchback before reaching what was left of the old mining town. “Not much farther now.”
With that, the Porsche’s engine made a loud clanking sound and died abruptly, every idiot light on the dash flashing on at once. He tried restarting it, again and again until Sierra finally reached out to grip his arm.
“Give it up, Ace. I’m no car guru, but even I know your formerly pampered, garage-kept ride’s not going another inch without a tow.”
“You’re right,” he admitted.
As she peered out through the rock-chipped and grimy windshield, Sierra asked, “So what do you think? Keep climbing on foot?”
Ace blew out a long breath, weighing the deepening gloom against the very long walk back down and the far shorter uphill climb to an armed assailant who certainly knew that they were coming. “He’s trapped up there, right around that next switchback, since this road won’t take him any farther and there’s no hiking cross-country out of there, especially in this light. If he’s smart, he’ll try to take cover and wait to ambush us as soon as we clear the curve.”
She peered out her side window at the steep slope rising above her, a collection of loose rock and coarse gravel that appeared to be anchored by stalk-like, spiny plants and the claw-like roots of a few gnarled and stunted trees. “Is there a way to bypass the road, maybe surprise him by climbing over this ridge?”
“I’m not exactly sure what we’ll encounter on the other side. To be honest, I haven’t been dragged up here since I was a teenager.” Though a couple of his more adventurous siblings had found the place eerily fascinating, Ace could think of better ways to spend a day than poking around among a bunch of falling-down buildings, rusting mining implements and toppling, crudely hand-carved gravestones. “I do know, though, that the terrain’s steep, and there could be nastier surprises out there than a few harmless spiders—”
“Let’s not spoil the mood by bringing up anything eight-legged,” she told him, her lip curling in a look of disgust.
Amusement tugged at one corner of his mouth at the discovery that the normally tough-as-nails Sierra Madden had at least one weakness. “Yes, ma’am. You have my word.”
“I’m holding you to that,” she insisted before nodding toward the ridge. “If we do try climbing up over that, it could be that he’ll be so busy listening for the car that he won’t hear us. And if we’re really lucky, he’ll figure we’ve thought better of our plan and gone back into town to get
help.”
“You sure you’re up for it?”
She made a scoffing sound. “You think I put up with being bounced around until I want to toss my cookies just to wait here in the car? Maybe you should wait in the car, while I take care of business.”
“Not a chance in the world,” he told her, recalling the hatred burning in the gunman’s eyes as he’d pointed his weapon at Ace’s helpless father.
Unbuckling her seat belt, she put down the handgun she’d been holding and began removing the white lab coat. “Ow,” she said, wincing as she twisted, moving awkwardly within the cramped space. “Can you give me a hand with this sleeve? Ribs are still a little sore, but he’d see me coming from a mile away in this get-up.”
“Sure thing.” As he helped her to remove the garment, his forearm accidentally brushed against the warm smoothness of her neck.
Her gaze snapped up to meet his, their faces so close that all he could think of was the softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth, so temptingly close, and the electricity coursing through his skin as their bodies had lain together, without a stitch between them.
As he looked into her beautiful eyes, a chasm opened up inside him, a deep ache at the thought that he may have already irrevocably lost her. But no loss could be as devastating, as permanent, as death, and he knew damned well that that might be what lay in wait for them, just over the ridgeline.
“Sierra...” he said quietly, his fingers smoothing a lock of hair as he tucked it carefully behind her ear, eliciting her sigh and then a subtle shiver. “What I’m here to do—you know what it means to me, what it will mean to my family, putting away my father’s shooter, getting answers to all the questions that’ve been tearing us apart for so long. But the truth is, you mean more than that—so much more.”
“You—you mean a lot to me, too,” she whispered, looking more worried than happy about the admission.
“As much as I love your—your gutsiness—it was hell last night. You have no idea. I thought I’d watched you being gunned down before my very eyes, and then when you collapsed the way you did, I was sure you were dying—”
Hunting the Colton Fugitive Page 19
