“Tick said the boy wanted his own clothes and a few video games. They stopped at your home to let him run in for a minute after Tick checked inside.” He tipped the turning signal, and they drove up an off-ramp. “While he stood outside, he heard a crack and broken glass falling. He thought your brother had done something until he heard squealing tires down the street. The white sedan turned the corner before Tick could get its tag. Your brother was unharmed, and he’s at my house now. He’s fine and so far has beaten Tick at Grand Theft Auto twice.”
“Grand Theft Auto?” She’d ordered her brother to sell the game to the used video game store, but apparently he’d ignored her. What was she thinking? As far as she was concerned, knowing how close he’d come to dying, he could play the game all week long.
“Though I don’t have to explain a damn thing to you, I do care about my brothers,” he said, his attention on the road ahead. “In fact, I’d give my life to keep them safe.” His voice sounded scratchy as if it pained him to voice his feelings.
“I’m sorry.” She’d been unfair. “It’s just that Damien isn’t shot at every day. All of his life, I’ve been the only one to look after him. Patience is not one of my virtues.”
“While we’re talking about shooting, who were you shooting at in the cemetery?” he asked as he slowed the car, letting a big rig pull out from a gas station.
The question shocked her. She’d expected him to come around to the right conclusion, just not this soon. Yeah, he was smart, and she’d been certain he’d eventually put two and two together and realize her moral code wouldn’t allow her to shoot at someone for a selfish reason. Now maybe they could work together and figure out who wanted them dead.
He glanced toward her and then returned his attention to the road. “If you’re going to leave your mouth open, you might as well answer my question.”
She swallowed. “You know, you really need to work on your manners.”
“Would you please tell me the real reason you pulled out a rifle and placed a good dozen people’s lives in danger?” His jaw popped again.
“You really know how to sweet talk a girl,” she murmured and shook her head. She did like hearing him say please. She fought a grin. The subject wasn’t one to let happiness bubble up and release.
“Angel?” The way he gritted his teeth saying her name, it sounded more of a warning.
Tempted to play the pulling-teeth scenario he’d pulled on her earlier, she decided against it as she firmly lived by the Golden Rule: Do to others as you would have them do to you. Hard to believe those trips to church Mac had insisted on had come in handy. He’d worried about his soul in his later years. By being plain-spoken, well, most times, she saved a lot of misery and misunderstanding. Those who dealt with her knew she was a straight shooter, figuratively and literally.
“Damien and I were at Granddaddy’s gravesite, bringing some more flowers. I looked over at the crowd attending your father’s services, when, I don’t know, maybe a strong wind caused the tree limbs to sway a certain way or the guy moved, I really have no idea, but for a spilt second, the leaves parted and a flash of metal caught my peripheral vision. I continued to watch the spot and then I saw the sniper. He was closer to me, around two hundred yards from you. With the distance and the way the wind was blowing, I knew you wouldn’t hear me, and there was no guarantee that you’d duck in time if you had. I’ve never known a Whitfield do what a Tally told them without an argument.” She couldn’t help the smirk.
Jake nodded, ignoring her dig. “He was in the trees?”
“Yes. Dressed in jungle camo with a mask.”
“Damn.” His jaw shifted a little more as he digested the info.
She guessed it was a lot to take in.
“If you’re wondering, after I fired, the man dropped out of the tree and ran. I tried to follow, but some asshole t-boned Mac’s van.” She glanced at Jake, catching the brief smile on his face.
“It was necessary at the time. You know this means whoever killed the old man and your grandfather is now trying to kill me and your brother.”
“That’s what it appears like.” What more could she say? In the last twenty-four hours, she’d realized that Jake and his brothers were her and Damien’s only chance of living to a ripe old age. One worry constantly nagged at her. Was she letting her emotions blind her to the real Jake? Could she really trust him to help protect her brother?
CHAPTER TEN
Angel opened the car door after Jake pulled the Corvette to a gas pump and stepped out and pocketed his keys. She needed a break from his presence, if only for a couple of minutes. She needed to come to terms with what Jake had said about someone wanting to kill Damien.
“Fill the tank, and I’ll pay inside while I get us some burgers,” he said. People drove and walked in all directions at the huge truck stop, most appeared to go in and out the restaurant half of the building.
“I’ll gas it up, but I don’t want a burger. If they have salad, I’ll take one with vinaigrette dressing on the side.” With only a dry bagel that morning, her stomach had been protesting for the last few miles.
“You don’t need to lose weight. I’ll get you a burger and fries.”
“I’m a vegan.”
“A what?”
“I don’t eat meat or any dairy products.”
“No cheese?”
Why was it that was the first thing people asked? “No. No cheese.”
He stared at her for a few seconds.
She raised her eyebrows.
“Shit. Okay.” He shut the door behind him and stalked toward the restaurant.
Wow! She had to admit his easy acceptance surprised her.
Several minutes later, she’d twisted the cap closed on the tank and slipped back into the car. In no time, Jake exited the building with a couple of white bags.
“You didn’t say what you wanted to drink, so I got you unsweet tea and some packages of sweetener.”
Once again, he surprised her by not insisting he knew what was best, but instead handed her a sack with a plastic bowl filled with salad inside. Several small pink and yellow squares slid across the top of the clear lid along with a disposable fork and knife, and an unbuttered roll wrapped in wax paper nestled on the side.
After they hit the interstate, the sickening greasy scent of cooked beef filled the air. She rolled down her window a few inches before digging into the salad.
He tossed her a couple of napkins and then wiped his mouth in between bites of the largest hamburger he somehow held with one hand. The way he patted his lips and the corner of his mouth gave the scene a surreal feeling. How could Jake, after living with and growing up with a father who had a reputation of being the ultimate redneck, have such good manners? So strange and amazing.
“What?” He’d caught her staring. “Do I have mayo dripping off my chin?” He swiped with the napkin.
“No, no. I was wondering, from how you acted...that is, from what I’ve heard about your upbringing, I figured you would be...uh―” Before she could call him a heathen, he interrupted.
“Let’s get something straight right now. Forget everything you heard about me, especially when I was a kid.” Though he continued to eat, hamburger in one hand and the other with a napkin holding the steering wheel, he acted as if he cared little of what he’d revealed. She could tell her stuttering statement bothered him.
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” She had to admit that she’d barely stopped herself from saying she heard how Jake and his brothers had run wild, half naked, and coated with filth until old man Whitfield reined them in and put them to work.
He opened his mouth to respond when a loud bang rocked the car. She gasped and clutched the door armrest. The car swerved and vibrated as if it was about to fall apart. Jake turned the steering wheel, trying to regain control.
She squealed. The scenery swirled by as the car did a doughnut on the side of the interstate. Her salad scattered over her lap, around her feet, and over
the console. Jake’s hamburger fell apart as he squeezed it and the wheel.
They came to a stop with a jolt, heading in the wrong direction.
“What happened? Did the tire blow?” Her chest rose and fell as she tried to regain control of her panic.
“I guess you could say that. Someone shot at us,” he said in a droll tone, his attention on the rearview mirror.
“What?” How many people were out there trying to kill them? It had been only thirty minutes ago when they received news about a bullet skating by Damien. Marystown was far away still. Unless the killers flew in a helicopter. No, that would be crazy.
“Hand me my gun,” she demanded.
“Whose gun?” he asked, giving her a smug look.
Without a word, she cast an eat-dirt-and-die glare and then scooted down in the seat. She peeked over the door panel and looked around, trying to see who wanted them dead. Damn fiberglass car was no protection. Frustrated with Jake for keeping the gun, she could only claw the seat beneath her. She never felt more like a sitting duck.
A cloud of dust followed a brown truck flying backwards along the opposite side of the eastbound interstate. The same truck that had passed them seconds earlier, coming back for a second round. With a spray of rocks, it stopped and a flash of metal showed in the open window.
“Get down!” Jake pushed at her head.
The popping of bullets hitting the ground and the trunk foretold their ending. With amazing luck, a blue semi with a long, silver trailer drove by at a crawl. Probably the driver craning his neck to see what he believed was merely a wreck.
“Let’s go! Stay on the shoulder.” She pointed at the grass. “Keep the big rig between us and the shooter.” Their only hope was to move alongside the truck until they could find an exit and hide.
He nodded and shifted the gearstick to reverse. Engine smoking and rear tire flopping, the car shook almost as hard as she did in fear. She wasn’t sure if death was a possibility from being shot or Jake’s driving.
They’d gone more than a mile, dodging road signs and mile markers when they came to an exit. Three gas stations with a handful of fast-food restaurants promised enough people to discourage the gunman. Witnesses came in handy, though Angel hated endangering anyone, but it was a gamble they had to take.
He shot up the on-ramp in reverse and cut the steering wheel sharply. The thumping sound changed to metal on asphalt. The Corvette shot forward, pointing the correct way. She crossed her fingers, hoping it would work. The big rig had continued down the interstate, leaving them unprotected as Jake headed toward a little town off the exit. She scanned all of the lanes and overpass. No brown truck, but a creepy feeling warned her he’d be back.
“I don’t see him,” she said as she noticed Jake appeared a little pale. “Are you okay?”
“He didn’t follow us. Not sure what’s up, but we need to think of something fast before he backtracks.”
He had ignored her question as he parked the car in front of a small garage he found. For the moment, they needed to fix the tire, repair whatever was smoking beneath the hood, and head back home to safety. Safety? She snorted. Home wasn’t safe either, not after someone tried to kill her brother. Time would tell if Jake meant what he said about protecting her along with her brother. Her grandfather had always expected her to take care of everyone. The thought of someone looking after her would be a new experience.
“Grr! Give me my gun back. I freaking loathe being unarmed.”
“Loathe?” He eyed her and then reached beneath the seat, handing her the Beretta. “As you know, it’s my gun.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s belongs to me now. Only fair since you still have mine.” She checked the magazine in the Beretta. She wouldn’t put it past him to unload the rounds. Nope. All the cartridges were there.
“Don’t trust me,” he stated.
She looked up. Did he sound a little bothered by what she said?
Before she could respond, he stepped out, slamming the door behind him. Maybe she’d been around Mac for too many years. He rarely showed his feelings, and her dad only had one emotion: anger.
For what felt like forever, vehicles of every make and model zoomed in and out around her. She watched for the brown truck or anything suspicious but kept an eye on the yawning mouth of the garage door. An SUV sat on the raised rack and a man stood beneath it, hitting the undercarriage with a mallet. Then Jake and another man with grease-smeared jeans and T-shirt stepped into the sunlight. They shook hands, and the man stuck his hand into his front pocket.
Did he think they had time for the guy to repair the car before the shooter found them?
Jake walked to her side of the car and opened the door. “Let’s go.”
She grabbed her backpack and shoved the gun into the front zippered pocket, leaving it open and easily accessible.
“We don’t have time to wait for him to fix it.”
“I know. We’ve got a new ride.” He led her around the building to an old pickup truck. “I’ve talked with Tick. He called in a rollback wrecker to pick up the Corvette and haul it back to Marystown.”
For all its age, the red truck was in good shape and shined like a new penny.
“Will the guy keep his mouth shut if the shooter sees the Corvette and stops to ask questions?” She jumped into the cab. She raised her eyebrows. The interior smelled fresh. Not what she’d expected at all from the grease-smeared guy.
Jake balled the towel spread out over the driver seat and tossed it behind the seat.
“When I rented his truck, I threw in a healthy incentive to throw off our shooter.”
That explained the cash the guy stuffed in his pocket.
“He’s going to say we went the opposite way?”
“He’ll keep it simple by saying we’re in a black SUV. The shooter should realize we’re headed back home.”
She smiled. There were thousands of black SUVs. Though the red truck stood out like a pimple on the end of a teenager’s nose, no one would imagine Jake would be caught dead in it. That sobered her. If they weren’t careful, it was exactly what would happen.
As they headed back to the interstate, Angel hoped they would finally make it home. What were the chances of the shooter finding them a second time?
With that disturbing thought, she turned to him. “How did the shooter find us?”
“That’s what bothers me, too. Only a handful of people knew where I was.” His softly spoken words hung in the air. Someone he trusted had betrayed him.
The air conditioning struggled to keep up with the early June heat in the cab of the truck. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. She looked at Jake.
The view was more interesting than the passing one outside. From his golden skin to his sun-tipped hair, he gave off an outdoorsy vibe mixed with all-American boy gone bad man, a black hat wearing cowboy out of an old western. He even had the wrinkles at the corners of his crystal blue eyes. They interested her. Most men who possessed those little lines worked outside, caused by the sun and wind.
The Whitfield boys were known for all kinds of craziness and each were good-looking in their own way. Her mom used to say they had a ruthless, hungry look to them, the type to stay away from as they’d be nothing but trouble.
“Was it true that you and your brothers ran away from home at ten and lived for a month in the Cheaha Wilderness? With no adults, just you kids?” The story always sounded similar to a Huckleberry Finn adventure, and she often wished she’d been as brave.
“That’s what the old man told everyone.”
She fidgeted with her coat, ignoring the itch in her hand to touch him, to comfort him. The grimace crossing his face told how the story pained him. Instead she waited, hoping he indulged her this time.
“It all started innocent enough,” he said while keeping his eyes on the road. “We wanted a snack. Only one problem, it was two in the morning. The cabinets in the kitchen are tall, even for some adults. Ethan dropped a bowl. Glass went everywhere.” Hi
s tone started to change as his southern accent deepened, vowels stretched with each word, weaving a spell. Mac and his friends would do the same when they repeated a story from their past they’d told over and over again. “The housekeeper we had at the time harbored a fine distaste for kids, especially the male variety. She threw her clothes into her beaten leather bag and stomped out. When the old man came at us, we were sure we’d be seeing Saint Peter and those Golden Gates. Instead, he loaded us in the back of his extended cab truck and drove us down the interstate for what felt like hours. Once he turned off an exit in the middle of nowhere, he stayed on the little country road for a few miles more and then we found ourselves bouncing along a dirt trail that had to be no more than two trenches for the tires. It was mid-morning by the time he stopped. He dropped the tailgate and told us to get out. Seconds later, we were watching the rooster tail of his truck disappear in the distance. We were too stupid to be afraid. We pretended to be Tarzan.”
A bitter grin crossed Jake’s face. “Sen loved reading about Tarzan. Often, he snuck out the books, one by one, from the old man’s library. So there we were, surrounded by tall trees, no adults, and each other to look after. We swung from the vines over creeks and built tree houses that tumbled down in a light wind. But standing in the middle of that forest, we thought it would be an adventure of a lifetime.”
She rubbed her eyes and leaned back, her brain couldn’t wrap around the thought. How could a grown person do that to his own kids? Just imagining Damien left alone miles from home at ten years old terrified her. “What did your mother say? Sen’s mom was alive then, what did she do?”
He shrugged. “It was over a week before my mom noticed we were gone. She has a habit of not keeping up with time, and around those years, she often forgot to visit two to three weeks at a stretch. The old man gave her some cock-and-bull story of me being at a summer camp. It never crossed her mind, the old man barely bought us new clothes, no less pay for a camp.” He glanced her way. “Sen’s mom was too afraid to kick up a fuss. Being in the States illegally, she thought the old man would report her. I did hear later she tried to get the old man to tell her the truth.”
Jake: A Southern Crime Family Novel Page 10
