Christmas Countdown

by Jan Hambright

  Emma took the packet, put it in the purse she had slung across her body and stepped back.

  “Excuse me.” Mac leaned on the counter. “Can you tell me what barn Dragon’s Soul will be in?”

  “Certainly.” The secretary tapped her keyboard and stared at the monitor on her right. “Barn five, stall twenty.”

  “Thank you.” Mac turned around and followed Emma away from the window. They waded through the crowd of Thoroughbred owners swapping fastest times and horse tales and out into the parking lot.

  Reaching out, he took Emma’s elbow and pulled her to a stop. He scanned the lot. Rahul had beaten them out of the building by a few minutes, but somehow Mac couldn’t shake the feeling he was still there, somewhere, watching, waiting.

  “We did it, Mac. We really did it.”

  He took her hand and they headed for the pickup. He didn’t relax until he had her safely inside on the seat next to him.

  “It’s a relief to have that over with. Now we just need to win.”

  “The colt has it covered, trust me.” He fired up the truck and pulled out of the parking space, glancing in his rearview mirror as he circled the row of flashy cars lined up like a who’s who of the best blue bloods in the bluegrass.

  “I need a Derby hat for the race, Mac. Can we drive into Lexington to Ladies-and-Gents Hatters in Victorian Square?”

  “Sure.” He took a left out onto Iron Works Road from the parking lot and watched a sleek black car pull out one car behind them.

  “That’s on Main, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He remembered the quaint mall that had been around since before he was born. He was pretty sure the hatters was where his dad had purchased the fedora he liked to wear now.

  Relief glided over his nerves as he glanced up and saw the black car turn then disappear down a side street.

  Sucking in some of the excitement he could feel in the air, he headed for Victorian Square. He had some Christmas shopping of his own to take care of.

  MAC FIRST NOTICED the car’s headlights in his rearview mirror as he headed out of New Zion and turned onto Lemons Mill Pike.

  The vehicle came up fast behind him, swung out and whipped around them at a high rate of speed.

  He recognized the black car that had followed them out of the parking lot at Keeneland and felt the first wave of warning ripple across his mind.

  “Damn, that guy’s driving too fast for this stretch of road.” Emma watched the taillights fade to tiny red pinpricks in the darkness.

  “That car followed us out of the lot at the horse park this afternoon and into Lexington, but he turned off on a side street. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional or coincidence.”

  “I guess you’re getting your answer. So what’s he doing out here now?” She watched the car’s brake lights come on in the distance.

  “You buckled up?” Mac asked.

  “Always.” Worry ground over her nerves. She didn’t like the sound of that. Was he anticipating some sort of trouble? She’d had enough of it to last her a lifetime. She was ready for it to stop.

  The red lights vanished and her nerves calmed, only to tighten again when headlights on bright shined up ahead in the darkness.

  “Looks like he’s coming back at us,” Mac said, staring straight ahead.

  Fear rocked Emma’s senses. She couldn’t seem to swallow the lump caught just below her windpipe. Mentally she drove the road ahead for hazards and felt her body tense.

  “The bridge over North Elkhorn Creek is between us and him.”

  Mac eyeballed the speedometer, slowed down and dialed up the spot she was talking about in his mind’s eye.

  The stream was wide there, the bridge span sixty feet across, the deep, slow-moving water ten feet below.

  A game of chicken? Mac knew his truck easily outweighed the sleek car and a meeting on the bridge would be suicide.

  His headlights illuminated the narrow reflective panels on either side of the concrete abutment a hundred yards ahead. He had no intention of sharing any part of the bridge with the oncoming car.

  Mac slammed on the brakes.

  An explosion went off, like a firecracker igniting in a can.

  A tire blew.

  The truck jerked hard to the left.

  Smoke belched from the left front wheel well and streamed past the driver’s side window.

  Mac fought to control the slide, but the pickup careened across the center line.

  Emma screamed.

  Resigned to the situation, he worked to mitigate the impact and steered into the skid, but it was already too late.

  The edge of the road was there before he could right the momentum.

  Mac heard the front wheels rip through the gravel on the shoulder as the truck flipped over and rolled down the steep embankment.

  The air bags inside the cab deployed.

  He counted the revolutions. Once, twice and the final bone-jarring impact as the still-running pickup slammed down on its top.

  Mac got his bearings in the mayhem.

  He was hanging upside down, still wearing his seat belt. He stared out the shattered front windshield at a single beam of light shining from one headlight. They’d landed inches from the water.

  The last-minute maneuver had saved them from a hard plunge into Elkhorn Creek and certain death.

  “Emma?” He reached up, found the seat-belt buckle and released it.

  Dropping like a rock, he crumpled against the roof, now a floor, unfolded and eased forward on his knees.

  “Can you hear me, Em?” Desperation fisted in his chest. He reached across in the direction of the passenger seat, feeling her hair brush his hand.

  “Emma!” Straining, he found her buckle clasp and released her, pulling her into his arms as she dropped out of the restraint.

  She was unconscious but alive.

  The wail of an engine being revved blended with the sound of the still-idling pickup.

  Another problem emerged on the air inside of the crushed cab, its caustic vapors setting off warning bells inside his head as he breathed them in.

  Gasoline.

  It must be leaking out of the fuel-tank valve on the right side of the upside-down pickup.

  He had to get Emma out of the truck.

  Now.

  Mac pushed backward with one arm locked around Emma’s waist and the other balanced on the floor. He aimed for the driver’s side window, shuffling over broken glass that cut into his knees, shins and hands. He ignored the sting and kept moving.

  He found the opening with one boot-clad foot and determined the glass was missing. With his heel, he kicked loose what remained of the window.

  First one foot, then the other. He went to his belly, dragging Emma along half a foot at a time and praying the opening was large enough for him to squeeze his upper body out of.

  If it wasn’t…

  Semiconscious, Emma felt the sensation of being pulled along. The feel of Mac’s strong arm wrapped around her midsection seemed to be her only connection to a disassembled reality she fought to clarify.

  Crash. They’d been in a car crash. She remembered the tinny ring of an explosion right before Mac lost control of the truck and they went over the edge just shy of the bridge.

  Down, he was pulling her down. Taking his arm away from around her waist. Was he leaving?

  Terror roared to the forefront and she jolted into the conscious world, feeling the sharp prick of glass cutting into her backside.

  Sucking in a ragged breath, she opened her eyes, staring at the eerie reflection of light on the bucket seats above her head. They were upside down.

  In a panic, she attempted to roll over, but the space was too small.

  “Mac! I can’t breathe.”

  “Hang on, Em, I’m going to pull you out through the window, but you need to raise your arms over your head.”

  She did as he asked and felt him grasp her wrists. Bending her knees, she pushed off the instant he pulled an
d held her breath through the tight squeeze as he wedged her out of the narrow opening onto the ground next to him.

  “Keep your head down; they’re sitting up on the road.” Panic dissolved her composure and Mac reached out and cupped his hand over her mouth. “It’s best to let them believe we didn’t make it.”

  She nodded.

  He pulled his hand away, but she’d already made so much noise they had to know they were still alive.

  Ping! A gunshot rang out from the road above. A bullet drilled into the underside of the pickup.

  Mac’s nerves turned on edge, his mind shifting into over-drive. He unholstered his weapon and took Emma’s hand. “There’s gasoline leaking out on the other side of the truck. If they hit it they’ll spark a fireball. We’ve got to get clear.”

  She squeezed his fingers so hard they burned.

  Mac stared off into the overgrown field they’d rolled into, spotting a cluster of brush twenty-five feet out from where they huddled. If they could take cover there, they had a chance.

  Ping! Another shot ripped into the pickup.

  “Can you run?” He stared into the shadow of her face in the gloom.

  “Yeah. I feel a little loopy. I hit my head, but my legs work.”

  “Do you see that patch of brush over there?” He pointed it out, glad when she focused on it. “That’s where we’re going when I return fire. Twenty-five feet, sweetheart. Just twenty-five feet.”

  She nodded.

  Mac aimed high and over his left shoulder and squeezed off a round.

  Someone returned fire from the road.

  “Go, Emma. Run!”

  She took off.

  Mac fell in behind her, getting off a round a second as he worked to cover her body with his own.

  They reached the brush and dived into it.

  Mac stared out, took aim and pulled the trigger, hitting the left rear quarter panel of the car.

  The thug squeezed off two more rounds. His bullet hit the pickup just below the leaking gas tank and ignited the vapors.

  Woof! The truck’s gas tank exploded in a raging ball of fire that lit up the night sky.

  In the glare and heat Mac saw a single individual standing on the road next to the black car, but he didn’t recognize him.

  He jumped in and sped away.

  “Mac, your truck!” He pulled Emma against him and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “It’s replaceable. I’ll get a new one.” Digging in his coat pocket, he took out his cell phone, dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, fire truck and Sheriff Riley Wilkes.

  He shut the phone and held on to her, watching the flames destroy the hunk of metal, and appreciated how close he’d just come to losing her.

  The woman in his arms was irreplaceable.

  Closing his eyes he acknowledged the revelation that was locked up inside of him.

  He was in love with her, too.

  EMMA SAT ON THE BACK bumper of the ambulance staring at Mac and Sheriff Wilkes as they talked just out of earshot.

  The commotion clouded the scene, and she found herself shutting it all out as she watched him. Her ears were still ringing from the noise of the explosion.

  “Look at the light for me, miss,” an EMT said, focusing a penlight first in one eye, then in the other. “Her pupils are equal and reactive. She’s oriented and alert.”

  “I’d like to go home now. My farm is only a couple of miles from here.”

  “You took a bump on the head. You’ve got a minor concussion.”

  “I know the drill. I promise I’ll take care of myself and call the doctor if I have any problems.”

  One EMT handed the other one a clipboard. “Sign this. It’s a release form stating that you don’t want to be transported to the hospital.”

  She took the clipboard and the pen and signed at the X, then handed it back and stood up. “Thank you.”

  Turning, she headed for Mac and the sheriff.

  “This was no accident. Whoever was driving that car set off a charge that took out my left front tire. They wanted us to crash into the creek.”

  “Did you get a look at the plate number?”

  “No, but I’m pretty sure it was a black Lexus.”

  Emma reached Mac’s side and huddled next to him, feeling the nip of the cold for the first time tonight.

  “I’ll put a bulletin out on the car, but there are dozens that fit that description cruising the streets of Lexington this close to race day.”

  “I know I hit it at least once in the rear quarter panel. A nice car like that with a bullet hole in it will turn up somewhere to be repaired.”

  Wilkes nodded, and Mac reached out and put his arm around Emma. “Can we catch a ride home, Sheriff?”

  “Sure, hop in.”

  They fell in behind Wilkes as he headed for his patrol car.

  Home.

  He liked the sound of that and the sure feel of Emma next to him. What he didn’t like was his fear that Rahul had brought another crew member on board who had no qualms about trying to kill them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mac closed the gate on the back of the horse trailer and went around to the driver’s side door of Firehill’s bright red truck. Leaning against it, he waited for Emma to come out of the house so they could leave for Keeneland.

  Tension knotted his muscles and sucked all the excitement out of the air. Glancing over, he watched Rahul and Karif working to load Dragon’s Soul into their horse trailer. He gritted his teeth.

  It had been three days since the accident on Lemons Mill Pike and he’d been on full alert since the black Lexus with his bullet hole in it had turned up in a ditch a mile from where they’d crashed. It had been reported stolen by an elderly couple in Lexington the day of the entry sign-up. Another dead end.

  Today it would all be over, at least, that’s what Agent Donahue had said in the early hours before dawn, when they’d wired Mac for sound with a hidden microphone and laid out their plan to let things unfold so they could crush the cell.

  The screen door at the back of the house banged shut.

  Mac straightened and eyed Emma as she walked toward him in a dressy chocolate-colored pants suit, and wearing her cowboy boots. “Hey, gorgeous.”

  She looked up and gave him a tired smile. She’d been getting about as much sleep as he had with a pack of trouble living next door.

  “It’s finally here. Race day.” Emma tried to relax, but she couldn’t. She knew if she turned around she’d see Rahul and his crew. That was the last thing she needed right now. “Can we go?”

  “Yeah.” Mac followed her around to the passenger-side door and pulled it open for her. She climbed in. He closed it and came back around, got into the truck and fired it up. “Where’s your dad?”

  “He told me to go, said he’s going to watch the race on the tube.”

  He shifted the truck into gear and eased down on the gas pedal.

  Emma put on her seat belt and clutched the race packet in her hand. They’d be at Keeneland in less than half an hour and she started to count the minutes as they pulled out of the farm onto the main road.

  MAC HANDED THE GATE PASS to the uniformed security guard at the entrance into barn row.

  He looked it over, handed it back, then waved them through the wide gate and into the long line of horsemen jockeying for parking to unload their horses.

  Taking a right turn, he headed for their assigned barn, spotting barn number seven, one stable from the end of the row. He found a pull-through relatively close, eased the truck and trailer in and stopped. “We made it.”

  “Beats the heck out of the alternative.” She looked over at him and he reached out to touch her hand as she slid it across the seat toward him.

  “Agent Donahue has the place surrounded.” He interlocked his fingers with hers.

  “How do you know that?”

  “He told me this morning.”

  She looked away and blinked back tears then straightened. “Does he have any
idea what they’re going to try?”

  “No.” If reassurance was his mark he failed to hit it. “Just keep your eyes open, Emma. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”

  “I can do that.” She reached for the door handle and climbed out of the truck.

  Mac followed, hearing the nervous colt whinny in the back of the trailer. “Let’s check out his stall first, then I’ll unload him. Barn seven, stall twenty-one, right there on the end.”

  Together they found the cubicle bedded with fresh straw. Mac opened the stable door and went inside, turned on the water valve and filled the trough half-full. “Looks ready. I’ll go get the colt.”

  Emma waited next to the stable gate, watching Mac enter the slant trailer and lead Navigator’s Whim out.

  The colt was excited. He shuffled sideways and let out a high-pitched whinny, drawing responses from all over the horse park.

  She could feel it, too. The early afternoon air was heavy with excitement, some of which rubbed off on her and infused the race grounds with an energy level that was off the charts.

  Sunshine glistened across Navigator’s shiny red-brown coat, highlighting the colt’s impressive athleticism. Her heart fluttered in her chest. He was going to win today. Her elation waned slightly when she spotted Rahul and Karif pulling in to a space not too far from where Mac had parked Firehill’s rig.

  They climbed out of the truck and begin unloading Dragon’s Soul. The big black horse bolted out of the trailer and they fought to get him under control, which always seemed to be a challenge.

  She had to look away, had to refocus on something she could control or her nerves would fray. They had two hours to get the colt ready before he went to the paddock. She would start there.

  MAC STUDIED THE HORSEMEN milling in the paddock from his spot in post slot box number five, looking for trouble and hoping he’d see it in time to stop it.

  On the other side of the narrow paddock, Rahul and Karif worked to control Dragon’s Soul. Turning and heading him into post slot number thirteen for the fourth time.