a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure)

by Charles, L. j.

  He looked doubtful.

  “Seriously. Once was enough.” A shudder passed through my body.

  He walked me to my car and waited while I unlocked the door. “You think Marcy is the killer, don’t you?”

  He slapped the contract against his notebook. “This gives her a hell of a motive.”

  “But she’s sleeping with North.”

  “Yeah. I’m thinking I better keep a tight rein on him until we bring Marcy in.”

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “That’s really sick. You think she’s using sex to…I don’t know…set him up for the kill?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Adam checked his watch. “Gotta go. Stay out of trouble.” He took a few steps, turned, and pinned me with a look. “Do not try to find Marcy Blaine. Go home. Go shopping. Do anything that keeps you away from my suspects.”

  I gave him a snappy salute. “Yes, Detective. On my way to the mall.”

  Food sounded like a much better plan than shopping. I slid behind the wheel, too restless to go home, and too tired to come up with something else to explore. Although Marcy Blaine’s house held some appeal. But I promised—and I’d probably run into Adam. That would be seriously bad.

  I cranked up an oldies station and pulled into a Chick-fil-A drive thru line for lemonade and some chicken strips—without sauce. A girl has to cut calories where she can.

  I kept my eyes on the road as I fumbled the box open and inhaled the scent of spicy chicken. My stomach offered an embarrassing rumble, but the strips were too hot to eat, so I chugged a couple swallows of lemonade.

  Light flashed in my rearview mirror as I merged with the traffic on Kildaire Farm Road. Damn, there was a pickup truck riding my tail. I hated when people did that, tryed to avoid tailgaters whenever possible. I stayed in the outside lane hoping the guy would pass me.

  He didn’t. Kept riding my tail. Looked…familiar. A chill lodged between my shoulders, then skittered down my spine. It couldn’t be the same black Chevy that pulled in behind me when I left C.J. Construction. That would be too weird.

  The back of my neck prickled, and sweat danced over my skin.

  What the hell?

  Rays of afternoon sun bounced against the truck’s windshield and reflected brightly in my rearview mirror. I couldn’t make out what the driver looked like. Evasion tactics would be good here, except I didn’t have a clue what to do.

  I ran my index finger over the belly jewel. Pierce hadn’t let me see a thing when he thought we were being tailed. Note to self: bargain with Pierce for training in evasive techniques. I slapped my pockets looking for my cell phone and came up empty. Must’ve dropped it in my handbag before Adam and I left Jacobson’s office.

  Damn. Why hadn’t I been born clairvoyant instead of with a crazy touch gift. At least I’d know when bad stuff was going to happen.

  I glanced at the traffic in front of me—it was light. I slowed some, hoping the truck would pass, and checked my rearview mirror again.

  Still there, riding my bumper.

  I swallowed and ran my tongue across my lips, bit down, then took a quick slurp of lemonade and thought about where to go. Didn’t they say you were supposed to pull into a police station? Seemed like a good plan, except the station was on the other side of town.

  A lot could happen between here and there.

  A flash in the rearview mirror caught my attention, and the truck pulled out from behind me and passed, pulled in front of me. I grabbed a napkin out of my fast food bag and scrubbed the sweat off my neck. Thank God. The flash had been a turn signal. That’s all. Just a turn signal.

  I sucked in a breath and took another swallow of lemonade.

  It took a minute before I realized this was a fantastic turn of events. I had a clear view of the license plate and kept repeating the number, committing it to memory. Now if I could just reach my phone.

  Not that it mattered.

  Whoever it was, they weren’t following me anymore. Still. I wanted Adam or Annie to run the plate. My neck hadn’t stopped tingling, and I have a lot of respect for the pricklies.

  “Finally,” I muttered, my hand bumping into my purse. I grabbed a fistful of leather, hauled it into the front seat with a little too much force and smashed the box of chicken strips. Oh, well. My appetite had gone south when I noticed the grill of the pickup bearing down on my bumper.

  Digging blindly for my phone, I kept tabs on traffic and the black beast in front of me. It turned onto Cary Parkway, and I decided to follow. It was a safe, populated area, and I really wanted to get a glimpse of the driver.

  It was way too coincidental that he’d been driving around Jacobson’s office and Chick-fil-A, and turn up in traffic behind me. A ghostly breeze fluttered in my belly. Not ignorable.

  Tired of rooting around for my phone, I up-ended the handbag on the passenger seat and dug my cell from an assortment of hair clips, lip-gloss and my lock pick tools.

  I turned it on, noticed the battery was low, so speed dialed Adam and left a message with the license plate number of the truck. My finger hovered over Annie’s number, but since she was with Sean, I turned the phone off to conserve what was left of the battery. Another note to self: get one of those car phone chargers. Soon.

  The truck headed toward the yuppie community of Preston, and so did I—a bunch of car lengths behind.

  Hunger pangs interfered with my singing along to the oldies playing on the radio. Time to quit following this dude and toss out my decimated snack before grease leaked through the cardboard and stained the leather seats of my brand, spankin’ new Prius.

  My cell rang. Caller ID showed Katelan. Not a good time for a chat, but with the Justin North confrontation yesterday I had to answer.

  “Thank God you answered, Everly. It’s the North negotiation. I can tip this to go against him, and the need to do that is screaming at me. But it’s wrong, right? No way should I ever use my gifts to nudge the outcome of a negotiation. I know that. And what was in that envelope. I need to know.”

  I’d never heard Katelan so disturbed, not even during the trouble with her ex. “I agree that you never use your gift to influence an outcome, but everyone has to make their own call on a case-by-case basis.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew my bias against Justin North had taken over my common sense. What kind of a teacher gave her student horrible advice?

  “Okay. No interfering. Can you at least tell me what was in the envelope? I really need to know. North came on to me before the meeting started this morning, and it’s all I can do not to beat him with my Blahniks.”

  “Nothing was in there that incriminated North. Some blackmail worthy pictures of people engaged in sexual relations. North wasn’t one of them. Step back from this, Katelan, and let the Universe handle the outcome of the negotiation. When it’s over, beat him. But not with those shoes. Too expensive to waste on North.”

  A huge sigh huffed through the phone line. “You’re right. I know you are, but I guess I needed to hear you say it.”

  My cell beeped, telling me it was out of battery. “Phone’s dying. Are you good here?”

  “Yes. Ready to get back in there and finish this. Thanks, El.”

  We signed off, and a few minutes later the nasty black truck reached Preston Corners. I gave up the chase and swung into the McDonald’s back parking lot. Time to stop chasing bad guys and get on with my life. I jumped out of the car and circled around to the passenger side so I could clean up the mess. It took a few minutes to gather everything I’d dumped from my handbag and stash it in the appropriate compartments. I stood and slung the bag over my shoulder, then leaned into the front seat to grab the trash.

  The rumble of an engine revved behind me, and I caught the glint of a shiny, black vehicle in my side view mirror.

  It skidded to a stop next to me.

  The driver’s door flew open, banged into my ass, and pushed me head first into my car.

  A gun pressed against my back before I could turn around
.

  The scream tearing at my throat escaped against the palm of a dirty hand. I bit down.

  “You bitch!” She squeezed her hand, twisted my mouth like it was in a wringer. Hurt. Like. Hell.

  Knees liquid, a shot of adrenaline blasted through me. Gun, Everly. Deep breath. Do. Not. Move.

  Panic clawed a hole in my belly and shut down my lungs.

  “In the car. Now!” a woman’s voice hissed in my ear as she back-kicked the door closed on her truck.

  She wasn’t Marcy Blaine.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Marcy Blaine was shorter than me. This woman towered over me. And her voice was sharp, without a trace of Marcy’s raspy whisper. The scent of moist dirt wafted from her body. A Gardener? A zombie? Fear had ripped a hole in my ability to think.

  I twisted, swung my arm wide, tried to slam my handbag into her gun hand.

  She grabbed the bag, tossed it into the back seat. The gun jabbed hard against my lower back. “Eyes front.” She crowded me, pushing until I’d scrambled over the console and into the driver’s seat, and then settled into the passenger side and slammed the door closed.

  Anxiety crawled over my skin leaving a trembling layer of ice behind.

  I fumbled with the door handle, but my sweaty palms couldn’t get a grip. Where the hell were all the people? The backside of a McDonalds parking lot should be teeming with a slew of loitering kids, all with handy dandy cell phones at their fingertips.

  “Start the car.” She pressed the gun to my temple. “We’ll be taking a short drive.”

  It took several tries, but I finally managed to get the shaking under control, fit the key in the ignition, and pull out of the parking lot. This was bad. Really bad. Defense training, what little I’d had time for, taught me never to get in a car with your assailant.

  I tried to sneak a sideways look at her, but she was leaning back and vigilant with the gun barrel, so I only managed to get a good look at the sleeve of her t-shirt. Dark gray cotton. No distinguishing marks.

  “Wh-Who—?” I stuttered.

  “Shut up.” She rolled the barrel of the gun against my cheek.

  Okay then. I glanced around, frantic. Had to be someone in shouting distance. Someone would see the crazy person holding a gun to my head.

  I sucked in a breath. Failed. Managed a couple pants. The car smelled like sweat and fear, both overlaid with the odor of damp earth. I turned my head to see.

  The gun cut into my temple.

  “It would make my day to pull this trigger,” she purred.

  I shuddered, panic clawing its way under my skin. Had to get away. Stomp on the brake? Hit the gas? Run off the road? Slam into something? My foot flinched against the accelerator.

  “No sudden moves, Ms. Gray. Moving vehicle or not, I won’t hesitate to shoot you.” The purr in her voice crawled along my skin with slippery fingers. Her directions were terse. Right, left, straight. Nothing more.

  I drove for about twenty minutes before she had me turn into a deserted construction site. Puzzle pieces started falling into place, connecting loose bits of information, but nothing my shattered brain could integrate.

  A trailer sat off to one side, but mostly there was just a lot of dirt and equipment. Damp earth. The smell coated my throat and I gagged.

  “You barf, I shoot you. Stop here.” She pulled the keys from the ignition. “Do not move. I can bury you in your car, no problem.”

  She grabbed my handbag from back seat and slid out of the car.

  Run, Everly. Now! I grabbed the door handle.

  Pain spiked through the back of my head.

  The world shuddered and went dark.

  My eyes fluttered open, and my hands clutched the back of my head. Pain, immobilizing, shot through me.

  She stood in front of me, legs spread wide, both hands wrapped around the weapon, the barrel trained on my forehead.

  I looked into her eyes and caught an unwanted glimpse of crazy.

  Danielle Chambers.

  She was covered with smudges of thick, red dirt.

  I blinked a few times trying to hold her in focus. Couldn’t. Head hurt. I looked at my hands. Bloody. Shit. Not good.

  “Out.” She motioned with the gun.

  I swung my legs around, thought about hooking my feet around her knees to knock her down, but she’d stepped back too far. When I stood, the horizon spun. Nausea burned my belly. I grabbed the car door for support, snapped my eyes closed, and sucked in air through my mouth willing the shakes to stop.

  She moved. Cold metal snapped against my wrists and tightened.

  Bloody, bloody hell.

  She tied a rope around the link between the handcuffs and jerked me toward the trailer.

  Death. Not a shadow. A full-blown specter hovered over me. Imminent.

  An image of Mitch floated through my mind. He loved me. Oh, shit. He loved me.

  That meant I had to live through this. It had felt so good to just float into the arms of death, to not care what she did to me.

  I fell to my knees and lost the Chick-fil-A lemonade. Danielle jerked me to my feet, pushed me inside the trailer, and shoved me down on a brown, metal folding chair. “Stay.”

  I flexed my fingers. Fat lot of good they’d done me.

  A chair creaked. Danielle sat across from me on a matching chair behind a matching desk. I never wanted to see brown metal again. She held the gun loosely in her right hand. Her eyes focused on me, flat and empty. Scary as all hell.

  “Water,” I croaked, running my tongue along my lips.

  She breathed out a heavy sigh, dropped her feet to the floor, stood and leveled the gun at me, cocked her head this way and that as she caressed the trigger, playing with me. Then she backed the few steps to the water cooler and filled a cup, barely shifting her gaze away from me. She set the cup down arm’s reach away, then sat behind the desk, feet propped up.

  I stretched to reach the cup, caught it between my palms and slowly pulled it toward me. I kept my fingertips away from the paper, not wanting to be hit with any crazy person energy Danielle may have left on the cup.

  She was carrying around the energy from at least one murder, possibly more. Experience taught me that touching a murderer knocked me on my butt. Not something I could afford to have happen if I wanted to survive this…encounter.

  I sipped the water, letting it trickle down my throat. Time to start asking questions so I could plan how to escape. “Who are you?” I asked. Nothing like starting with basic info to set the tone for a friendly chat.

  She cocked her head at me. “Why?”

  “Because—” I glanced at the handcuffs— “you’re going to kill me. I want to know who you are. And why you want me dead.”

  “Don’t know what difference it makes. I’m going to kill you anyway.” She did a half-hearted shrug. “The more important question is who are you? And what the fuck were you doing in Calvin Jacobson’s office?”

  I didn’t answer. Couldn’t really. Another wave of nausea hit, and I needed to concentrate on breathing through it.

  She snagged my handbag off the desk, rummaged through for my wallet and flipped it open. “Ev-er-ly Gray. What kind of name is that?” she asked, derision hanging from every word.

  “Scottish.” The nausea had eased, but her casual attitude about my impending death left icy fingers around my heart.

  She shook her head. “You’re not related to Calvin. What were you doing in the C.J. Builders?”

  “Building a house,” I ventured. Should I replay the scene Mitch and I created for Justin North?

  She slid her chair back and her feet slammed to the floor. “Don’t be funny. You were there with a detective. I recognized him…”

  Something shifted in my brain, and I decided to tell her the truth. I told her about helping Adam, that we were taking one last walk-thru looking for evidence as to who killed Jacobson. Only thing I left out was about my fingers.

  By the time I finished, she’d leaned back in her chair ag
ain and gave me a speculative look. “What’d you find? Stone was on a mission when he stormed out of there.”

  “You were watching?”

  She nodded. “I work with Jacobson.”

  I reached for the water, took my time taking another sip. It gave me a minute to think. “You’re in construction?” I laced the question with skepticism.

  It worked.

  “I do engineering design for most of his projects. I’m Danielle Chambers.” Her smile was calm, proud as she introduced herself.

  It was unnerving that she kept talking about Jacobson as though he were still alive. As though things were normal.

  “He’s dead, you know. Murdered.”

  Her shoulders went up around her ears, dropped back down. “Maybe.”

  A chill ran through my body. She was well and truly crazy. How had Adam missed this? And how the hell was I supposed to keep a crazy woman from killing me?

  I had to keep her talking, at least until I figured out something else. “Do you work for Justin North, too?”

  She settled back, crossed her arms, but kept the gun pointed in my general direction. “Yes,” she spat. “But not for much longer.”

  “Why not? Seems like a viable company. Especially now that C.J. Builders is closed.”

  She shook her head, and her eyes turned flat. “Jacobson and North hurt my Marcy. They have to be punished. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Not in this lifetime, lady. But now was clearly not the time for honesty. “Yes. Marcy is special. I met her at North’s office.”

  “She hates him.” Danielle twirled a finger in her hair. Long, lanky, strands of mousy brown hair. “I’m the one she loves. We’ve been together a long time. Since before Shauna—”

  Her voice trailed off, and I scooted to the edge of my chair. Make a run for it? Maybe. I put some weight on my legs to test my knees. They shook so hard it rattled my teeth. Not a good time to try for a flat-out run. Better talk some more, give my knees a chance to settle down. Besides Danielle knew all the answers.

  “Shauna?” I asked softly. I didn’t want to disturb her altered state, but definitely wanted some answers.