“Well, for your sake I hope it works.”
“You and me both. I don’t suppose you’ve got a gift box?” Or anything else that would drag this out a little longer. He needed to know whether or not anyone else would be interrupting what came next. Like someone out back.
“Sure.” She bent down to check under the counter. “Looks like we’re out.”
“Too bad. My nephew likes opening the package as much as finding out what’s inside.”
“I can check out back.” It came out almost grudgingly.
He nearly smiled in triumph. “That would be great. I wanted to check out the snow globes anyway. My brother’s wife is a sucker for them.”
“Okay then.” She moved around the counter, and although she betrayed no suspicion he had an ulterior motive for being there, she was careful to keep him in her peripheral vision, never turning her back on him entirely.
Smart girl.
She turned a corner, and instead of bolting down the narrow hall toward the back door, she disappeared into a room on the left. He let out the breath he’d been holding, half-anticipating that she would run.
A chime over the door tinkled.
So much for being alone with her. He glanced at the front of the store and went perfectly still. Fuck.
Picking up a red and blue windmill from the closest display, he ran through his options, eliminating every one that involved walking Maxine Walker past the two men who just stepped through the door.
The first one inside—tall and dressed in a green Aloha shirt—had a tattoo that wrapped around his throat and supposedly ran down the length of his body. James “Snake” Martin was Blackwater’s muscle and had been working for the dealer for over twenty years. He usually stuck close to Blackwater though, unless he was with…
His gaze darted to the second guy through the door.
Fantastic. Blackwater’s son.
Christ, he needed to talk to Tess. Whoever her source was, they’d apparently shared their information with Blackwater, and god knew who else. It would be really helpful to know who else might end up breathing down his neck before he got Max the hell out of here.
He was hardly a fan of hers, considering more than one person had implicated her in Cara’s death, but he could guarantee what he had in mind didn’t involve roughing her up for the hell of it. He’d bet his next bonus that neither man wandering around the front of the store could claim the same.
Sensing movement, he spotted his target in the doorway, a box in her hand. He started forward, planning an interception that began with getting her down the hallway and ended with them slipping out the back door, without attracting the attention of Blackwater’s men.
It would have worked out fine if she’d kept her eyes on him and didn’t glance at the two men who’d joined them. He had to give her props, though, since the only indication she’d recognized them was the squaring of her shoulders as she strode to the counter, closer to the men.
He knew from his homework that Maxine Walker was a risk taker, reckless according to some, and had earned the nickname Mad Max. If he had doubted what he’d read, every determined step forward would be proving him wrong.
Either she was confident neither man would recognize her, or there was some tactical advantage in heading back to the cash register. Moving to catch up with her since she’d dodged around another display to get ahead of him, he undid the snap on the side pocket of his pants where he had stashed his Sig Sauer.
Seeing as he was supposed to be fishing in Florida, using the pistol was at the bottom of his to-do list.
Ahead of him, Max set the box on the counter, hollered out about the shop being closed in a deeper-sounding voice than earlier, and bent down to grab something. He saw her dig a gun from a bag beneath the counter and tuck it in the back of her waistband as he approached from her left.
She stood, sparing him only a glance before slipping the dream catcher in the box.
“Just had a couple questions.” Snake strolled closer. “For the owner, actually.”
Max’s hands momentarily stilled, then she continued to slip the box into a paper bag with the shop’s logo on the front. “She’s away on vacation,” she lied. “Won’t be back for a couple of weeks.”
“That’s too bad. Maybe you can help us. We’re looking for someone.”
“Sure. Just give me a minute.”
She motioned to Lucas. “The dream catcher comes to nineteen seventy-five.” She kept her face angled away from the two men the whole time, but Lucas didn’t doubt she was keeping track of them.
Still, there was no way she’d be able to have a conversation without one of them seeing right through her new look.
Lucas turned toward them, cutting them off before they got any closer to the counter. “I’m friends with Sherri, the owner. Maybe I can help.”
Blackwater’s son shrugged and dug a picture out of his pocket. “We’re tracking down a missing person.” He offered the photo to Lucas.
It was the same one he had in his own file on Maxine Walker. “She’s pretty, though I don’t usually go for blondes myself. And she’s missing? Do you guys think anything bad happened to her?”
“Not yet. We hope,” Blackwater tacked on, forcing a smile that was probably supposed to pass for concern.
“I haven’t seen her around town. Is she local?”
“No. It’s an old case, actually.”
“You know, you should probably talk to Constable Herring. He’s the RCMP officer running the BBQ on the wharf today, the big guy massacring the burgers. He’s pretty vigilant about what goes on in Riverbend. He might have come across your missing woman.” All of which Lucas had learned in the two minutes he’d spent scoping the area out earlier.
Turning his back, he kept his body between them and Max. He offered her the picture. “Have you seen her?”
Her eyes snapped to his, suspicion glittering in the steel-blue depths. “I don’t think so. No.”
Before Blackwater Junior got any closer, Lucas pivoted around, handing back the picture. “If one of you guys has a business card or contact number, I’m sure Sherri would have no problem getting in touch with you guys when she gets back into town.”
Blackwater’s son tucked the photo back into his suit. “We’ll be in touch with her later.” He nodded to Snake, who lingered another moment, then headed for the door.
“You need to go,” Max hissed under her breath, all but shoving the bagged and boxed dream catcher down his throat. “Now.”
He lowered his voice to match hers. “I can’t do that.”
She stepped around the end of the counter, putting herself a few feet closer to the back door. “Who are you?”
The chimes sounded and Lucas waited to hear the door close. And waited…
Max froze. The cool resignation in her eyes said it all—Snake had recognized her.
How in the hell had Blackwater’s men found her? And of all the lowlifes he could have sent after her, why did one of them have to be Snake?
Three months ago she had figured out how he’d earned the nickname, had witnessed the sick bastard drape his albino python around a snitch, grinning as it wrapped itself around the guy and squeezed the life out of him.
But it was the presence of Blackwater’s son that really unnerved her. Samuel Blackwater wouldn’t have sent his oldest son, his right-hand, if he wasn’t dead set on getting her back to New York. She knew she’d crossed the line in that rundown warehouse three months ago, had made it impossible for him to forget her.
The same way he’d made it impossible to forget what had gone down that night. The nightmarish images hovered at the back of her mind, and she quickly shut them down. She couldn’t afford the distraction. Not when she was determined to avoid being stuffed in a trunk with Snake’s python and taken back to Blackwater.
The stranger opposite her snapped his head around, his gaze locking onto Snake. Whatever he’d come looking for, it didn’t have anything to do with a souvenir for his n
ephew. He knew who she was, which left him with the advantage. He also knew who Sherri was, and the local law officials. How long had he been hanging around town?
Across the room, Snake went for his weapon.
“Down!” Max threw herself against Mr. Unknown, and they crashed to the floor.
She ignored his surprised grunt and rolled to a crouch, yanking her gun out as the first set of silenced shots tore into the display case behind her. Shattered glass rained down on her head.
Damn it. Sherri was going to kill her. Thank god she’d said she planned to wait until morning to come back in.
Angling around a shelf filled with some locally crafted pottery, Max slid to her feet, catching sight of Snake. Her first shot missed, but the second nailed him in the side. Since she hadn’t pegged Mr. Unknown—who’d crawled off somewhere—as anything but a tourist, it was good to know her aim wasn’t as far off-base as her instincts.
Heart drumming against her ribs, she edged behind the counter. She dug another magazine of ammo out of her bag and tucked it into her pocket for the time being before looping her bag over her head and across her body.
Another of Blackwater’s guys could be waiting outback for her, but she’d have to take the chance seeing as she wouldn’t be leaving through the front.
Counting on the men’s view of her being obstructed by more overflowing shelves—and to think she hadn’t appreciated Sherri’s determination to use every square inch of space before now—she maneuvered behind a stack of wooden crates.
Breath held, she waited. The only sound in the shop was the occasional sharp breath—more of a wheeze really—from Snake. With her eyes on the shelf in front of her, she inched backward around the last corner between her and the back hall.
At the sound of a magazine sliding home, she spun around.
A gun pressed against her side, and she lifted her head to find Mr. Unknown inches away.
Who was this guy?
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth, and then vanished as she nudged the tip of her Glock against the inside of his thigh. One dark brow arched, but she couldn’t tell if he looked impressed or annoyed.
“I’m on your side.”
Uh huh. And tonight Santa Claus would bring her a cherry-red Chevy Silverado pickup truck and an all-expenses paid vacation to Maui.
“Who do you work for?” Her eyes never left his face as she heard the other two men move in their direction. She was running out of time.
Gunfire ripped apart the model ship display next to them.
“No one needs to get hurt, Detective. Just come along and your friend gets to walk out instead of being carried in a body bag.” The strained voice came from the right.
Her friend rolled his eyes, then tipped his head to indicate the hall behind him. “You go, I’ll cover you.” He started to stand.
Max yanked him back down. “So you can shoot me in the back?” she hissed.
Splinters of wood skimmed above their heads.
“Fine.” He sprang up, fired off a few rounds and then crouched beside her. “You cover me and I’ll go.”
With no way to believe him and Snake and Edward Blackwater closing in, he was the lesser of two evils. She hoped.
“Better get going.” Before she could argue, he moved around the crate in the opposite direction of the back door.
There wasn’t enough time to speculate on who he was, or more importantly, who he worked for. A succession of shots plowed into the far wall, and she ran low, sprinting down the back hall. She only hesitated for a heartbeat, unsure if anyone waited for her outside.
Short on options, she shoved the door open and pressed back against the inside wall. Outside, the private parking lot was deserted.
At least something was going for her.
She sprinted across the empty lot, digging her keys from her pocket. With nothing worth stealing in the ancient, battered pickup, she hadn’t bothered to lock the door earlier.
Breathing hard, she slid behind the wheel, jammed the key into the slot and turned it over. The engine sputtered and died.
“Son of a bitch.” She cranked the key in the ignition again. The engine coughed, almost caught and quit.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
On her third try the engine jerked, shook like a bulldozer overdosing on nitro and died.
Darting a look at the shop’s back door, she realized she hadn’t closed it. Anyone who pursued her would have a clean shot.
Slamming the heel of her hand on the wheel, she glared at the console. “Start or I’m going to shoot holes in your fucking transmission myself.”
As if it understood her perfectly, the truck revved to life on her next try.
Her foot remained on the brake. So go already.
She glanced once more over her shoulder wondering what the hell she was doing. The guy was armed and knew who she was. Clearly he wasn’t in the area to check out the hiking and fishing opportunities, and if he was a cop or belonged to some agency with an interest in Blackwater he would have said so.
Screw it.
Max wrenched the gearshift into drive and punched the gas. The tires spun in the gravel before tearing across the lot.
Something thumped in the back of the truck, and she twisted around, not surprised to see the back of a black T-shirt pressed against the window.
Chapter Two
Who the hell was this guy?
Anxious to get some space between her and the biggest threat—Snake and Edward—she floored the pedal and zipped onto the main road. The sound of sirens made her turn down a side street and then another as she zigzagged her way out of the small town.
So much for keeping a low profile. And now she’d dragged Sherri into it. People were going to want to know what the hell had just happened in her shop, people like Constable Herring. She’d told Sherri as few details as possible, wanting to keep her out of it and now this.
God, if Sherri and the munchkin had been in the shop… Her stomach churned. Coming here had been such a mistake. If she’d thought for one minute they would have tracked her across the border, she would never have taken Sherri’s invitation to stay.
There hadn’t even been time to grab her phone off the counter so she could give Sherri a heads up. And once her friend caught a glimpse of the damage done to her shop and no Max, she’d really start to worry.
Knowing that only made Max’s stomach hurt worse.
Fifteen minutes later, the town miles behind her, her unwanted passenger knocked on the glass. Max ignored him. She was content to leave him there until she could figure out what he was after.
The moment he’d handed her the photo of herself, it was clear he recognized her. She just didn’t know what he wanted or why he’d bothered to go through the motions of buying something and making up the whole story about his nephew. If he’d been hired to take her out, why hadn’t he put a bullet in her head when they’d been alone in the shop?
She’d expected Blackwater to put a price on her head, had spent the better part of three months looking over her shoulder for any jerk-off out to make a few bucks or a name for himself.
“Hey!” He banged on the glass. “Pull over or I’m coming through the window.” The wind didn’t quite rob his words of the menacing tone, but it didn’t faze her. He was hardly in a position to make demands.
With one hand on the wheel, she tugged the inside windowpane open a crack to talk to him. That still left the screen for him to claw through if he wanted in, which, given his build and the size of the small window, would be interesting to watch. His gun wasn’t visible, but she didn’t doubt for a second he had it within reach.
“Who are you working for?” The rearview mirror kept her from having to look over her shoulder to see him.
“No one.” All traces of his earlier sexiness had faded. She’d seen a lot of street-hardened faces and cold eyes throughout her law enforcement career, but his were almost enough to give her chills. Almost.
“That’s the best answer you ca
n come up with? I suppose you’re just some Good Samaritan passing through town and just happened to carry a gun and extra clips tucked in your pants? In case of emergency, right?”
“It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. Pull over.”
Max shut the window, drowning him out. Maybe if she left him back there a while longer he’d come around.
The sun was only a thin strip of orange on the horizon now. The late October day that began unseasonably warm was quickly cooling off, and Max flicked the heat on. She blamed the need for warmth on her earlier adrenaline rush.
In the mirror she saw her passenger huddled against the back window. She slid the window open, not even a little bit tempted to pull over and let him into the cab.
“Why were you in the shop?”
No answer.
Max craned her neck to get a better look. His eyes were closed.
“Hey.” She knocked on the glass, dividing her attention between the road and the rearview mirror. “Wake up.”
Still no movement, but with a second glance over her shoulder she noticed the blood running down his bare arm. A lot of it.
Swearing under her breath, Max guided the truck to the shoulder of the road. She really didn’t need this right now. It was only a matter of time before the RCMP, Royal Canadian Mounted Police, started keeping an eye out for her truck.
Still cursing, she rummaged through the glove box and pulled out a travel size first-aid kit. There was little sunlight left as she got out and climbed into the back of the truck, cautious in her approach toward the slumped form.
She set the kit aside, keeping one hand tight on her gun while she looked him over. The source of the bleeding was either his upper chest or shoulder.
“Hey, can you hear me?” Max waited, then kicked his foot. “Hey.” It wasn’t a good sign if he’d lost consciousness.
Keeping her weapon trained on him, she struggled to get his shirt out of the way to check the wound before finally deciding to set her gun aside. Being a person of interest was bad enough, but getting pulled over with a dead man in the back of her truck would really screw her over.
Trust Me: The Lassiter Group, Book 1 Page 2
