In Seconds
- Автор: Новак Бренда
- Серия: Bulletproof #2
- Год: 2011
- Язык: французский
- Жанр: Остросюжетные любовные романы
Электронная книга - «In Seconds». Краткое содержание книги:
Laurel Hodges has changed her identity twice. She's been on the run for the past four years, trying to outdistance the gang members who blame her for the death of one of their own. She's finally found peace and stability in the small town of Pineview, Montana. But just when Laurel thinks she and her children are safe...the nightmare starts all over again.
The Crew, a ruthless prison gang with ties to Laurel's brother, will never forget and they'll never forgive. And now that they've finally tracked her down, they'll stop at nothing.
Sheriff Myles King, who happens to live next door with his thirteen-year-old daughter, appoints himself Laurel's personal guardian. His growing attraction to her could change his life—Myles is beginning to picture marriage and family. But it could also end his life. If he can't save her, everything he's built, everything he wants, could be destroyed. In seconds...
Because he was outnumbered and had no idea whether or not these men possessed firearms, Myles kept his voice and expression calm. He didn’t want to spook them. “It’s nothing to worry about.” Unless they had something to hide… “Just standard procedure.”
The kid couldn’t be older than nineteen or twenty. Although he didn’t seem to have had a shower recently, and his clothes were wrinkled and dirty, he wasn’t bad-looking. Tall and thin, he had a good build. It was the furtive air about him, and the sweat popping out on his forehead, that made Myles nervous.
“Just because our radiator broke?”
His reluctance to provide the requested documentation rang another warning bell in Myles’s head. This wasn’t a situation he wanted to be in, not without backup or some assurance that these guys were law-abiding citizens. There wasn’t much traffic on the road today, which put the odds even more in their favor. Only one vehicle had passed since he’d stopped, certainly not enough to act as any type of deterrent. These men could easily shoot him, drag his body into the woods and steal his cruiser.
“Like I said—” Myles left his hand by his side so he could grab his gun if need be “—standard procedure.”
“Get it for him,” Tattoo Guy barked, as if he made the decisions.
Tension coiled in Myles’s chest. This was the most anxious moment of any traffic stop—when the driver reached across the seat to open the jockey box. He could pull out a gun instead of his registration. That wasn’t something Myles worried about when dealing with folks in Pineview. But these were total strangers.
Fortunately, there was no blast. Easing his stance, Myles breathed an internal sigh of relief as the younger man handed him registration and proof of insurance, all of which appeared to be in the name of one Quentin J. Ferguson.
“And your license?”
The boy lifted his cap and resettled it on his head. “Sorry, sir. Lost my wallet in the river yesterday.”
That sort of thing happened often enough, and yet Myles couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He turned to the other man. “What about you?”
“Didn’t bring any ID. Considering I’m such a cripple, it’s better if I don’t drive.”
Neither man could provide proof of identity? “Why don’t we start with your names?” Myles tilted his head at Tattoo Guy, who grinned from ear to ear as he answered.
“Ron Howard.”
Myles stiffened. “Like the director?”
“What director?”
Was he for real? No way. This guy knew exactly who Ron Howard was. “How’d you get injured, Mr. Howard?”
“Fell off a ladder while working construction. Hurt my back.”
Myles had a feeling he might have to arrest these two. Something wasn’t right… “I hope it’s only a temporary condition.”
“’Fraid not.”
The pain seemed real. “Sorry to hear that.”
Bitterness contorted his features, making those gargoyles on his face dance. “Yeah, so was I.”
“Ron Howard,” if that was really his name, was as fascinating as he was repulsive. With some effort, Myles pulled his gaze away and indicated the Toyota truck. “You the owner of this vehicle?”
“Nope.” He angled his head toward Blue Eyes. “His brother is.”
“What’s your name?” Myles asked the driver.
“Peter Ferguson.” He pointed to the registration. “Quentin is my brother. The J stands for Joe—” he squinted into the bright sun to read Myles’s badge “—Sheriff King.” Now that he was on the spot, he’d gone from trying to avoid notice to putting on a show.
Myles wished he could believe what he’d been told. He also wished he didn’t have to present his back to these two in order to return to his car. But he couldn’t stand there all day. “I’ll get that tow truck coming.”
The crunch of his boots on the gravel shoulder sounded loud, probably because he was so aware of every step. Pat’s murder, combined with the disconcerting appearance of Tattoo Guy and his younger sidekick, had made him skittish, as skittish as everyone else in Pineview. He strained to hear movement behind him, any indication of impending danger, but reached his car without incident.
Leaving the door hanging open so he could get out quickly if necessary, he called dispatch with the plate number instead of entering it into the computer—and was told what he’d learned before—California’s Motor Vehicle Division was down.
Shit… “Call me as soon as it goes up,” he told the dispatcher.
He used his radio to call Harvey’s Tow. Then he stayed in his car, studying the documents he’d been given. The address on the registration indicated the owner of the vehicle lived in a place called Monrovia, California. Was that northern or southern California?
Myles had no idea. He’d been to Disneyland once with Marley and that was it.
“Ron Howard” began to limp toward him. Myles had been stalling, hoping to hear from dispatch before going back to the truck, but there’d been no word in the past ten minutes. Knowing his open door could act as a shield should there be trouble, he stood but remained behind it. “Tow truck’s on its way.”
“You don’t have a bottle of water or somethin’ else to drink in there, do you?” “Ron,” the tattooed man, asked.
Myles didn’t have any food or drink. “Sorry.”
A nod acknowledged his response, then “Ron” headed back but got only ten feet or so before doubling over and cursing aloud.
“You okay?” Myles called out.
The guy seemed to be in pain; Myles couldn’t help being concerned. “Should I call the paramedics?”
“No, there’s…nothing they can…do,” he ground out.
“Do you need aspirin or something? I don’t have any of that, either, but the tow truck driver might.”
“Aspirin won’t…make any difference.”
“Then you must have a prescription for stronger meds.”
“It…fell in the river…with Peter’s wallet.”
Myles was just about to leave the safety of his car to help the man to his truck when the radio sparked to life. Dispatch was trying to reach him. “Hang on.” Ducking back inside, he grabbed the mic. “What have you got for me?” he asked the dispatcher.
“That plate you gave me is registered to Quentin J. Ferguson from Monrovia, California.” It was Nadine Archer. Myles had spoken to her so many times since coming to this area, he recognized the voice.
“Has it been reported as stolen?”
“No, sir.”
He looked up. “Ron” had managed to straighten and was dragging his foot as he made his way back to the truck. “Does Quentin J. Ferguson of Monrovia have any outstanding warrants?”
“Not a one.”
“When was he born?”
“In 1964.” That meant Quentin, Peter’s brother, was forty-six, quite a bit older than Peter was. But…it was possible. Quentin could even be a half brother.
When “Ron” climbed into the truck, he seemed to instigate an argument but, given the situation, that didn’t strike Myles as unusual. It was hot, they were stranded far from home and one of them was in pain and had lost his meds. “Can I get clearance on a Ron Howard?”
“Also from Monrovia?” Nadine asked.
Myles figured that was as good a guess as any. “Sure, give that a try.”
He had to wait a few minutes before she came back on the line. “There are several Ron Howards, but I don’t show any outstandings.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“Anytime, Sheriff.”
“Good to know,” Myles muttered as he returned the mic to his radio. Apparently his intuition was a little off today. Maybe. He still didn’t like these two.
The men stopped talking the moment he drew close. He sensed some unease, but knew there could be a lot of reasons for that. Perhaps they’d had some run-in with the law in the past. In any case, there was nothing he could do. He didn’t have any reason to detain them. He might as well get to the autopsy before he missed it entirely.