Texas Tough (23 page)

Finding her cell phone in her purse, she called his number to let him know she was leaving. When he didn't pick up, she left a message.

“Sky, I'm on my way. I should be home by nine. I'm going to need you.”

Putting the phone away, she switched on the headlights and pulled the car onto the road.

 

The hulking semitruck, with the Haskell Trucking logo on the trailer, had parked outside the diner with a view of the highway. At the wheel, Marie inhaled the last of her cigarette and tossed the butt out the window. Her tired eyes followed the blinking red dot on the screen of the electronic tracker Stella had lent her. She'd been waiting hours for Garn Prescott to leave Lubbock and hit the highway. Now, at last, the big white Caddy was on the move.

Marie had nothing against Garn Prescott—didn't even know the man. But if killing him would get her in tight with Stella, she was up for it. If she could shoot her own brother in the back, she shouldn't have any trouble ramming a stranger's car.

She knew, of course, why Stella wanted Prescott dead. In any investigation of the funding scandal, the man would sell her down the river to save his own skin. Just like Lute, Prescott knew too much.

And Marie knew something else. This assignment was a test. Carry it out and she'd become Stella's business associate, on her way to taking over when the time came. Fail and she could end up like her brothers.

The signal was in close range now. Looking north up the long, straight road, Marie could see the approaching headlights. If it was Prescott's Cadillac, she was in business.

Traffic was light at this hour. All she needed to do was get behind Prescott's car, follow along until no one else was in sight, and then make her move.

The headlights came close, blinding her for an instant before the car sped past. It was the Cadillac all right. Time to get moving.

Gearing down and switching her headlights on low beam, Marie pulled the truck onto the road and hit the gas.

CHAPTER 16

L
auren glanced at the headlights in the rearview mirror. The big semi had been on her tail since she'd driven by the diner. On this straight road, with little night traffic, there'd been plenty of chances for the truck to pull around her, but the driver hadn't tried to pass.

Were her strained nerves overreacting, or was the situation getting a little creepy?

Testing the driver's intent, she moved to the right and watched the speedometer needle ease down to forty-five. The truck slowed down, too, staying back, making no effort to pass her. A pickup coming from behind honked as it swerved into the left lane, roared around both vehicles, and streaked into the night.

Whatever game the semi driver was playing, Lauren wanted no part of it. Her boot came down on the gas pedal. The Cadillac shot ahead, widening the distance between them.

By the time she dared take a full breath, she'd left the massive truck behind. She could no longer see headlights in the mirror. Maybe she'd imagined the whole scenario—or maybe she'd seen too many spy movies.

Feeling a slight play in the steering wheel, she eased off the gas. The Cadillac had plenty of power, but it was almost forty years old. There was no telling how long it would hold up at high speed before something broke or came loose. Better safe than sorry.

Once more she glanced in the rearview mirror. Still no sign of headlights. Lauren was beginning to feel foolish. Never mind. She'd be home in another twenty minutes. With luck, Sky would be waiting. She could fall into his arms and put this hellish day out of her mind while . . .

The roar of a huge diesel engine exploded in her ears. From just behind her rear windshield, high-beam truck lights flashed on, flooding the interior of the car, their reflection blinding her eyes. There was no time to think, no time for anything but a jolt of stark terror.

She felt the shock of first impact, heard the shattering crash. The steel chassis of the Cadillac crunched and folded around her. Shards of glass peppered her skin like buckshot. Then she was pitching, rolling sideways, the seat belt digging into her body as she jerked back and forth like a rag doll in a dog's mouth.

By the time the car came to a shuddering stop in the deep roadside barrow pit, Lauren felt nothing at all.

 

Marie climbed down from the truck, a flashlight in one hand and a heavy wrench, as long as her forearm, in the other. The truck, protected by a thick steel grate on the front, appeared to have suffered little damage. But right now that wasn't her concern.

Garn Prescott had probably died in the crash. But it was part of her job to make sure. If he was still alive she would have to finish him off with the wrench.

She took a moment to check for oncoming traffic. Satisfied that no one was coming, she plunged down the steep bank.

The Cadillac lay upside down on the sand at the bottom of the slope. Its wheels were still spinning. There was less damage than she'd expected, given how hard she'd hit it. But those old '70s cars were built like Sherman tanks. The back was crumpled in like an accordion, the top crushed, the windows broken. With no air bags to protect him, Prescott would be dead, she hoped. Marie wasn't keen on having to bash his head with the wrench.

The top of the car was stoved in. To look inside through the shattered window, she'd have to get down low. Crouching in the sand, she directed the flashlight beam into the car. On the driver's side, a motionless figure hung from the seat belt. Marie moved in closer.

Shit!
It wasn't Prescott.

The driver—unconscious or dead—was a slender woman with long, auburn hair that hung over her face. There was nobody else in the car.

Was she alive? Blood dripped from the woman's dangling hair, making dark splotches on the car's headliner. If she wasn't already dead, she was probably dying.

Trying to save her was out of the question. And hitting her with the wrench would involve crawling inside the car to reach her, maybe getting cut on glass or jagged metal. There was nothing to do but get out of here, the faster, the better, before somebody came along.

The faint smell of gasoline reached her nostrils. For a few seconds Marie weighed the wisdom of setting the car on fire. There was no way forensics would mistake the woman's burned body for Garn Prescott's. But a fire would at least destroy any evidence and make sure the driver didn't survive to tell the police about the truck.

She'd reached for her cigarette lighter and was tugging it out of her jeans pocket when she spotted a set of oncoming headlights in the distance, coming closer, moving fast. For all she knew, it could be the Highway Patrol. A fire would attract attention and delay her escape. Better to just hotfoot it up to the truck and hit the road.

As she was mounting the slope, a small object dropped into the dry grass.
Damn!
That would be her cigarette lighter. No time to look for it now. She could buy another one in Blanco. Right now what she needed was to get out of here.

Moments later she was in the driver's seat barreling back to Blanco Springs. She'd done everything right, she told herself, even turning off the truck's headlights so she could sneak up behind the Cadillac for the kill. With those dark-tinted windows, there was no way she could have seen who was driving Garn Prescott's car.

None of this mess was her fault.

All the same, Stella was going to be madder than hell.

 

Waiting in his truck behind the Prescott house, Sky redialed Lauren's number. By the time the ring switched over to her voice mail message, his gut was in a knot. She should have made it home long before this. Something had to be wrong.

He'd been busy with the horses till after sundown. Somehow he'd missed her phone call. But he'd gotten her message in plenty of time to drive to her house. Now it was after ten. Lauren was more than an hour overdue, and she wasn't answering her phone.

Her black Corvette was parked where he'd left it the night before. But her father's Cadillac was missing. It made sense that she'd take the bigger car—it was safer and more comfortable for the hour-long drive to the hospital. Still, anything could have happened to her. A dozen grim possibilities clicked through his mind.

What if he'd already waited too long?

After scribbling a note on the pad he kept in the glove compartment, he climbed out of the cab and stuck it in the screen door. Back in the truck, he started the engine, switched on the lights, and raced toward the highway.

Twenty minutes up the main road, he spotted his worst nightmare. The flashing red and blue lights of Highway Patrol cruisers, clustered on the opposite side of the highway, could only mean one thing.

Sick with dread, he parked on the shoulder of the road, climbed out of his truck, and crossed to the other side. There were two patrol vehicles, the troopers standing together, looking down at something in the deep barrow pit—something Sky couldn't see until he came up even with them.

The white Cadillac lay upside down, its crumpled chassis gleaming in the moonlight. The driver's side door hung open as if it had been forced. Sky's heart dropped. There was no sign of Lauren.

“Where's the driver?” he asked one of the troopers.

The man eyed Sky suspiciously. “Do you know her?”

Sky struggled to downplay the anxiety that was eating him alive. “I came out here looking for her. Her name's Lauren Prescott. She's the congressman's daughter. That's his car.”

The lawman nodded. “We already ran the license, so we know that much. She's on her way to the hospital. The ambulance took her ten minutes ago.”

“Then she's alive?” He forced his voice past the icy fear that clutched his throat.

“She was when they took her. But she was unconscious. Looked like she smashed her head pretty bad on the steering wheel. She was hanging from the seat belt, bleeding the whole time. No telling how long she'd been there before somebody saw the car and called it in.”

Sky's first impulse was to jump back in his truck and race after the ambulance. But right now he needed to know more about what had happened and why. He stared down at the wrecked car. The front end was battered but pretty much intact. From the doors on back, however, the Cadillac's solid body had been crushed like a tin can.

“That car didn't just roll,” he said. “Looks like it was hit from behind, hit hard, by something big enough to do a lot of damage.”

“We figured the same—maybe a big truck. She could've braked for something, an animal maybe, while the truck was coming up behind her, going too fast to stop.”

“Then where's the truck? The driver had to have known he hit her. Why would he leave?”

The trooper shrugged. “Suspended license, maybe. Or something in the back he didn't want us to find. Or maybe he just didn't want trouble with his boss. Things like that happen out here, with nobody around to see. Since the wreck took place in Blanco County, it'll be up to Sheriff Sweeney to look into any criminal charges.”

Abner Sweeney. As if any news could worsen the situation after what had happened to Lauren. But Sky had spent enough time here. Right now all he wanted was to get to the hospital and find her.

As he turned to cross the highway, back to his pickup, his eyes caught the gleam of light on the asphalt. He could see where the Cadillac had torn up the shoulder as it careened off the road. But it was what he didn't see that chilled his blood.

There were no skid marks on the pavement. The driver who'd hit Lauren had made no attempt to stop or swerve.

To Sky, the crash no longer looked like an accident. It looked more like attempted murder.

 

Lauren stirred and moaned. Her first awareness was pain stabbing her head, pain in every joint, every muscle of her body. Her eyes opened, taking in the white ceiling tiles, the cold lights. A plastic clip on her finger was attached to the monitor above her bed. An IV bag dripped clear liquid into her arm.

“Thank God.” The voice was Sky's. His big hand tightened around hers, gripping hard, as if he never wanted to let go.

“What . . . happened?” She had vague memories of shattering glass and crumpling metal, the seat belt snapping against her body. Were those memories real, or was she waking up from a nightmare?

“You were in a wreck,” Sky said. “You've got a couple of cracked ribs, a nasty gash on your head, and a concussion.”

Lauren's free hand went to her forehead, fingers feeling the thick bandage. She struggled to sit up, then fell back as the pain lanced her ribs. “I'm in the hospital?”

“You are. You're lucky to be alive.”

“What time is it? What day . . . ?”

Sky glanced up at the wall clock. “It's five-fifteen in the morning. You've been unconscious almost eight hours.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “You gave me a bad scare, Lauren.”

She turned her head and looked at him. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes bloodshot and shadowed with fatigue. “You were here all night?”

“When you didn't show up, I went looking for you. By the time I got to the wreck, the ambulance had come and gone. I took a minute to talk to the troopers, then got here as fast as I could. I knew you didn't have anybody else.” His fingers tightened around her hand. “I'm not a praying man, but I prayed last night. I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

Lauren forced back a freshet of tears. “As you once told me, I'm tougher than I look.” She tried to smile. Even her face hurt.

“There are signs that somebody might have hit you on purpose. Can you remember anything about what happened?”

Closing her eyes, Lauren groped her fogged memory. “There was this big truck—brown, I think. It pulled out of the diner and stayed right behind me. I thought it was gone. Then it came out of nowhere and . . .” She'd hit a blank wall. “I'm sorry. It must've rammed me and run me off the road. That's all I remember.” She opened her eyes. “You're right. The driver must've done it on purpose. But why?”

“I've thought about that,” Sky said. “If the reports are true, your father could've been mixed up with some pretty rough people. And since they didn't know he'd passed away, they wouldn't have realized it was you, not him in that car. It's the only thing that makes sense.”

“But what if—” She gasped as awareness struck her. “Oh no! My father, the funeral, the press release—” She pushed herself up, clenching her teeth against the pain. “Help me, Sky! I've got to get out of here!”

Rising, he eased her shoulders gently back down to the pillow. “You're not going anywhere till the doctor says so. The funeral can wait as long as it has to. And if you'll tell me what to say in that release, I'll write it down and give it to the press myself—or find somebody else to do it.”

“Traitor!” She gave him a mock scowl. Her sudden movement had pulled the clip off her finger. At the sound of the beeping monitor the nurse came rushing into the room.

“You're awake!” Her motherly face brightened. “Goodness me, but you had us worried, girl. This gentleman here never left your side. If you're smart, you'll hang on to him. He's a keeper, and I can tell how much he loves you!”

Lauren felt the hated blush creep into her face. Sky had never said he loved her or given her any other reason to believe he wanted a long-term relationship. The woman had probably embarrassed him half to death.

“Hang on, and I'll get the doctor,” she said. “He'll be glad to know you're awake.” She bustled out of the room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.