Texas Tough (The Tylers of Texas 2)

CHAPTER 16

Lauren 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 dest

roy 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.