Texas Tall (The Tylers of Texas 3)

n beside him. “Let’s go,” she said.

Clay swung the Mercedes back into the street and headed for the road out of town. Stella would be waiting in an isolated spot off the freeway. The transfer would’ve been safer at night, but they’d agreed there was little chance of catching the girl alone, outside, after dark.

“Tell me about my mother,” she said. “What’s wrong with her?”

“The paramedics weren’t sure. She was still unconscious when they put her in the ambulance. A stroke, maybe, they said.”

Such brutal lies, and the girl looked so worried, so trusting. It was all Clay could do not to tell her it was all a mistake and shove her out of the car. But he’d long since passed the point of no return. He had to do this.

* * *

“Let me call my dad.” She twisted to reach for the backpack she’d thrown behind the seat. “Maybe he can tell us more.”

“No!” Clay tried to hide a surge of panic. If she got her hands on her phone, he’d be in big trouble. “Either your dad will be speeding to the hospital or he’ll be in the ER with your mother—not a good time to take a call. You can talk to him when we get there.”

“Oh—okay. But hurry.” She settled back, agitated fingers gripping the seat belt. Clay could smell the stink of his own sweat as he swung onto the freeway. His heart was pounding so hard, he feared he might burst a blood vessel.

Take the second exit, onto the old ranch road. That was what Stella had told him. Drive till you see some cottonwoods and a tumbledown shed. I’ll meet you there.

The exit was already coming up. Clay swung the Mercedes onto the off-ramp.

“Where are you going?” Erin grabbed his sleeve. “This isn’t the way to the hospital!”

“I heard there was a big wreck up ahead. A semitruck rollover, blocking traffic. This road will get us around it.” Clay could see the trees in the distance. The asphalt pavement had ended in a weathered farm road. What the hell would he do if Stella wasn’t there?

“How do you know there was a wreck? Who told you?” She was getting suspicious, Clay could tell. He stomped the gas pedal. The Mercedes shot forward, rocketing down the rutted road. He thought of the chloroform-soaked rag, sealed in a plastic bag, which he’d put in his pocket. He was going to need it.

“Stop!” she said. “Stop right now! I want to call my father!”

“Fine. Go ahead.” Clay eased the car to a stop. One hand reached into his pocket and unsealed the ziplock on the bag. Hampered by the seat belt, she turned to reach for her pack.

“I’m sorry, Erin,” Clay said, and he clapped the cloth over her face. The girl barely had time to resist before the chloroform took effect and her body went limp.

Leaving her sagging against the shoulder strap, Clay started the car again and sped toward the trees. Now he could see the dilapidated shed and the back end of Stella’s Buick parked behind it. She was here. Soon this nightmare would be over, and he could start living his life again.

As he pulled up to the shed and climbed out of the car, she stepped into sight. “You’ve got the girl?” she demanded.

“Right here. Fast asleep.” He opened the passenger door to reveal Erin, still slumped in the seat.

“Good. Give me a hand with her.” She raised the lid of her trunk, which was lined with a dirty-looking quilt. Clay unfastened Erin’s seat belt, lifted her in his arms, and laid her on her side. He’d hoped he was finished, but Stella handed him a roll of duct tape. “Wrists, ankles, and mouth, then fold the blanket over her,” she said. “Be quick about it.”

Clay did as he was told, trying not to make the tape too tight. “You won’t want to tape her mouth. If she gets sick to her stomach in the trunk, she could choke to death.”

“Fine. But I’ll need to keep her quiet. Give me the chloroform in case she wakes up.”

Clay resealed the washcloth in the bag and gave it to Stella. She tucked it into her red leather purse and closed the trunk.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Clay asked.

Stella raised an eyebrow.

“The tape. You promised it to me if I delivered the girl.”

“So I did.” With a smile she reached into her purse and handed him the cassette from the surveillance camera.

“Can you swear this is the one?”

“Don’t worry. It’s the real deal, and it’s all yours. I won’t need it where I’m going.” She turned back toward her Buick. “I believe this concludes our business. Have a happy life, Mr. Prosecutor.”