The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

He doesn’t even fight as I grab a small ladder and haul his lumbering ball of a body into the passenger seat of my high monster truck—no easy task, believe me—and shut the door before climbing behind the wheel.

I’ll have time to contemplate my own sanity and the many atrocious choices in my life later.

“Let’s roll,” I tell him, starting the engine. “Tonight it’s just you and me and a whole lot of asses to kick. We’ll bring her home.”

23

Two-Timing Pigs (Rachel)

My throat is all lapping fire, and it takes me a few painful seconds to figure out why.

Carson—he choked me.

He wrung my neck like a wet towel in the barn. As soon as I’d yelled, he threw something over my head...or maybe it was one of the other two guys I saw with him.

I’d fought like hell—kicking, screaming, scratching—but he had numbers and surprise on his side. I went down hard with his filthy paws around my neck.

Even if they’re nothing like Weston’s strong hands, they got the job done, squeezing my throat until I blacked out.

There’s still something slung over my head, a thick black hood that makes every breath stifling.

Pathetic. This is turning out like one of those way too predictable horror movies, especially considering it’s Halloween night.

Now it’s just a question of when they dispose of me.

I’m twisted, lying down on my back. It feels like the small sleeper compartment of a semi because it’s certainly a truck, and we’re moving. I can hear the engine growling as it rumbles down the road at a good, vibrating clip.

I start hearing voices, too.

“Shit, man. Shit. You didn’t tell me I was getting into this when I signed up for your fuckin’ gig. Transporting stolen cars is one thing, but kidnapping a chick?” a rough male voice says.

“What did you expect me to do? Kill her on the spot and toss the body in a ditch for the coyotes?”

I recognize that oily voice that still sounds too steady even when he’s obviously miffed.

Carson.

My heart lunges up my throat.

Of course he was behind everything this whole time.

I should’ve listened to my gut, even when it seemed so unlikely. I had a bad feeling about him ever since that joke of a date—and now I’m betting that date only happened at all so he could snoop.

Find something valuable enough to make all these weeks in Dallas worth his oh-so-important time.

If I wasn’t hurting and terrified, I’d whack my own forehead.

“I don’t want nothing to do with murder, Carsy. You got a body to hide, I’m not your man. I agreed to help you get shit loaded up and drive this rig. Not bash old ladies in the head and beat on little girls,” the other man snaps, adding, “You’re goddamn lucky I could jack this rig from the company without anybody noticing.”

Company? North Earhart?

He must be the elusive Muddy Boots, I realize.

“Enough bellyaching. It’ll all be worth it in the end, I assure you. We’ll be rid of her well before we reach Everett,” Carson says. “The Pacific Northwest is crawling with hiding places. Ever heard of D.B. Cooper? He pulled off the ultimate heist, hijacking a plane and bailing out over dense Washington forest with six figures in cash. It’s the towns you have to worry about—places like Heart’s Edge and their pitiful little citizen police. My uncle lost his lucky star there—quite literally—when I was just a boy...”

“Man, whatever. I still can’t believe stealing a few cars got this complicated. We would’ve been better off if we’d done it right after the car show,” Muddy Boots says.

“You think I don’t know that, you—never mind. Obviously, I thought Miss Simon and the neighbor bull would stay at the dance longer. That’s why I sent you over there to get the keys and title for the Corvette out of my room after we snatched it from the safe.”