Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

"Don't forget to disable the security system," Asher called out just as Marlowe closed the door. He reached for his cell to notify TEAM HQ of an incoming false alarm when his phone vibrated. Asher hit ACCEPT, put the phone to his ear, and—

"What the fuck's going on?" Beau bellowed. "Who's that bitch? Why's Marlowe getting into that creepy hippie van with her?"

Asher straightened. "What do you mean?"

"The bitch who was just at your door, dumbass. The one who's driving away with Marlowe girl."

"Where are you?"

"Parked down the street, watching your place."

Asher jumped to his feet. Not a smart move. His shoulder screamed to sit back down, but fuck it. He hurried to the door and jerked it open in time to watch an old Volkswagen bus pull away from his curb. With Marlowe nowhere in sight.

"She's in that ugly V-dub?

"She is now. I'm right behind them. You ever seen that woman before?"

"No. Gotta go." Asher shouldn't have let Marlowe answer his door. Panicking, he stuffed the phone in his pants and headed through the kitchen to his garage, tearing the thick bandages off his shoulder, chest, and arm as he walked. He stopped long enough to unlock his gun safe and strap on his double holster, loaded pistols already loose in the cups.

Grabbing the keys off the hook by the door, he walked as quickly to his car as he could. Whoever the bitch in that relic from the seventies was, she was going down.

Activating the automatic garage door opener with a snap of his key fob, he forced his weaker right hand and arm to comply, damn them. Asher climbed gingerly into the sixth-generation 2017 ZL1 Camaro in the third stall over and fired her up. One-handed driving was no handicap when a man was hunting for his woman.

Once on the asphalt, he put his boot in it. In three point five seconds, the supercharged LT4 V-8 under the Camaro's hood ate up the miles between him and Beau. The hippie bus was only a few car lengths ahead.

Asher gunned the engine and hit the hands-free option on his steering wheel. "Where is she?" he barked when Beau answered. "Have you caught sight of her yet?"

"Negative. Heston's coming up quick on your tail. I'm in sight of the target. Don't worry. She's inside that van, I gawddamned watched her get into it. I won't let—"

BOOM!

A silver monster truck came out of nowhere, broadsiding Beau's much smaller, climate-friendly truck. Pushed it across both lanes and onto the opposite shoulder.

"Beau! Talk to me. Are you hurt? Say something."

"Bastard r-r-rammed me. On purpose," he rasped. "Don't worry about me. Go! Save Marlowe girl!"

"Copy that," Asher answered, assessing the crash scene ahead. The Ford truck backed away from Beau, its tires screaming as it executed a sharp K-turn and roared after the bus. Asher didn't slow down to help Beau. Couldn't risk losing Marlowe. Tapping the handsfree option on his steering wheel, he ordered Siri to, "Dial TEAM HQ's hot-line."

When Ember picked up, he told her, "Agent Villanueva needs emergency assistance at highway marker seventeen. He's been broadsided and is trapped inside his POV. No known injuries, but he was hit hard. I'm pursuing the perp. Ford super-duty truck, silver, no plates."

"Heston's with Beau now," Ember replied. "Sheriff Prince and EMTs are on their way. ETA in six minutes."

"Copy that." Asher disconnected and punched the accelerator, closing in on his target.

The Ford jerked into his lane, attempting to ram him. Asher braked, then roared around the rear of the truck to the opposite side. Again, the Ford attempted a ramming procedure. And again, Asher worked his accelerator and brakes, toying with the jerk behind that wheel. Needing him to make a mistake, so he could get a clear shot.

After another fake attempt to pass, Asher figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. While his front bumper was still a couple feet ahead of the Ford's rear bumper, he jerked the Camaro to the left and hit the Ford's rear quarter panel. Solid pit maneuver. He disengaged the moment the Ford lost traction and started to spin.

The driver over-corrected, jerked too hard to the left, then to the right. Asher backed off and let gravity take over. The truck tipped onto two wheels at the edge of asphalt and gravel. It was in the process of rolling when Asher left it behind.

His phone rang an incoming. "Get off at the next exit. The van's two miles ahead," Heston barked.

"Copy that." Asher had no idea where Heston was or how he knew where the van went, but figured he'd left Beau in Sheriff Prince's capable hands and was again close by. Once again, Asher floored the accelerator. He lost sight of the V-dub when it hit the exit. Too many trees in the way, but there was no way that piece-of-shit bus could outrun him.

His mind was spinning. This kidnapping had been planned, but who'd do that? Tippetts and Jamah were dead. Marlowe had been out of the country for a while. She didn't have family or friends stateside. Who could have lured her away so quickly? So easily? Had to be someone she trusted. Maybe one of the women Marlowe rescued? Could they be behind this? Marlowe wouldn't just walk away from him, not after this morning. She loved him. Who besides his team even knew where he lived?

The bus roared into an open field where—

"No!" Asher bellowed as the small, commercial helicopter parked in the field came into view, its rotors spinning. A tall, dark-haired, and elegantly dressed woman raced from that helo to the bus. Definitely Mideastern. Olive skinned. Long, jet-black hair. Ugly sneer. Things were starting to add up.

Asher floored the accelerator. An older woman exited the driver's side of the van, waving her hands over her head and yelling at the Mideastern chick. At the same time, the passenger door burst open and Marlowe tumbled out. Yellow tank top over yoga pants. No shoes. Mad as a hornet. Yup, that's my girl.