Chapter Seventeen

They were traveling north-by-northeast. Their new ride was a dark-gray Toyota Land Cruiser with heavily tinted windows, courtesy of Alex Stewart. Smoke had outfitted the SUV with a large enough ice chest to carry supplies for a week, everything from prepackaged sandwiches to frosty bottled waters. Individual-sized bags of fruit or vegetable snacks and a good supply of protein bars. The tasty kind, not those damned stick-in-your-throat MREs the military bought.

Shane had the wheel. He'd stored his and Everlee's new and heavier backpacks in the rear cargo hold with the cooler. Those sturdy packs were now loaded with new weaponry. Both Shane and Everlee now possessed spanking new McMillan bolt-action, TAC-338 sniper rifles, both equipped with Leupold Mark 4 LR/T scopes and retractable Harris bipods. Along with tactical gear, including vests and ammo. He'd contemplated bringing along two pairs of NVGs and at least one sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun. But in the end, he and Ev could only pack so much. So he'd settled for an additional two Glock pistols for Everlee, two Browning Black Label 1911-380 pistols for him, holsters and extra ammo. Along with a few other incidentals that might come in handy. One never knew what they'd need.

Shane planned on making it all the way through Arkansas, possibly as far as eastern Tennessee by dusk. Again, Everlee sat with Smart in the rear seats, one of her pistols on her thigh. Smart sat directly behind Shane, which put her in his rearview mirror. For an alleged black widow, she didn't flirt or attempt anything coy, just stared at the scenery flying by.

But damned if she didn't look content. Happy. At peace. For the life of him, Shane couldn't reconcile the serious charges against Ms. Smart with the calm demeanor of the woman in the mirror. Either she was a damned good actress, or she was schizophrenic with some serious multiple personalities. Neither of which settled as right in Shane's gut. It was talking to him, telling him she wasn't a killer. He just wanted to be sure what it was telling him was right.

They'd no sooner crossed the northeast corner of Texas into Arkansas when Ms. Smart turned to Everlee and said, "I thought we were going to talk last night, Agent Yeager."

Shane caught the sudden exhaustion in her voice and the lack of excitement in her green eyes, which were almost as deep as evergreen pines. Apparently, the joy of those red shoes had worn off. He hit his blinker and moved into the slow lane. "Last night we needed food and rest more than we needed information," he answered. "So talk. What do you think is going on?"

"Yeah, Smart. If you didn't kill Atchison Bremmer, your three-year-old son Toby and your two-month-old daughter Betsy, who did?" Everlee's snotty sarcasm was no help, but it did serve its purpose. It hit a damned tender nerve with Ms. Smart.

"I don't even know who those people are!" she yelled at Everlee.

Which surprised Shane. But Everlee deserved the comeback. Didn't she realize she'd get more flies with honey instead of vinegar?

"And I'd never kill a baby, any baby, especially not mine! All I know for sure is that my face was all over the television screens at DFW airport when I landed in the States last week. The news says I'm a wanted fugitive, that I killed that man and his two kids. That I burned them alive. But there I am, strutting through DFW without a care in the world like a damned idiot! Does that sound like something a murderer would do? For Pete's sake, people were looking at me like I had two heads! I had no idea what was going on. I had to leave my baggage at DFW just to get a cab home because some guy started following me. He had his cell phone out. He was talking to someone, probably the police. Or maybe he was an undercover cop looking for me. How would I know? Maybe he works for whoever's framing me, did you ever think of that?"

Ms. Smart shook her head, her cheeks flushed and red. "The second I got to my Aunt's house, the one I just bought, I called the local TV station and asked what they were doing running all those lies about me. I told them to stop, that they had the wrong woman. That they were slandering me. That I'd sue. But they wanted me to come in for an on-the-spot interview. I told them no, not until they stopped running lies about me, that I didn't kill anyone. But they don't care about hearing the truth. They're nothing more than a pack of pushy, rabid dogs."

She took a deep breath and flipped a chunk of blonde hair over her shoulder. "Since then, someone's followed me every time I've left my house. Maybe it's the same guy from the airport. He's always in a dark suit and dark glasses, and he never gets close enough for me to really get a good look. Both times I've seen him, I tried to confront him, but he took off. Then you two came along and ran me down just when I thought I finally had him. He was in that crowd last night. He was there when my house blew up. He might be the one who blew it up, did you ever think of that? That's why I was dressed like a reporter. I needed to be hidden, to be safe, yet visible enough to be able to watch for him."

Shane was inclined to agree, but Everlee cut him off with, "You expect us to believe that BS?" She caught Shane's eyes when he glanced over his shoulder and gave him a chin lift like he had better agree with her. "I downloaded the video of you coming out of your New York apartment." She shoved her cell phone into Ms. Smart's face. "Want to tell me how a woman who looks exactly like you, isn't you?"

Shane kept glancing at Tuesday in the rearview mirror. As the short security clip ran, all color leached out of her face. She blinked. Took a deep breath and blinked again, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Which was interesting, considering she was looking at herself running a chain through both handles of her apartment doors, looping it twice, then padlocking it, barring the only exit from the home she'd lived in at least four years. With her husband and kids, for God's sake. He could hear them screaming, someone banging on the door to get out. Not just someone, but the man she'd vowed to love and honor till death do they part. She had to be guilty. That woman was her, damn it.

Wasn't she? Damn it, Shane wasn't so sure anymore. The longer Smart stayed in their company, the more his certainty diminished.

She raised one hand to her mouth and cried, "Turn it off! That's so, so terrible. Please! Turn it off!" Tears brimmed her eyes and her face was deathly white. Could anyone mimic that shade of pallor?

"Enough, Ev," Shane admonished.

With a glare at him in the rearview mirror, Everlee shut off the video clip and ended the torture. But damn. Shane hoped he never had to hear those babies' cries for their mama again.

"That's… That's…" Ms. Smart dashed a hand across her face, but there was no hiding the pain in her eyes. Or the tears running down her face. Or her snotty nose. She wiped both hands over her face. And again, Shane felt torn. Was she telling the truth? Sure felt like it.

"That wasn't me, I s-swear. That h-h-horrible woman who did that to those kids isn't m-m-me. B-but…" She gulped loud enough Shane heard it from the front seat. "Sh-she sure looks just like me, doesn't sh-she? She's… she's awful. God. Who does that?!"

Tears that looked authentic still dripped over her chin and down her neck. "How… how could she? To her own family? To the man she loved? To her children? Her b-babies?!"

Everlee was leaning far enough into Smart to shoot Shane a look of disgust in the rearview mirror. "She's you, Ms. Smart. Same heart-shaped face. Same long, tinted bleached-blonde hair." Everlee said that with a shit ton of head swagger. "Hell, look at her fingers. No nail polish, just like yours. Want to run that innocent routine by me again? Because I'm not falling for this stupid act of yours. How would anyone, even your twin if you had one, know enough about you to masquerade as you committing cold-blooded murder?"

Ms. Smart turned both shoulders toward Everlee and screamed, "I'm telling the truth, Agent Yeager! That despicable woman is… Not! Me! Not unless I'm schizophrenic and can't remember who I am or where I was when this crime happened. But I'm not, and I do. I'm the real Tuesday Smart, darn it. The news said the fire happened in January. Is that true?"

"Of course it's true," Everlee snapped.

"Well, for your information, I've been out of the country for the last three months on a job for Robert Freiburg. Maybe you've heard of him? He's the millionaire who produced all those documentaries about the catastrophic effect of carbon emissions on the planet. I've been too busy shooting footage across the world to watch TV. I was gone January, February, and most of March. I'm a freelance photographer. I can prove it. Every photo I take is date-stamped, and that stamp includes the locations where I was when I took them. Only…" She bit her lip and turned to the window.

Shane had been studying her body language as much as he could without taking his eyes off the road for too long. Ms. Smart's act was damned convincing. If it were just up to him, he'd believe her. But again, that was what made black widows good at what they did. They suckered stupid men. Like him.

Sucking in a deep breath, her eyes connected with his in the rearview mirror. Ms. Smart looked at him pleadingly. "You have to believe me, Agent Hayes. I did not kill those children or that man. I wouldn't do such a heinous thing. To anyone! Only I can't prove it because every picture I took was in my house. All my equipment and photos. My cell phone. And now it's… it's gone."

"How convenient." Everlee's continual use of sarcasm was getting old.

Shane nodded, not so sure which woman he was agreeing with. "You were out of the country for three solid months?" Yeah, he caught Everlee's cocked brow at his question, but he ignored her snark and focused on their prisoner. For the life of him, if Smart was lying, he couldn't detect any tells or the usual subterfuge, and his gut was screaming for him to believe her. Was she telling the truth?

"Yes, three months." Her head bobbed. "I spent six weeks in the Serengeti at the end of last year, then mid-January, I flew to the Arctic. I've been photo-journaling the effects of climate change on wildlife the world over. My next location is… was Mongolia in May, after that, the southern tip of South America and maybe Antarctica." She scrubbed her knuckles over her lips. "I can call Robert. He'll vouch for me. You'll see. He's got digital copies of all my photos, I know he does. I always forward copies the same day I shoot the footage. You'll see. I'm telling the truth. I promise."

Man, Shane wanted to believe her.

"Let me guess, he's out of touch at the moment." Everlee couldn't seem to stop playing bad cop.

"Yes, he's in Australia, probably unreachable," Ms. Smart bit out. "He's documenting the damage the wildfires did to the outback last year. Because he's a damned good photographer!"

"Hey, don't get your panties in a twist—"

"Please, do that, Ms. Smart." Shane headed off the rest of Everlee's comeback. "Contact Robert Freiburg as soon as we get you safe. The sooner you prove your innocence, the quicker the FBI will drop their charges. We can help you reach out to your friend if you'd like." He caught the spiked brow Everlee tossed at him, but Shane focused on Ms. Smart's startled glance in the rearview.

"You… you will?"

Shane nodded. He could almost hear her heart pounding from the back seat. Maybe it was time to cut her some slack, and, if she were guilty, give her enough rope to hang herself. "Yes, ma'am. We're not your judge, jury, or executioners. We're here to help you and the FBI, aren't we, Agent Yeager?"

If looks could kill. Everlee's cocked head and death glare told Shane all he needed to know. He'd stepped out of line, and she didn't approve. Well, too bad, Agent Yeager. Sometimes, stepping out of line was the right thing to do.

Ms. Smart's cheeks ballooned with relief. "Oh, thank you, thank you so much. I won't let you down, Agent Hayes, honest. The minute we get somewhere safe, I'll call Robert, and you can talk with him yourself. Hopefully, we'll be able to reach him. But will you still turn me over if we can't? To the FBI, I mean?"

Shane glanced at Everlee for that answer.

"If Alex says yes, you bet your ass we will," she replied tartly, avoiding Shane's eyes. "So, get your damned story straight, because once we hit TEAM HQ, you're not our problem."

Shane shot a quick look of censure over his shoulder at Everlee. "I need to stop for gas. Anyone need a break, maybe some lunch?" The landscape had changed from Texas arid to Arkansas green, scattered with rolling hills, intermittent rocky ledges, and granite outcroppings. The interstate was smooth, traffic was fairly light, and it'd been hours since breakfast. He was hungry.

"Sure. Pull over," Ev huffed. "That'll give me a chance to call Alex."

Smart said nothing, just stared at Shane in the rearview. Damn, she kept wiping tears out of her eyes.

"How about you, kiddo?" he asked her directly. "There's a rest stop ahead. I can pull in there or I can aim for the next town. It's twenty miles away, but it's fairly large, and we should find a better choice of restaurants there. Better bathroom facilities, too."

"I don't really care," she told him, her teary gaze direct and her tone heartbreakingly quiet. "Just keep me alive long enough to prove I'm innocent. Can you do that?"

"Absolutely," he promised. "You have my word, Ms. Smart."

She seemed to be relying on him more than Everlee, and Shane got that. He did. That was how the good cop/bad cop routine worked. The accused related to whichever law officer seemed the weaker or nicer of the two, and Shane was content playing the part. Not that he'd let his guard down, but he would honestly investigate any and all information Ms. Smart provided. She sounded damned credible. Plus he'd get Mother to research that Freiburg fellow.

Shane had to give Ms. Smart credit. Everything out of her mouth so far sounded believable. Was she playing a part, too? If so, if her honesty was just a ruse, a distraction, she was in for a helluva surprise. Because he might know how to act gullible and smitten, but he was no pushover.

Flipping the left turn signal, he put them back in the middle lane and stepped on the gas. Because of their early takeoff, it was now past noon, and Smart's flex cuffs were the only hindrance to them going inside anywhere to eat. Her hands were still cuffed in front of her, but that didn't make her less of a flight risk. Maybe Shane would be the food delivery person today. Then, after he gassed up, they could find some out-of-the-way place to eat and stretch their legs.

The sign for the rest stop flashed by. They'd just crested a hill and had a long stretch of interstate winding straight ahead of them when—

BANG! Felt like their left rear tire had blown.

"What the shit?" Everlee exclaimed while the SUV bucked across the far left lane, then took a sharp right down the center lane. Shane battled to keep the Land Cruiser clear of other traffic and on the interstate. Forget that. He cranked the wheel hard to the left, striving to not over-correct and make this recovery worse. He aimed for the grassy median between east and westbound lanes. But that small correction sent the SUV's rear end into a wicked three-sixty drift that propelled them toward the right shoulder. Which was gravel. Which should've given the tires something to latch onto, allowing him to brake safely.

Instead, the SUV's rear end slid sideways and dumped them onto the slick, grass-covered slope that led to the fenced field alongside the interstate. Which posed a different set of problems. Like rolling. Totally losing control of the SUV. The gas tank possibly exploding. All of them being trapped and burned alive and…

Fuck. No.

But who the hell was gunning for them? Because that blowout was not due to a worn tire. No way. Shane had checked their ride thoroughly before take-off. He spared a quick glance in the rearview to see which cars were behind him. Could someone have been following them all this time? Before he could lock onto any specific vehicle, the rear window spiderwebbed, and a hailstorm of chipped safety glass rocketed through the SUV.

"Duck!" he ordered, as instinctively, he jerked sideways just before those chips spattered into the dash and the back of his headrest. Everlee and Smart were crouched low on the backseat by then. Son of a bitch! Who was after them?

Shane didn't have time to sort it out. He cranked the wheel a hard left, then a quick right, aiming to get back on the road. At last, he had the SUV somewhat under control, but he was driving too fast on one rim, the rubber from the blown tire completely gone. Things went from bad to worse. An old farm tractor blocked the shoulder ahead. Just ahead of that were the banked concrete walls of an overpass. A white-haired man in a cowboy hat sat inside the enclosed cab of that damned tractor. With every yard closer the SUV sped, the slower the tractor puttered along. Until—

There was no way to avoid hitting its substantially heavier rear end. Shane didn't dare go back into traffic and if the SUV hit the incline to that overpass, they'd roll. He switched gears and gunned the motor. Struggling to control the wheel, he aimed the SUV back to the bar pit near the fence. No such luck. Another shot rang out and his side mirror shattered. A third shot peppered the rear of the vehicle. The bastard had gotten close.

Shane floored the accelerator. The Toyota hesitated until, finally, its front tires engaged. But because of the missing tire, its rear end fishtailed in a widening arc that was taking them all the way around the tractor until the front of the Toyota was facing the front of the tractor. They were still spinning, hurtling closer to the overpass. He didn't want to hit the concrete wall that fed the incline. Shane's choices were bleak to none, but he damned well refused to hurt the old guy on the John Deere. Just as the Toyota's rear tires hit the ridge of the shoulder, the SUV bounced. The momentum sent the remaining tires churning up clouds of grit and dust. And—

The steering wheel seized.

"Hold on!" Shane bellowed as chaos took over. The SUV rolled and he flattened his palms to the ceiling just as it became the floor. Everything not belted down shifted from being cargo to lethal weapons. The first frightening rotation tossed the giant ice chest and their gear bags upward and over the rear seat. Shane's holsters flapped away from his hips.

"Jiminy Christmas!" Everlee yelled. Which was so damned appropriate. Hail Marys were running a mile a minute through Shane's mind.

Another bone-wrenching spin. Another plea for divine intervention.

Holy Mary, Mother of God… Ouch!

Then again...

Pray for us sinners…. Damn it!

And again…

Now and at the hour of our death…

Each wicked rotation jerked Shane's body against his harness which was damned near cutting him in half. He had no idea how Everlee and Ms. Smart were faring.

New grown vegetation slashed the dash where windshield had been. Stalks and dirt whipped Shane's face. At last, the vehicle settled on its roof with a creaky groan in the middle of a shit ton of dust. A husky "Amen" whispered out of him.

He coughed to clear his throat, then yelled, "Everlee! Tuesday!" needing to know they'd survived. That they were still with him. Still somehow breathing and not hurt, damn it!

No answers came back to him. Nothing but the whining sound of a vehicle gunning toward them. "Move your dumb ass, Hayes!" he growled as he jerked at his harness, struggling to get the damned latch loose.

No go. He was locked in, trapped. The light from the sun faded. Storm clouds maybe? God, he hoped. He'd willingly take a twister bearing down on them rather than the killers taking Tuesday. Or him dying without a fight. Fuck! He was so damned helpless!

Until total darkness flooded the SUV's dusty interior. A purplish fog stole into the ruined vehicle, covering everything. Obscuring his vision. Blocking light and sound. His upside-down body was heavy. He went slack against the harness that wouldn't let him go. Shane knew then he wasn't meant to survive. Not this disaster. It was the end of his road, and nothing could change what was happening now. Not cursing. Not praying. Not the women behind him. Not divine intervention.

"Everlee," he whispered, wishing he'd told her how much she meant to him.

But he hadn't. So he whispered again, just, "Everleeeee…"