Rummaging in the refrigerator, Jake found a bottle of water. “Want one?”
“I’d rather have a double shot of scotch, straight up, but that’ll have to do.” Nolan took the bottle and opened it. “Talk, Buchanan.”
Jake unscrewed the cap to another bottle of water and downed half the contents, then set the water on the counter and crossed his arms. “I’m more of a beer man myself. Let me ask you something. What happens when a cop spots Carol’s car? He’s gonna call for backup, then they’ll surround the car, guns drawn, right? Or, if he’s a hothead, he’s not going to wait for backup and will try to pull them over instead, then there’ll be a high-speed chase with the likelihood of a crash. You disagree?”
The detective set his bottle on the counter next to Jake’s, then crossed his arms, mirroring Jake’s stance. “Where you going with this?”
If he’d been in the mood, he would have laughed at the old police ploy of aping a subject in an attempt at intimidation. But time was wasting and he had no tolerance for games at the moment. “I notice you didn’t disagree. Why? Because you can’t. I won’t risk Maria being in the middle of a shoot-out.”
“So you think you can save her all by your lonesome, Lone Ranger?”
“I know I can.” He prayed it was true. “I’ll call and tell you where you can come collect your man.”
“Where you going?”
At the kitchen doorway, he stopped and turned. “To rescue a damsel in distress.” His damsel. “By the way, you can find Carol’s car behind the Governor’s Square Mall. Your perp stole a green Ford.”
He walked out to the sound of some mighty fine cussing. Although he’d thought he would have to break into the Mustang and hotwire it, he found it unlocked and her keys in the cup holder. “Maria, Maria,” he tsked.
Since he knew she usually pocketed her keys, he could imagine her upset by Angie’s message and her hurry to get inside. He’d told Nolan he would call and tell him where to come get Fortunada. What he neglected to add after Fortunada’s name was “dead body.”
Although her Mustang was souped up, it didn’t have a GPS. From the pouch around his waist, he took the one Michaels had brought, along with two guns—a Glock and a SIG Sauer—a knife balanced perfectly for throwing right between someone’s eyes, a flashlight, a whistle, and a grenade.
“A whistle and a grenade?” he’d said when examining the contents of the pouch.
“Why not? Who knows, you might want to blow something up. And that’s a dog whistle. I’m never without one.”
Michaels had grinned at his own words, and all Jake could think when seeing the demented twist of his lips was that he was damn glad the man was his friend. “Scares me straight to know our government has a psycho like you on their payroll,” he’d said as he packed the toys back into the pouch.
With the GPS turned on and sitting on the dash, he backed out of the driveway. His foot heavy on the gas, he headed for College Street, her last known location. When he had her safe in his arms, he’d give her holy hell for taking ten years off his life.
“Where’s she now?” he said when Saint answered his call.
“They just left the ATM. He told her to get on I-10 and go west. She’ll be turning onto the entrance in seven.”
The bastard was running. “How much longer you think her phone battery will last?”
“Two hours at most. Even if it dies out before you get to her, we’re still able to track her. Don’t lose your cool, Jake.”
“Easy for you to say when you’re not in love with her.” The declaration so surprised him, he almost hit the car next to him. “I mean, that’s easy for you to say when you’re not here.”
“I know what you meant,” Saint replied, sounding as if he really did. Then his voice turned serious. “I finally tracked down the boss. He’s catching a plane back tonight, but he said the only way he’d fire you for not being on a plane headed for Egypt was if you didn’t show up tomorrow with his sister standing next to you.”
“Just keep me informed on where they are or anything she says.” He disconnected and concentrated on weaving in and out of rush-hour traffic. If the bastard harmed one hair on her head, he really would be sent to hell in a body bag.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jake ran the red light at the entrance onto I-10 West. An oncoming car’s brakes squealed and the driver flipped him a finger as he sped past. “Yeah, yeah, back atcha,” he said as he floored it up the entrance ramp.