Blink of an Eye (Kendra Michaels #8) - Roy Johansen Page 0,36
tire is shredded.”
RAT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT!
“There goes the right.” Kendra looked at the desolate highway ahead. “Nobody for miles. We’re on our own out here.”
“I know. We have to do something fast.”
“Got any ideas?”
“One. Hang on. And stay down.”
Jessie cut the wheel hard right, and the back rims fishtailed across the pavement in a shower of sparks. She stepped on the accelerator. They were now facing the rider, charging toward each other as if in a medieval joust.
RAT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT!
Bullets sprayed across the front windshield and grille. Before Kendra could recover, she was jolted by a different sound.
BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM!
Jessie’s left arm was protruding from the window, and she was returning fire on the motorcyclist. As two of her shots appeared to make contact, his body jerked and twisted, but he managed to stay on the bike. He cut across the car’s right side and fired again, this time toward the shattered rear passenger side window.
RAT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT-AT!
Jessie spun off the road, kicked open her door, and jumped out. She took a position behind the bullet-riddled hood and took aim.
But the rider wasn’t coming back.
The motorcycle sped off into the distance, back in the direction from which it had come.
Kendra straightened in her seat and turned see the rider, about half a mile down the road, stop to allow his limping partner to climb on behind him. The motorcycle sped away with the two men.
Kendra looked down to the backseat. “You’re safe now, Adrian.”
No answer.
Oh, God.
Adrian.
Jessie stood up and walked toward her. “What is it?”
Kendra jumped out of the car and threw open the rear door. “Help me.”
Adrian was a bloody mess. Kendra could see he’d been shot at least twice, once in the head and once in the chest. He wasn’t breathing.
Kendra tore open his shirt and started chest compressions.
Jessie grabbed her arm. “Kendra…”
“Do you have towels or any kind of clothing in the trunk? We need to get pressure on these wounds.”
“It’s too late.”
Kendra pushed his chest with the heels of her hands. “One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand…”
“Kendra…”
Tears stung her eyes. “We have to try. He was so scared. He said he’d do whatever I wanted him to do. I promised I’d take care of him. Help me!”
Jessie reached down to stop her. “Stop it. The back of his head is gone.” Jessie looked down the highway, where the motorcycle had disappeared into the rippling waves of heat. “Adrian is who they wanted. They didn’t care about the two of us at all.”
Kendra finally backed away from Adrian’s body. Her hands and sleeves were covered with blood. “He was right to run,” she said numbly. “If we hadn’t found him, he’d still be alive.”
“You don’t know that. They could have found him on their own.”
“He was scared out of his mind. He was making mistake after mistake. He was just waiting for someone to save him. Then we found him and told him what he wanted to hear.”
Jessie grabbed Kendra’s lapels and leaned close. “He was a scumbag. He helped them take Dee, remember? He made the choice to get mixed up with those people. What did he think was going to happen?”
“I don’t know. He said he didn’t think they’d hurt her. Maybe it was the truth.” Kendra looked down at Adrian’s bullet-ridden body. “Whatever he thought was going to happen, it wasn’t this,” she said hoarsely. “He didn’t bargain for this.”
* * *
“You’re lucky to be alive.”
Kendra nodded and turned to face Kelland. It had been over two hours since Adrian’s death and the scene was now swarming with police cars, uniformed officers, and a van from the San Bernardino County Medical Examiner’s Office. Kelland had just arrived with a few agents from the FBI L.A. regional office.
“Adrian wasn’t so lucky.” Kendra gestured toward Jessie’s bullet-ridden SUV. “He’s still in there.”
“I know. But at least you and Jessie are safe.”
“We’re no closer to finding Dee than we were before.”
“I wouldn’t say that. He told you where and when he was approached by this Arthur character. We already have our Denver office tracking down every bit of security camera video around his hotel there, including the coffee shops. We’ll turn something up.” He nodded at the wrecked motorcycle down the road, which was now surrounded by bright orange pylons. Jessie was standing over the bike, taking photos with her cell phone. “Were you able to get anything from that?”
Kendra shook her head. “The VIN has been removed, and there’s no plate. The make and model are rare enough around here that we may still be able to track ownership,