Stealing Taffy (Bigler, North Carolina #3) - Susan Donovan Page 0,112

kitchen staff. Within seconds Dante was peeling out of the parking lot.

He already had a good idea where Miller was headed, but he requested an emergency warrant for a GPS track of Tanyalee’s smartphone just to be sure. O’Connor came back with the information in five minutes. He’d been right—Miller took them to the last place he believed the police would look: the scene of the crime.

It was a place Fern knew better than Miller did, and that fact gave Dante some comfort.

* * *

The Cadillac bumped and jolted so badly that Fern would have smashed against the trunk ceiling if Tanyalee hadn’t pinned her down. Finally, the car lurched to a stop.

Then, trapped in the darkness, they listened carefully. The old engine settled with a few more pings and shudders before it died. Tanyalee suspected that Viv would be peeved to learn Wainright had ruined her vehicle’s suspension, then nearly laughed at herself. Of all the things that could legitimately cause her concern at this particular moment in time, she chose to focus on the pimpmobile!

A Newberry in denial to the bitter end.

The phone rang again. “Tell you what I want, what I really, really want…” She twitched with the desire to answer it. In her heart she knew it was Dante.

“I promise I will answer my phone…”

She’d said those words just days ago, after accusing him of being overdramatic. Ha! Tanyalee squeezed her eyes shut, cutting off any tears that might blur her vision. Let your mind go there, Dante—the brutal and the horrible. Think the worst, because that’s exactly what’s happening. Find us!

There came a foul curse and the sound of the heavy driver’s door opening. Oddly, the sound of Tanyalee’s ring tone seemed above her, then it faded away overhead, as if it just flew off on its own.

She gasped.

“I hate that fucking song,” Miller yelled, slamming the car door closed.

“Sorry about your phone, Tanyalee.”

She patted Fern’s hand. “Well, now we know we can’t call for help. You know what we have to do. Remember, you throw like a machine gun and then you run.”

“I’m on it,” Fern whispered.

Heavy footsteps sounded along the side of the long car. Then the jingle of keys. The trunk opened and the light blinded them.

It didn’t matter. They were locked and loaded. “Now!” Tanyalee cried.

The barrage of sticky, gummy cupcakes hit Wainright Miller square in the face and chest.

“Aghh!” He threw up his hands and backed away a step, spitting out crumbs and icing from one especially well-aimed cake.

“Go!” Tanyalee grunted, as she filled her fists with more cupcakes and let them fly. Nimble little Fern vaulted out over the side of the trunk farthest from Miller and was off.

“Hey!” Miller spotted her and began reaching around behind his back, digging into his waistband. He pulled out a gun and Tanyalee planted a gooey one right in his eyes. He lost his balance but managed to take a shot in the direction Fern had gone.

“Run, Fern!” Tanyalee went up on her knees and threw the last of her cupcakes with all her might. All the while Fern raced to the tree line at the clearing’s edge and the tree house beyond.

Tanyalee was now alone with a furious and armed Wainright Miller … and she had only one more cupcake. But she was ready. In one hand she grabbed the car jack she’d long ago located beneath the trunk carpet, and in the other hand she held the very last diabetes-friendly bomb. Tanyalee hoped he enjoyed eating it.

She hurled herself out of the trunk, right on top of Miller, smashing the cupcake directly into his face and grinding it in. It gave her just enough time to get her bearings and begin swinging that iron like a wild thing, all elbows and terror and pissed-off Southern belle, striking him in the head, the back, his sides, his knees. Miller was flailing, and the tire iron suddenly snagged on to the key ring he’d been clutching in his hand. Tanyalee watched as her car keys whipped off into an overgrown ditch.

Miller went crazy. “You stupid bitch! How am I going to get out of here?” He raised the gun, and in that moment, Tanyalee decided she’d worked too damn hard to die. She raised the tire iron and brought it down on his wrist with a loud crack! and Miller dropped the gun, collapsing on top of it. Tanyalee didn’t wait around to see how long it would take him to locate