We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,96
Houghton. Izzie had met the occupants of that limousine many times before. A sudden pang of homesickness hit her so hard it surprised her at its ferocity. “Do you think that it is someone we know?”
He nodded. “Probably. They are opening the Barratt—South Padre Island this weekend. Members of the board at Barratt try to make these things. It might be Houghton or Turner in there right now.”
“Maybe it’s Turner and Annie.”
“Possibly. Most likely, it’s Houghton and his wife, though. They tend to be the most visible Barratts lately.”
“It’s because everyone has gone doofy over Mel for some reason. Cinderella story with the wounded cop and the hot billionaire, she said. She uses it to her advantage, though.” Mel had a habit of spending her husband’s money on whatever charities she could find. Houghton supported her in that every step of the way. “She might be able to help you with setting up the scholarship.”
She wanted to see if it was Mel. Wanted to know if it was Annie. To feel some part of her normal again.
“When we get to South Padre, I’ll call Annie. See for certain.” They wouldn’t be able to meet up with her friend, but it would be nice to know they were nearby. If she and Allen needed something. Or even just to talk. She was used to talking to Annie almost every day. All of that had changed lately—even before the abduction attempt.
It had all changed when Turner entered the picture. The storm. That had changed everything for all of them. “I haven’t been away from Annie this long since she and her mother moved away briefly when we were nine. They were back six months later.”
She was about to say something else when Allen cursed.
“What is it?”
“We’re being followed. White truck. Looks a little too familiar to me. Put him in your lap and tighten your seatbelt.”
Allen hit the gas.
79
Allen slammed the gas pedal to the floorboard, but it wouldn’t be enough. Despite the sleek custom engine in the van—Barry had always liked his toys—it wasn’t as powerful as that behemoth of a truck on their heels. There wasn’t much traffic on the road now, the TSP had set up roadblocks a mile back to help with some sort of major event headed toward the island—he suspected the Barratts had something to do with it—and he pushed the van as hard as he could.
The truck was still gaining on them.
“Hold on. Tighten your belt and put Oliver on your lap. Hold him down.”
She didn’t protest.
The truck slammed into the rear of the van, sending them careening toward the shoulder.
He heard Izzie bite off a scream. Allen just prayed and kept his hands tight on the wheel.
The truck slammed into them again.
This time, he had no choice. Allen fought to keep the van on the road, but it was impossible.
The van slid off onto the shoulder. He slammed on the brakes seconds before they hit a patch of gravel.
The truck was still there. Far too close. Coming for them.
“Get down!” he yelled, reaching for the gun he’d had in the pocket of the dash.
It was far too late.
Gunfire sounded.
Glass along the driver’s side shattered. Fire lanced straight through his left shoulder, just inches away from the stitches Izzie had put in.
Allen couldn’t help it.
He fell.
His face struck the dinette on the way down.
He forced himself to his knees as he heard Izzie cry out his name.
Then she was moving. Jumping over him and the crying puppy somehow. Oliver was licking Allen’s cheek when Izzie put the van into gear and yanked it back onto the road. Allen hoped it hadn’t been damaged too badly.
“Allen!”
“Just drive!”
He pulled himself to his knees in time to look out the rear window behind the bed. The truck was nowhere to be seen—but half a dozen semis were bearing down on them at full speed. “Go faster!”
Izzie did just that.
Allen collapsed into the captain’s chair next to the dinette—which was now stained red with his own blood.
He had no clue what they were going to do now.
80
Waiting was the hardest part. Jennifer forced herself to remain calm. Kyle had come through. He’d found them. With some wheedling, he’d told exactly how he’d done it.
He’d always been a bit of a braggart.
With his information and a cell phone, she’d had everything moving nicely.
It had taken her people a while to drive south and another day or so to find who they were looking for. That was the benefit of having