Page 59 of Not This Night

Rachel's fingers brushed the empty holster at her side, a reminder of her lost firearm. She felt the weight of vulnerability without it, but her resolve didn't waver. They moved together. She retrieved her gun from under the couch and instantly felt better as it slid back into place.

A groan from the corner caught their attention. Big Joe was stirring. His massive frame shifted, muscle and sinew straining against the handcuffs.

“Cut it out!” Ethan snapped.

Even her congenial partner had lost some of his bedside manner as he stomped over to the fallen man, grabbed his cuffs and yanked him to his feet.

Rachel just watched from hooded eyes. She retrieved her hat from where it had fallen, dusted it off, and placed it back on her head. Shifting a couple of turquoise beads in her hair to the side, she felt the comforting chill of the small stones against her cheek and took some relief in the sensation.

Then, with a faint growl, she turned her dark eyes on Big Joe and muttered, “Let’s see what you know.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Dust swirled outside the car window, crimson like the blood that had dried on Rachel's knuckles. She sat rigid in the passenger seat, her body aching from the tussle with Big Joe. Each bump in the road sent a jolt of pain coursing through her bruised ribs. Ethan's hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set in concentration.

"Joe," Rachel's voice cut through the hum of the engine, sharp as a knife. "Charlie. Where is he?"

Big Joe shifted uncomfortably in the backseat, his cuffed hands resting futilely in his lap. "I don't know nothing about Charlie," he grumbled, but the unease in his voice betrayed him.

"Cut the crap, Joe." Rachel didn't miss a beat. "You're knee-deep in this, and you know it."

Ethan glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his eyes flickering with concern for a moment before returning to the road. The silence stretched thin, filled only by the gravel crunching under tires.

"Charlie's got a lot of places he could be," Big Joe finally said, reluctant.

"Start talking, or it's going to be a very long ride," she pressed, ignoring the throb in her side.

Big Joe grunted, his massive form crammed in the backseat of their unmarked car. He wore a sullen glare, and the blue feather in his hair lifted and fell with each deep exhale.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No,” he said simply.

Rachel reached down and pulled on the lever to lean her seat back. It slammed into Big Joe’s belly.

He grunted, air whooshing from his lungs.

“Whoops,” she muttered. “Sorry. Not cramped are you?”

He just scowled at her in the rearview mirror.

She turned fully now, fixing her gaze on him. “Tell me more,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing. Don’t know Charlie. Let me go.”

“You want me to let you go?”

He frowned at her tone.

But her mind was working overtime. Charlie was small potatoes. She wasn’t here for a violent man who used his fists. She was here for a murderer.

“Tell me,” she said, “about Charlie, and I’ll let you out of the car. Right now.”

He stared at her.

She didn’t break eye contact, hoping to communicate her seriousness.

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