Page 21 of Stilettos and Outlaws

“Not yet.” Mom stood. “Let’s go. Logan left my truck in the parking lot.”

Doc Halliday planted his hands on his hips. “Don’t bring it back without the proper paperwork.”

“Her name is Miss Kitty, and I won’t.”

Julie whispered, “Sorry.”

“It’s a rescue,” I added and followed Mom out.

Chapter Four

Heat waves danced across the hospital’s parking lot. Beads of sweat dotted my skin and all I wanted was a big glass of iced tea. “Did any of the other packages contain bombs, Mom?”

Mom came to an abrupt stop and pointed. “What is that fool doing?”

I turned my head to see what she was talking about and my jaw dropped.

Cursing loudly, a big dude wearing a rumpled black business suit kicked the crap out of a yellow Ford. A geyser of steam rose from the engine compartment.

“His temper tantrum is gonna cost him big time,” Julie commented.

I watched him for a moment. “Think the heat got to him?”

“Well, wearing a black wool suit in this heat is beyond stupid,” Mom said.

Julie snorted. “I’ll say and what’s up with his funky sandals?”

The white lace-up Roman sandals should be worn at costume parties not with a business suit. “I bet he’s single. A wife wouldn’t let him leave the house dressed like that.”

“Depends on how big of a jerk he is. It’s the perfect payback,” Mom said.

The big dude climbed up on the hood and jumped up and down. The metal crumpled under the blows. “Worthless piece of crap! You belong in the junk yard!”

My eyebrows rose. “He’s about five minutes away from heat stroke.”

“Yep. We’d better stop him before he does something really dumb,” Mom said.

The man jerked out a Desert Eagle pistol and fired multiple rounds into the engine block. “Join that bitch in hell!”

“That just cost him a good forty thousand, and some jail time,” Julie growled.

I pulled my Glock and yelled, “Sheriff’s Office! Stop shooting!” Did he stop? Hell, no.

Using her mean mother voice, Mom shouted, “Drop your weapon! Now!”

The man didn’t even look at us. “Go away! I still have bullets left.”

“Do you want to die?” Julie yelled.

The man blinked. “What? This is my car. I have a right to shoot it.”

“You can’t discharge a firearm within the city limits. Now drop your gun, and get your hands up,” I commanded.

Six shotguns were racked. “You heard the deputies, put the Desert Eagle down or we’ll shoot your ass!” Sergeant Durham bellowed.

The color drained from the dude’s face when he saw all the guns pointed at him. The pistol fell from his nerveless fingers, and he raised his hands. “Don’t shoot me. Don’t shoot me!”

Smoke boiled from the hood. With a yelp, the idiot leapt off his car and was immediately tackled by two Peoria officers.

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