Page 8 of Highest Bidder

I crane my neck, twisting my head around to try and see the car, but the lights are too bright. “Make sure you’re buckled in tight,” Beckett growls before flooring the gas. Good thing I was belted, or else I would have been thrown against the dashboard.

The other car speeds up, too, but Beckett swerves out of the way before it can bump us. We’re going so fast now, the slightest wrong move and we’ll end up either in the woods to our right or crossing the grassy median and heading into oncoming traffic.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand as the world flies by us. He doesn’t answer. But he has to know. What hasn’t he told me?

I’m starting to think I’ll never find out, because again the car bumps us, this time on the driver’s side. We start to go into a spin and this time I can’t help but scream, gripping the door handle until my knuckles ache, digging the fingers of my other hand into Beckett’s shoulder. He doesn’t notice, completely focused on keeping us on the road.

He succeeds, too, coming to a stop on the gravel strip between the road and the woods. We’re pointed in the wrong direction, but we’re alive. I mean, I’m shaking and I might throw up, but we’re alive.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Rather than answer, he cuts the wheel and floors the gas pedal and we shoot off, now blazing down the road so fast the force presses me back in my seat.

“I didn’t spend the past year living on ramen for you to kill me now!” Damned if the psycho doesn’t laugh. He actually laughs, his knuckles standing out bone white as he grips the wheel.

I realize as we gain on a pair of taillights up ahead what he’s trying to do. He’s not going to let him get away with it, whoever he is. “If I tell you to get down, get down. Got it?” he grits out.

“Sure.”

“Brace yourself.” We’re only feet from the car ahead of us. Its headlights are still blindingly bright, the only way of telling this is the car that tried to run us off the road since otherwise it was impossible to see. That and the way he keeps swerving back and forth, trying to avoid getting hit.

“Here we go.” And then Beckett bumps the car the way the driver did to us. I’m holding on for dear life, gritting my teeth, bracing myself with my feet jammed hard against the floor.

The car veers off violently to the right, spinning and swerving. Then it rockets off toward the woods and I turn in my seat to watch it crash into a tree. It’s a sickening sight, even if they were trying to kill us.

Beckett pulls over to the side of the road, then backs up. “What are you doing? Let’s keep going!”

“What, you’re in such a hurry to get home now?” His eyes meet mine and I shrink back from what I see in them. he’s an animal, enraged, ready to attack. There’s perspiration on his forehead and his nostrils flare with every breath. It’s enough to shut me up.

“Stay here. Do not get out of the car.” He reaches over into the glove box and I shouldn’t be surprised when he calls out a gun. He checks to make sure it’s ready, then studies the rearview mirror for a few seconds. Waiting to see if anybody gets out of the car.

Something must convince him it’s safe to get out. I unbuckle my belt and turn around, kneeling on the seat, wrapping my arms around the back and staring out the rear window. He keeps the gun close by his side, looking all around as he approaches the vehicle. It’s smashed, the front crumpled like an accordion. The airbags blew, I can see that much, but that’s about it.

“Be careful…” I whisper, digging my nails into the leather. My heart’s about to explode. What if—

It’s like he hears me thinking about him, his head snapping to the side, his gaze landing on the car. He shakes his head once while tucking the gun away, and I get the message. The driver is dead.

Still, Beckett reaches in through the broken window, and a minute later he’s jogging back to me. Now I can breathe as I slide around and sit back down. He’s okay. We’re okay.

But he doesn’t look in any way happy as he slides in next to me. “We have a bigger problem than I thought.” Why would he bother telling me what he means? Instead, he gets on his phone, and now I see he was taking the dead man’s wallet. He now holds it open in one hand, staring down at the license.

“I need the closest safe location to where I currently am,” he barks into the phone. “You have my location? Good. Tell me where to go to lay low for a few hours.”

He looks my way, grimacing. “Looks like somebody followed us. We need to make a detour.”

Chapter Six - Beckett

“Okay.” She drops her backpack and purse on the bed in a small but clean motel room, then whirls on me. “Now. You’re not driving. You’re not on the phone. There’s no excuse. Tell me what this is all about.”

“I don’t know who gave you the idea you have any right to make demands.”

“Would you fucking drop the macho act already?”

“Who said it’s an act?”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop avoiding the question. What is happening? Why did somebody try to run us off the road?”

I was hoping to avoid this. I wanted to let her father deal with it. This is beyond my job description.

But I know damn well she’s not going to shut up until I give her something. “Sit down.” when she doesn’t, insisting on standing with her hands on her hips while she glares at me, I take her by the shoulders and shove her onto the bed. “Why does everything have to be a fucking fight with you?”

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