Ladies' Night by Andrews, Kay (popular books of all time .TXT) 📕

night. That bitch is going down!” She tossed her blond hair defiantly over her shoulder. “And if you’re gonna be such a buzzkiller, you can just go on to your divorce meeting. Because I’ve got stuff to do. See ya around, Grace.” She rolled the window up.

“Wait!” Grace said, pounding the BMW’s roof. She looked over her shoulder, hoping against hope to see Wyatt’s truck. Ashleigh was definitely drunk, and in no mood to be reasoned with.

The window slid down again. “You comin’ or not?” Ashleigh held up the wine cooler. Grace sighed and took it, crossing to the passenger seat.

Ashleigh popped the lock and Grace moved the empties aside before sliding into the passenger seat.

Ashleigh watched her expectantly. Grace uncapped the bottle and took a sip of the ultrasweet cooler.

“That’s more like it.” Ashleigh cackled. “Par-tay! Woo-hoo!” She threw the car into reverse and just as quickly into drive.

“Wait,” Grace said, the back of her head slamming against the headrest. “Ashleigh, no! You’re in no condition to drive.”

“Don’t be such a nag. I’m fine!” Ashleigh countered. She looked both ways, then zipped out of the parking lot and onto the highway, narrowly avoiding a collision with an oncoming white sedan before crossing the median into the far westbound lane.

Grace glanced over at Ashleigh, who looked back and laughed. “See? I told you. I’m fine. Those wine coolers have almost no alcohol in ’em, and anyway, I’ve got a really high tolerance. I can drink, like, half a dozen margaritas and not feel a thing. We’re just a couple of girls, out cruisin’, just like in high school. Didn’t you and your girlfriends ever get a little buzzed and go cruisin’?”

“You’re not fine,” Grace said, groping for her seat belt. “And we’re not in high school, and you’re past being buzzed. Anyway, I thought we were just going to talk. Ashleigh, if you want to drive drunk, that’s your decision, but I do not want to go along for the ride.”

“Too bad,” Ashleigh said. “I keep telling you I’m not drunk. Okay? You wanted to talk, let’s talk.”

Ashleigh wove the BMW in and out of traffic, twice coming so close to clipping another car, Grace finally just squeezed her eyes tightly and prayed, because she was too nervous to watch where Ashleigh was going.

“I want you to turn around and take me back to that gas station,” Grace said through gritted teeth. “Or just pull over and drop me off. This isn’t funny, you know.”

“You’re right; it’s not funny. It’s fuckin’ tragic is what it is,” Ashleigh said. Her eyes brimmed over with tears. “I tried calling Boyce while I was waiting for you. The number I had was disconnected. He just called me on it, like this morning. She did that. I just know it. One of her spies probably told her Boyce took me to lunch today. But what she doesn’t know is—I’ve got spies of my own.”

She fumbled in the center console of the car and came up with her cell phone. “Here. Grab the steering wheel,” she told Grace.

Grace reached over and took the steering wheel with her left hand, grateful that the heavy flow of traffic on Manatee meant that Ashleigh was only doing about thirty miles per hour.

Ashleigh was squinting down at the list of contacts on her phone, scrolling down, looking for something.

“Who are you calling?” Grace asked.

“Here it is!” Ashleigh said triumphantly. She tapped the number and waited, and then frowned. “The bitch won’t pick up. I bet Boyce told her not to talk to me.”

“Suchiiiiita.” Ashleigh’s voice was low and spooky. “Pick up the phone, little mama. I’ve got a message for you. No? You don’t wanna talk to me? That’s okay. Cuz I’m coming for you, bitch. Remember? I know exactly where you live. And guess what? You can run, but you can’t hide.”

She disconnected the phone, dropped it into her lap, and took the steering wheel again.

Grace’s mouth felt dry, and she felt beads of perspiration popping up on her forehead, despite the chill from the BMW’s air conditioner. She glanced in the rearview mirror, but there was no sign of Wyatt’s truck. She felt in the pocket of her shorts for her phone, found it, and slid it into her lap.

She had to call Wyatt, try to let him know what Ashleigh intended. Maybe he could call Boyce Hartounian and warn him that Ashleigh was on a rampage. She glanced over at Ashleigh, who seemed to be watching the road. She managed to thumb down her recent calls and tap Wyatt’s number, but then the BMW suddenly swerved into the far left lane and, seconds later, without signal or warning, made a sharp left turn, crossing two lanes of oncoming traffic, earning her a blast of horns from the cars she narrowly avoided T-boning. Grace’s phone flew out of her hand and slid down between the seats.

“Ashleigh!” Grace cried. “What the hell are you doing?”

The driver shrugged. “Sorry. Guess I cut it a little close, huh?”

“You nearly got me killed,” Grace said angrily. “If you want to kill yourself, that’s your business, but I want out of this car, right now. Pull over, dammit.”

With her left hand, she tried groping the area beneath her seat, but the small phone eluded her grasp.

Ashleigh laughed. “Don’t be such a chickenshit, Grace. Look, I’m barely doing thirty now.”

It was true. They’d turned onto a quiet, treelined residential street. It was narrow, and cars were parked along the curbs on both sides, dictating a slower speed. Grace wondered if she’d managed to connect the call to Wyatt, wondered if he could hear them right now. She prayed it was so.

“What is this neighborhood?” she asked loudly.

“It’s Newtown,” Ashleigh said. “The bitch lives right around here, but I can’t remember the name of the street. I’ll know it when I see it, though.”

She was scanning both sides of the street, looking ahead at the street signs.

They were going just slow enough, Grace realized,