Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set by Nanci Rathbun (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📕

ahead, directly adjacent to the Park Avenue. It was, indeed, Petrovitch driving. He glanced over, did a double take and pointed a finger pistol at me. “He spotted us. Drop back, Bobbie. It’ll be harder for him to get a shot off.”

There was barely a car length between us and the truck behind us. Bobbie set his jaw, tapped the brakes and flipped the right turn signal on. The truck driver blared his horn and gave us half a peace sign as he passed us. We were now directly behind Petrovitch and going seventy-five in a forty-five zone. “Iggy,” I said, “he saw us and made a threatening gesture. We’re still behind him on 45, just passed 132. That was the exit we took off of I-94 on the way here, so I assume he’s not heading directly for the interstate.”

“One minute, Angie.” After some mumbling—I assumed Iggy covered the phone—he said, “We’re exiting I-94 now on 132. You and Bobbie pull over. We’ll take it from here.”

I paused a moment, thinking. “If you can’t see him, that’s not an option. There are too many places for him to exit 45 and be lost in traffic. We’re staying with him until I can see you.”

“Damn straight, we are,” Bobbie mumbled.

The chase continued up 45, past County Road 74. I considered taking a shot at Petrovitch’s tires, but I wasn’t that accurate at high speeds, and if I did manage to blow one of his tires, he could lose control and hit another vehicle. Instead, I continued relaying our status, while Iggy continued to tell me to pull over. I heard Wukowski cussing in the background. We kept driving.

At County Road 14, Petrovitch briefly tapped his brakes and made a wide screeching right turn. Bobbie swore, slowed down and turned, then hit the gas. We were on Petrovitch’s tail within moments. Bram wasn’t kidding about the Cruiser’s engine.

This road was sparsely populated. The Buick pulled ahead and the Cruiser leaped up to eighty-five. We passed a cemetery on the right side of the road. I thought about Dragana’s burial and hoped Josif wouldn’t be upset that we weren’t there. Then I realized how ridiculous it was to worry about propriety, when we were hot on the fender of her murderer.

Petrovitch turned left onto County 29 and took a right through a traffic circle onto Wadsworth. I frantically checked the map on my tablet. Where in blazes was he headed? I-94 was coming up, but there was no on-ramp. He zoomed under the interstate overpass, turned left into a truck stop plaza and drove into the area where the big rigs were parked. I couldn’t see the Buick anymore. I let Iggy know our location. Bobbie put the Cruiser into park and we idled, waiting at the fork where cars turned one way and semis another.

“I can’t tell if there’s another way out of here,” I said. “Can you circle around behind the trucks? Carefully. He can take a shot at us pretty easily here. I won’t think less of you, if you want to get out and wait at the convenience store.”

He stared at me. “You think I’d let you go out there on your own?” He shifted into drive and we turned toward the big trucks. We were close to the first row of parked semis when we heard a bang and our front driver’s side tire blew.

“Duck and park, Bobbie,” I said. “Iggy, we’re near the semis. Petrovitch just shot out a tire on Bram’s car.”

“Are you hurt?” It was Wukowski back on the line.

“No, we’re both okay.” I peeked over Bobbie, bent down in the driver’s seat. “You must be kidding me,” I said.

“What’s happening?” Wukowski’s voice was a growl.

The Buick sped toward us. “He’s driving straight at us. Bobbie, lower the window. I don’t want to misfire because of glare.” Bobbie pushed the button for the electric window.

I raised my Beretta and sighted on the Buick. The car swerved and I missed. It was a matter of seconds before he’d be right on us. I continued firing until the gun was empty.

A semi hauling a load of huge pipes pulled out of the line, apparently unaware of the drama in front of him. “There’s a semi coming toward us, with a long load of pipes. See it, Bobbie?”

“Yes.”

“We’re making a run for it. Use the semi for cover. There’s got to be a trucker over there with a gun.”

I opened the passenger door and slid out into a crouch. Bobbie followed and we broke into a run. The semi was moving excruciatingly slow. I glanced back and saw Petrovitch’s vehicle cut in front of it and round on us. We wouldn’t make it to the parked trucks.

The back end of the trailer was just ahead of us. I was too short, but Bobbie had a chance. “Hoist yourself up into the truck,” I yelled. He nodded, made a running leap, and somehow managed to lever up and into one of the pipes.

“C’mon, Angie,” he shouted, dangling an arm. “You can make it.”

I sprinted to the trailer bed, but I couldn’t reach Bobbie’s hand. Petrovitch stopped just yards away and I could see his pistol pointed at me as he leaned out the window.

“Throw the scarf,” Bobbie called. “The scarf.”

Still running, I unwound the scarf from my head, made a knot, and tossed the knotted end to Bobbie. He caught it and waited for me to get as close as I could, before he started hauling me up. I hung on for dear life, literally. The truck put on a small bit of speed and I dangled for a moment, my abdomen banging against the trailer bed, as I struggled to keep hold of the scarf while Bobbie reeled me in. With a sudden jerk, I was lying face down next to him. He dragged me further inside our concrete haven and lay on top of me, shielding me. We heard the ping of bullets hitting the sides