Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 by Karen Whiddon (interesting books to read for teens TXT) 📕

justice. She recalled each time she’d encountered Robert over the past several days. He’d been more shadow than man. “I need some people to meet me at Sarge’s house. According to Travis, Booth was in the home. He’s armed and he’s on the run.”

“Which means he’s dangerous.”

“Exactly. I’m going back as soon as I make sure Travis gets his flight to the hospital.”

The ambulance slowed and pulled into a large field. A helicopter, white with a red cross emblazoned on the side, hovered overhead.

“I’m here. We’ll connect soon,” she said, and ended the call.

As Julia put the truck in Park, the helicopter touched down. The transition from ambulance to aircraft was seamless and Julia wondered if it had been as easy for her. The medevac was airborne within seconds. As the downdraft kicked up dust, the male EMT gave Julia a smile and a wave.

She returned both.

The ambulance drove off and Julia remained. Without the roar of the helicopter’s engine or the continual thump, thump, thump of the rotors, the field was absolutely silent. Julia glanced at her phone. Cassidy’s number was in a text from Rose.

What had Luis said about calls like this? Oh, yeah—they were a gut punch. Well, he was right. He’d also said to be professional, honest and kind. Julia sucked in a deep breath and called the number.

“This is Cassidy.”

“Hi, Cassidy, this is Julia. Uh, Sheriff McCloud. I have some news. It’s Travis.”

“Travis?” the other woman echoed.

“I’m sorry to tell you this. He was shot and is being air-lifted to Cheyenne.”

“Shot? By who?”

Julia recalled what had happened—it was Cassidy’s daughter who had been involved with Booth and ended up being forced into prostitution. It was Cassidy’s insistence that had brought the Transgressor’s illegal activities to light. “It was Booth. I’m sorry,” Julia added, her throat sore.

Drawing in a ragged breath, Cassidy said, “I have to go. You said he’s being taken to the hospital in Cheyenne?”

“I watched the helicopter take off myself.”

“I’m leaving work now.”

“We’ll be in touch,” said Julia.

She turned her truck around in the field and pulled back onto the road. She put on neither her lights nor the siren, but she did drop her foot on the accelerator. Seventy miles an hour. Eighty. Ninety. Ninety-five. She passed an oncoming car. It was just a whir of gray and silver, and her jaw tightened. Her heart began to race.

And then her mind recognized what her eyes had seen.

Dropping her foot on the brake, she fishtailed to a stop.

She looked in the rearview mirror. The rural road was empty and the car was gone.

Had she really seen Robert Carpenter, wearing a wig, pass her?

What were the odds?

Not good, she knew.

But would Julia ever forgive herself if she didn’t turn around and at least check?

* * *

Peter Knowles’s head slammed against something hard and he woke with a jolt. For a single second, he hung suspended between sleep and wakefulness, and decided that it all had been a horrible dream.

The stench of exhaust, the roar of the motor and the scorching pain in his shoulder told a very different tale. Peter had indeed been shot and then thrown in the trunk of a car. How long had he been out? He had no idea, and what’s more, a part of him didn’t care.

It could have been minutes...or maybe even days.

The car hit another rut, sending Peter up before slamming down.

Every part of his body ached, and his eyes began to drift closed. Sleep, he knew, would numb the pain.

No. He needed to think, to act, to survive. Slowly, he moved his feet and hands. He hadn’t been bound by ankle or wrist. His left arm moved, but his right arm was frozen—he figured that the bullet had shattered his shoulder.

Tenderly, he felt the wound. His touch was like a hot poker and he screamed as a great wave of agony pulled him under. Sweat covered his brow and lip. Yet, the pain helped him to think. Focusing on his breath, Peter reached into his coat pocket and found his phone.

There was no service—that would have been too much to hope for. But using the light, he could see his surroundings. Just like he suspected, he was in the trunk of a car. The emergency release handle had been cut away. He clawed at the nub...to no avail.

The car slowed and turned. It began to go up an incline. There was crunching under the tires. Gravel?

And then, the car stopped.

Adrenaline filled Peter’s veins. What should he do? Fight? Feign unconsciousness?

The car door opened and then slammed with a thud that rocked the trunk.

Quickly, he activated the record feature on his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. Peter hadn’t had a chance to form a plan. The trunk sprang open. The sunlight was blinding, and Peter shielded his face.

“I’m glad you aren’t dead yet,” said Robert. The other man still held his gun. “I didn’t want to drag your body through the woods. Get up.”

While covering the war, Peter had seen countless brave men become submissive when facing an armed foe. At the time, he hadn’t understood the change in demeanor. If one knows that they face death, why not die fighting? Yet, in this moment, he understood. It was the complete lack of power that had made the men malleable. Peter also knew that he couldn’t refuse the order, even if he wanted.

At least he still had his cell and it was still recording. His only hope was that someday, somebody would find his phone. Only then would the final chapter of his life story be told.

* * *

The more Julia drove, the surer she became.

Her instincts had known.

The driver had been Robert Carpenter. But where in the hell had he gone?

She’d turned around on the road, but the car had disappeared. Then again, Julia knew he was out there...somewhere.

She had a hunch as to where Robert Carpenter might go. But was her intuition enough of a reason to check it out?

Her phone rang