Whispered Lies

FOUR

CARLOS CLUTCHED THE steering wheel. This was exactly why he had to get the first crack at this informant, find out what she knew about the Anguis. How had she recognized him when no one else in the past sixteen years had?

He’d never even met this woman before today. He slowed the Jeep, still needing to get her tucked down beneath the dash. “Why would you say that?”

She scoffed, but the raspy sound came out on a slip of terror. “I’ve been waiting on Durand to send someone.”

Carlos released the breath he’d been holding, expecting to hear how she knew him. She only thought he’d been sent by Durand to kidnap her.

“You think just because I’m Hispanic that I’m part of Durand’s group?”

She swung around, squinting at him as she churned on his answer. “You’re not?”

“No. Now, will you scoot down before someone blows your head to pieces?” He gave the Jeep gas and eased forward.

Gabrielle tried to comprehend what he was saying. Not Anguis? Then who was this guy? His last words finally registered-the comment about getting her head blown off.

She scrunched her body down into as small a ball as she could make, but she’d never been small so the ball was more a misshapen blob.

The man driving had all the attributes she’d ever mentally assigned an Anguis soldier, from the olive skin to thick black hair and lashes to a body built for power.

Danger radiated from him in shock waves.

He cut his gaze at her for a brief moment. Keen eyes assessed her with concern that didn’t fit the image she’d conjured of an Anguis soldier.

She would have expected mean, beady eyes.

Brisk air buffeted collar-length black hair around his neck, the soft locks a sharp contrast to the hard jawline and tense mouth. Attractive, in a deadly sort of way. What would he do with her?

A shiver ran along her spine.

If Durand hadn’t sent this rogue interloper, then whom was this guy working with? Not law enforcement or he wouldn’t have shot Agent Morton.

She glanced up when the Jeep took a curve around the broken poplar tree that had snapped in a recent storm. That meant they were close to the street…where someone might be waiting for them?

Such as the person who had cut the DEA agent’s throat?

“What about a bullet hitting you?” Gabrielle asked her captor. If this guy was shot while driving and wrecked the Jeep, she might end up a human pretzel.

“I’ll be fine. No more talking,” he ordered, but in a less menacing tone.

He wheeled the Jeep in an abrupt left turn off the driveway before reaching the mailbox. She stretched her neck to see why.

The Jeep idled next to a dark-colored sport utility parked in the woods. He leaned over, stared at something inside the vehicle and cursed, then backed up to the driveway…and cursed again. He accelerated hard, lurching the Jeep forward, and spi

A loud ping echoed before the windshield cracked and spiderwebbed.

She lifted up.

“Stay the hell down!” He downshifted and rammed the accelerator again, fishtailing the Jeep one way, then the next.

Another shot ripped through the soft top and zinged off the dash.

Gabrielle ducked her head and clung to the seat. She pressed a hand on the wall next to the floorboard to wedge herself in as tightly as she could. Air roared through the open windows.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Her fingernails dug into the seat cushion.

He ignored her.

After two more turns, he floored the gas then skidded to a stop. Stinking rubber filled the cab. He quickly shifted the Jeep into reverse and backed up as fast as they’d been going forward.

Tires on another vehicle close by screeched against the pavement.

Speeding in Peachtree City was not a wise idea since this small community had its own police department that patrolled the highways. Tangling with law enforcement would make her an easy target for Durand, but getting arrested had a certain appeal when people were shooting at her.

Hard to decide the lesser of two deadly options, but she doubted this guy was going to give her a choice.

Another shot pinged off the inside of the windshield. This one drew a snarl of curses from her driver in Spanish. Blood trickled down the side of his cheek.

Help him or not?

She didn’t even know who he was or whom he worked for. He’d shot a DEA agent, so what did that say about him?

Bad guy, to put it in simple terms.

Still, he was working real hard to keep her alive and out of someone’s hands. Maybe Anguis soldiers.

Gabrielle reached under the seat for a rag she kept there to clean the windshield when needed and handed it up to him. “Here.”

He glanced, did a double take, then snatched the rag and wiped blood that had run into his eyes. He tossed the cloth down against the base of the shifter and yanked the wheel hard to the left.

She barely caught herself. What seemed like forever had probably taken all of ten minutes when he finally slowed down and said, “Think we lost them.”

“Can I get up?”

“No.”

Antagonizing this guy was not a bright idea, but she had to find some sort of mutual ground for any hope of catching him with his guard down so she could escape. Couldn’t let him know how terrified she was.

She licked her lips and tried again. “Where are you going?”

“Not where I’d originally pla

How about a straight answer? Gabrielle unclenched her fisted hands and took a couple breaths. Now was the time for patience, not ripping at him, but she was edgy from exhaustion and vibrating from the quick release of an adrenaline rush.

She kept silent while he made two sharp turns, then parked. He left the engine ru

About time. She arched her back and tried to get traction with her knees.

“Here.” He reached over, cupped her under the arms, and lifted her out of the hole. That he did it so easily told her just how strong this guy was, because she was no lightweight.

As soon as she had some balance, he released her and flipped open his phone, text-messaging someone. He scowled.

“What’s wrong?” Her pulse jackhammered in her ears.

“No signal.”

She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself, and looked around. The first street sign she recognized meant they were located in the south end of the city, just off Peachtree Parkway. “This is one of two areas I always lose calls. Think we’re in a pocket between cell towers.”

Sirens whined in the distance.

Her stomach growled.

His look of surprise would have been fu

“No.” She’d had one meal in two days, but the thought of eating right now nauseated her. She propped an elbow on the door frame and supported her aching head on her hand.

“Who are you working with?” He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, tapping a finger and eyes distant as though he worked on a thought.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t jerk me around,” he warned.

Getting yelled at snapped the last link to her patience.

Damn the consequences. She lifted her head and turned to him. “Well, I don’t know anything about you other than you killed a DEA agent, so I’m not in the frame of mind to be jerked around either.”

“I didn’t kill him,” he muttered, then paused and hit her with a look of disbelief. “You thought the guy I shot was DEA?”

Her stomach did a roll at the incredulity in his voice. “He had ID. He is…was Special Agent Curt Morton.”

“Shit.”

She really didn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t understand.”

“Curt Morton has been missing for two weeks, which means if Baby Face had his ID then Curt is most likely dead.”

She rubbed her head, trying to piece it all together. “Who is Baby Face?”