Read Online Cut and Run 6 - Stars and Stripes by Abigail Madeleine u Roux Urban - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Abigail Madeleine u Roux Urban
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you fucktard!”
“West Lombard! Heading toward downtown,” Clancy shouted.
“We might need backup with this fucker,” Alston gasped. He was still on the move.
“If you say ‘he’s slippery,’ I’m going to knock you on your ass,” Ty grumbled.
“Someone, for the love of God, get ahead of him!” Alston was gasping for air. “I’m done. I’m done. I’m dying.”
Ty fished his badge out of his pocket and stepped into the middle of Pratt Street, flagging down a taxi. When the man stopped, Ty went to the driver’s side door and flipped his badge open. “How good are you with hairpin turns?”
They sped along the busy streets that connected the Inner Harbor with the downtown financial district, narrowly missing parked cars, pedestrians, and further hotdog vendors. Ty caught a glimpse of Clancy, her red hair and even stride unmistakable as she sprinted along the sidewalk. Just ahead of her was the streaking man with the tiger tattoo, Clancy’s gun clenched in his hand, a grin in place. He had no idea what sort of pain would rain down on him when she caught him.
She wasn’t gaining on him, but she wasn’t losing ground either. She would catch him, eventually. In heels.
Ty tried to raise her on the conference call they had initiated, tapping his Bluetooth headset, but his phone had either died or ended the call on its own.
“Get ahead of Naked Guy,” Ty told the driver as he gripped the door handle.
The taxi took a turn that almost put it up on two wheels, and it came to a screeching, jarring halt just as the streaker darted across the street. He dodged the taxi, leaping up onto the hood to try to slide across it. No doubt the guy had seen it in a movie somewhere, because no one in their right mind would try that otherwise. He hit the hood of the taxi, and the driver let out a horrified scream.
“Ball prints on my hood!” the man cried as he gripped his steering wheel and shook it.
Bare skin squealed against the windshield. The man didn’t even make it halfway across the car before his own nakedness stopped him dead, and he lay splayed against the hood and windshield like a squashed bug. A big, sweaty, squashed, naked bug.
Ty got out of the car, joined by Clancy just in time to hold the man down for her as she disarmed and handcuffed him.
A crowd was gathering, laughing and pointing, applauding and booing.
Ty had to turn away from their prisoner so he wouldn’t laugh when he called in the arrest. But his phone was full of mustard and pickle bits and wouldn’t turn on. Alston joined them, holding his side and wincing as he pulled his phone out to make the call. Then he called Perrimore and asked him to bring one of the cars to them.
“What the hell happened to you?” Alston asked Ty as he looked him up and down.
Ty looked at his shirtfront—gray with a huge badge on it, and the words “Gravity – It’s the Law” printed across the top. It was now covered with splatters of ketchup, mustard, relish, and chili.
“You smell delicious,” Alston said with a smirk.
“Bite me, Scott.”
“I might, Hot Dog; I didn’t finish my lunch back there.”
Ty couldn’t help but snort.
“Hot Dog. That one might stick,” Clancy said. When Ty looked at her, she snapped a picture of him with her phone.
“Really?”
“For Garrett,” Clancy said, eyes wide and sincere.
“Hey, pretty lady,” the streaker said to Clancy. He was oblivious to his own ridiculousness.
Ty and Alston both turned to look at him, eyebrows climbing. Whatever this guy was on, it was good stuff. The tiger on his chest was one of the worst pieces of art Ty had ever seen, and it got worse as the man moved. He was jutting his hips out, shameless, knees rocking like he was hearing music. His hair was slicked back and he had a full-blown porn ’stache, complete with gel in it to make it curl upward.
“Is that a mirror in your pocket, baby?” he said to Clancy with a goofy leer. “’Cause I can sure see myself in
“West Lombard! Heading toward downtown,” Clancy shouted.
“We might need backup with this fucker,” Alston gasped. He was still on the move.
“If you say ‘he’s slippery,’ I’m going to knock you on your ass,” Ty grumbled.
“Someone, for the love of God, get ahead of him!” Alston was gasping for air. “I’m done. I’m done. I’m dying.”
Ty fished his badge out of his pocket and stepped into the middle of Pratt Street, flagging down a taxi. When the man stopped, Ty went to the driver’s side door and flipped his badge open. “How good are you with hairpin turns?”
They sped along the busy streets that connected the Inner Harbor with the downtown financial district, narrowly missing parked cars, pedestrians, and further hotdog vendors. Ty caught a glimpse of Clancy, her red hair and even stride unmistakable as she sprinted along the sidewalk. Just ahead of her was the streaking man with the tiger tattoo, Clancy’s gun clenched in his hand, a grin in place. He had no idea what sort of pain would rain down on him when she caught him.
She wasn’t gaining on him, but she wasn’t losing ground either. She would catch him, eventually. In heels.
Ty tried to raise her on the conference call they had initiated, tapping his Bluetooth headset, but his phone had either died or ended the call on its own.
“Get ahead of Naked Guy,” Ty told the driver as he gripped the door handle.
The taxi took a turn that almost put it up on two wheels, and it came to a screeching, jarring halt just as the streaker darted across the street. He dodged the taxi, leaping up onto the hood to try to slide across it. No doubt the guy had seen it in a movie somewhere, because no one in their right mind would try that otherwise. He hit the hood of the taxi, and the driver let out a horrified scream.
“Ball prints on my hood!” the man cried as he gripped his steering wheel and shook it.
Bare skin squealed against the windshield. The man didn’t even make it halfway across the car before his own nakedness stopped him dead, and he lay splayed against the hood and windshield like a squashed bug. A big, sweaty, squashed, naked bug.
Ty got out of the car, joined by Clancy just in time to hold the man down for her as she disarmed and handcuffed him.
A crowd was gathering, laughing and pointing, applauding and booing.
Ty had to turn away from their prisoner so he wouldn’t laugh when he called in the arrest. But his phone was full of mustard and pickle bits and wouldn’t turn on. Alston joined them, holding his side and wincing as he pulled his phone out to make the call. Then he called Perrimore and asked him to bring one of the cars to them.
“What the hell happened to you?” Alston asked Ty as he looked him up and down.
Ty looked at his shirtfront—gray with a huge badge on it, and the words “Gravity – It’s the Law” printed across the top. It was now covered with splatters of ketchup, mustard, relish, and chili.
“You smell delicious,” Alston said with a smirk.
“Bite me, Scott.”
“I might, Hot Dog; I didn’t finish my lunch back there.”
Ty couldn’t help but snort.
“Hot Dog. That one might stick,” Clancy said. When Ty looked at her, she snapped a picture of him with her phone.
“Really?”
“For Garrett,” Clancy said, eyes wide and sincere.
“Hey, pretty lady,” the streaker said to Clancy. He was oblivious to his own ridiculousness.
Ty and Alston both turned to look at him, eyebrows climbing. Whatever this guy was on, it was good stuff. The tiger on his chest was one of the worst pieces of art Ty had ever seen, and it got worse as the man moved. He was jutting his hips out, shameless, knees rocking like he was hearing music. His hair was slicked back and he had a full-blown porn ’stache, complete with gel in it to make it curl upward.
“Is that a mirror in your pocket, baby?” he said to Clancy with a goofy leer. “’Cause I can sure see myself in
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