Read Online Lucky in Love by Kristen Brockmeyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristen Brockmeyer
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fights with strangers?" He glared at me.
"I know that," I blustered. "Besides, that wasn't the same van. That was a cop."
"What?"
"Careful," I reminded him as he pulled out and came dangerously close to clipping a gas pump. "The trailer."
"This thing drives like a freaking Humvee," Chance growled. "And thanks, but not being able to see out of the back window is kind of a solid reminder that we're hauling that canned ham behind us."
"Boles Aero," I corrected for the seventy-fifth time.
"Whatever. Tell me about this cop."
"Nothing to tell, really." I felt my cheeks heat as my embarrassment came flooding back. "I was sitting there, waiting for you, when I saw a white van pull in and kind of jumped to conclusions."
"So you thought you'd just hop out and say hello," he said flatly. "Make friendly with some hired guns paid to follow us to their crime lord?"
"That's pretty much it," I replied miserably as he checked both mirrors and clicked on the turn signal.
"What kind of markings were on the van?" he asked, merging with the light late-night traffic on the interstate.
I thought back. It had been dark, but on the side of the van facing me, I hadn't noticed any. "None. It was just your stereotypical white van. Gouge down one side like he'd been sideswiped maybe, but that was it. I figured it was prisoner transport or something."
"And the cop? What'd he look like?"
I closed my eyes tiredly. My eyelids weighed as much as manhole covers. "Blond brush cut. Blue uniform. Early thirties, maybe, with light eyes. Probably blue. That's all I remember—I saw the uniform, realized my mistake, and was hightailing it back to the car when you came out."
With herculean effort, I opened my eyes again when I felt the car swerve sharply to the right. "What are you doing?"
Chance still had his gaze trained on the side mirror as he got off the highway and turned left, smoothly ignoring the red light blinking at the deserted intersection. He crossed the bridge over the highway, and immediately turned left again, heading down the on-ramp in the direction we'd just come from.
"Keep watch the other side of the highway for your police van."
It was dark, but sure enough, a pair of headlights coming the other direction belonged to a light-colored van that could maybe be the same one.
"What's that prove? That he was going in the same direction as us?"
"Watch," Chance replied grimly.
Sure enough, just after the van passed us, brake lights flashed on, causing the car behind it to swerve wildly to the right, horn blaring.
"Not a cop, huh," I said wonderingly, craning my head to watch the drama unfold in the passenger mirror, but Chance was driving too fast and it was out of sight. The engine growled as he punched the gas.
"Nope. That was our babysitter."
I shook my head. "Sure looked like a real cop to me. I'm glad I called him an asshole now."
Chance grunted. "I'm just glad he didn't decide to get offended."
The opening bars of Sweet Home Alabama suddenly blared out and I jumped.
"Good evening, Dominick," Chance said calmly into his cell phone.
I strained to hear the other end of the conversation.
"Sorry about that," Chance was saying. "The lady left her purse at the gas station. I hope I didn't inconvenience your guy any."
He kept the phone clamped between ear and shoulder as he mashed down on the brakes, making the trailer behind us fishtail a little, and pulled a quick U-turn in a service lane in the center of the highway.
"No change in plans," he said, flooring it again and cutting it a little closer that I'd have liked to a semi in front of us as he shot over into the right lane, keeping the semi between us and the traffic on the other side of the highway. My fingernails dug into the pinstriped upholstery next to my thighs, but my insides fluttered a little. Apparently absolutely unpredictable, reckless and nearly insane driving was kind of a serious turn-on.
"You know how women are—who knows what she has in there. No
"I know that," I blustered. "Besides, that wasn't the same van. That was a cop."
"What?"
"Careful," I reminded him as he pulled out and came dangerously close to clipping a gas pump. "The trailer."
"This thing drives like a freaking Humvee," Chance growled. "And thanks, but not being able to see out of the back window is kind of a solid reminder that we're hauling that canned ham behind us."
"Boles Aero," I corrected for the seventy-fifth time.
"Whatever. Tell me about this cop."
"Nothing to tell, really." I felt my cheeks heat as my embarrassment came flooding back. "I was sitting there, waiting for you, when I saw a white van pull in and kind of jumped to conclusions."
"So you thought you'd just hop out and say hello," he said flatly. "Make friendly with some hired guns paid to follow us to their crime lord?"
"That's pretty much it," I replied miserably as he checked both mirrors and clicked on the turn signal.
"What kind of markings were on the van?" he asked, merging with the light late-night traffic on the interstate.
I thought back. It had been dark, but on the side of the van facing me, I hadn't noticed any. "None. It was just your stereotypical white van. Gouge down one side like he'd been sideswiped maybe, but that was it. I figured it was prisoner transport or something."
"And the cop? What'd he look like?"
I closed my eyes tiredly. My eyelids weighed as much as manhole covers. "Blond brush cut. Blue uniform. Early thirties, maybe, with light eyes. Probably blue. That's all I remember—I saw the uniform, realized my mistake, and was hightailing it back to the car when you came out."
With herculean effort, I opened my eyes again when I felt the car swerve sharply to the right. "What are you doing?"
Chance still had his gaze trained on the side mirror as he got off the highway and turned left, smoothly ignoring the red light blinking at the deserted intersection. He crossed the bridge over the highway, and immediately turned left again, heading down the on-ramp in the direction we'd just come from.
"Keep watch the other side of the highway for your police van."
It was dark, but sure enough, a pair of headlights coming the other direction belonged to a light-colored van that could maybe be the same one.
"What's that prove? That he was going in the same direction as us?"
"Watch," Chance replied grimly.
Sure enough, just after the van passed us, brake lights flashed on, causing the car behind it to swerve wildly to the right, horn blaring.
"Not a cop, huh," I said wonderingly, craning my head to watch the drama unfold in the passenger mirror, but Chance was driving too fast and it was out of sight. The engine growled as he punched the gas.
"Nope. That was our babysitter."
I shook my head. "Sure looked like a real cop to me. I'm glad I called him an asshole now."
Chance grunted. "I'm just glad he didn't decide to get offended."
The opening bars of Sweet Home Alabama suddenly blared out and I jumped.
"Good evening, Dominick," Chance said calmly into his cell phone.
I strained to hear the other end of the conversation.
"Sorry about that," Chance was saying. "The lady left her purse at the gas station. I hope I didn't inconvenience your guy any."
He kept the phone clamped between ear and shoulder as he mashed down on the brakes, making the trailer behind us fishtail a little, and pulled a quick U-turn in a service lane in the center of the highway.
"No change in plans," he said, flooring it again and cutting it a little closer that I'd have liked to a semi in front of us as he shot over into the right lane, keeping the semi between us and the traffic on the other side of the highway. My fingernails dug into the pinstriped upholstery next to my thighs, but my insides fluttered a little. Apparently absolutely unpredictable, reckless and nearly insane driving was kind of a serious turn-on.
"You know how women are—who knows what she has in there. No
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