Read Online Tail Spin by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online
Authors: Catherine Coulter
Tags: english eBooks
Ads: Link
add my own personal thank you with a cup of coffee over at Monk’s Cafe, or maybe even a drink somewhere—you know, a cozy little out-of-the-way place?”
He glowed, but then, he was shaking his head. “Oh yeah, well, no, shit—forgive my French— I’d sure like that, ma’am, you know, a beer, but I’m so dratted busy right now.” He waved his hand around.
Yeah, right. Savich had indeed gotten to him. It was time to find another mechanic. No, she would give it one more try.
“Listen, Roy Bob, I’ve got a super important deal I can’t miss up in Cleveland. I’ve got to leave as soon as possible. Maybe you and I could work something out, maybe—”
A loud bang sliced through the air near her shoulder, ricocheted off a tire rim, and thudded into an oil can, spewing 10/40 in a fountain. Another bang, this one sharp and loud, gouged into the wall a foot over their heads.
TEN
“Hey—what was that?”
Rachael grabbed Roy Bob’s arm and pulled him down behind a stack of old tires. “It was a bullet. Stay down, someone’s shooting at us.”
“Nah, that can’t be, I mean, who—”
Another two shots slammed into the wall behind their heads.
“Holy shit—pardon my Irish—you’re right, but why? Who would do that?”
“I don’t know.” But of course she did. They’d discovered she wasn’t dead. But how? “Roy Bob, you got a phone in your office?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Don’t move.”
She managed to look around the side of the tires through the glass into his small office, saw the black phone on his banged-up desk, the door not more than six feet away. Still, she pulled out her cell first, dialed 911.
No signal.
“Listen, Rachael—”
A bullet sank into an old car seat hooked to the wall beside his head. He ducked back down fast. “Oh man, what’s this all about? You FBI, too, Rachael, and someone’s after you?”
“Roy Bob, I’ve got to get to your phone.”
“No, look, I’ll go.” He eased up enough to peer around the tires.
The next bullet struck a support column two feet from his head, spewing concrete shards and thick gritty dust. One spear of concrete sliced Roy Bob’s upper arm, and he yelped.
“Stay down, Roy Bob. I don’t suppose you have a gun?”
“Sure, my daddy’s old Remington. It’s propped up behind my desk against the wall, right under his favorite calendar. No, wait! I’ll get it, I’ll shoot this idiot’s head off—”
He paled, grabbed his arm, and fell onto his side, gasping.
“Tell me it’s loaded.”
“Yeah, yeah, two bullets.” No time, she thought, no time. Even if someone had heard the shots and called the sheriff—there just wasn’t time. They’d both be long dead. The only reason they were still alive was because the shooter simply hadn’t walked in and mowed them down. Why? Maybe he’d been warned she might have a gun with her. And she wondered again whether they’d checked to see the block of cement didn’t have her attached to it at the bottom of Black Rock Lake. No matter, someone had seen her, simple as that. But how had they found her, and so quickly? Get a grip, they knew she was here and they wanted her dead. She had to hurry. “You stay here, Roy Bob. Keep pressure on your arm, and keep down. Don’t give him a target.”
Both of them would be slaughtered if she didn’t do something fast. Before she could second-guess herself, Rachael crawled behind an ancient mop bucket, a stack of oil filters. Nearly there. She rolled through the open door into the office. A shot rang out, not a foot above her head, sending splinters flying out of the door frame. The shooter was firing from directly behind her, and that meant he was right in the middle of the bay opening. They were down to seconds. She felt rage shoulder aside fear. She rolled between the wall and Roy Bob’s desk, came up to her knees, grabbed the Remington, identical to her uncle Gillette’s that she’d learned on, and slammed down on her stomach onto the
He glowed, but then, he was shaking his head. “Oh yeah, well, no, shit—forgive my French— I’d sure like that, ma’am, you know, a beer, but I’m so dratted busy right now.” He waved his hand around.
Yeah, right. Savich had indeed gotten to him. It was time to find another mechanic. No, she would give it one more try.
“Listen, Roy Bob, I’ve got a super important deal I can’t miss up in Cleveland. I’ve got to leave as soon as possible. Maybe you and I could work something out, maybe—”
A loud bang sliced through the air near her shoulder, ricocheted off a tire rim, and thudded into an oil can, spewing 10/40 in a fountain. Another bang, this one sharp and loud, gouged into the wall a foot over their heads.
TEN
“Hey—what was that?”
Rachael grabbed Roy Bob’s arm and pulled him down behind a stack of old tires. “It was a bullet. Stay down, someone’s shooting at us.”
“Nah, that can’t be, I mean, who—”
Another two shots slammed into the wall behind their heads.
“Holy shit—pardon my Irish—you’re right, but why? Who would do that?”
“I don’t know.” But of course she did. They’d discovered she wasn’t dead. But how? “Roy Bob, you got a phone in your office?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Don’t move.”
She managed to look around the side of the tires through the glass into his small office, saw the black phone on his banged-up desk, the door not more than six feet away. Still, she pulled out her cell first, dialed 911.
No signal.
“Listen, Rachael—”
A bullet sank into an old car seat hooked to the wall beside his head. He ducked back down fast. “Oh man, what’s this all about? You FBI, too, Rachael, and someone’s after you?”
“Roy Bob, I’ve got to get to your phone.”
“No, look, I’ll go.” He eased up enough to peer around the tires.
The next bullet struck a support column two feet from his head, spewing concrete shards and thick gritty dust. One spear of concrete sliced Roy Bob’s upper arm, and he yelped.
“Stay down, Roy Bob. I don’t suppose you have a gun?”
“Sure, my daddy’s old Remington. It’s propped up behind my desk against the wall, right under his favorite calendar. No, wait! I’ll get it, I’ll shoot this idiot’s head off—”
He paled, grabbed his arm, and fell onto his side, gasping.
“Tell me it’s loaded.”
“Yeah, yeah, two bullets.” No time, she thought, no time. Even if someone had heard the shots and called the sheriff—there just wasn’t time. They’d both be long dead. The only reason they were still alive was because the shooter simply hadn’t walked in and mowed them down. Why? Maybe he’d been warned she might have a gun with her. And she wondered again whether they’d checked to see the block of cement didn’t have her attached to it at the bottom of Black Rock Lake. No matter, someone had seen her, simple as that. But how had they found her, and so quickly? Get a grip, they knew she was here and they wanted her dead. She had to hurry. “You stay here, Roy Bob. Keep pressure on your arm, and keep down. Don’t give him a target.”
Both of them would be slaughtered if she didn’t do something fast. Before she could second-guess herself, Rachael crawled behind an ancient mop bucket, a stack of oil filters. Nearly there. She rolled through the open door into the office. A shot rang out, not a foot above her head, sending splinters flying out of the door frame. The shooter was firing from directly behind her, and that meant he was right in the middle of the bay opening. They were down to seconds. She felt rage shoulder aside fear. She rolled between the wall and Roy Bob’s desk, came up to her knees, grabbed the Remington, identical to her uncle Gillette’s that she’d learned on, and slammed down on her stomach onto the
Similar Books
