Read Online Tail Spin by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online Page A

dirty linoleum as two more shots sprayed dust and clumps of Sheetrock over her head. Rachael jumped up, pumped it once, and fired toward the bay opening. She heard a man yell, curse.
    Got him. She felt powerful, invincible in that moment. She shouted, “Drop that gun and step out where I can see you or I’ll shoot your head off!”
    She heard heavy running footsteps. She scrambled to her feet, ran to the bay opening, saw him rounding a corner, and fired again. She missed, but it was close. The footsteps faded into the distance. Rachael ran after the man, saw him get into a black Ford pickup and burn rubber onto the street. She started to run after him, but realized there weren’t any more bullets in the Remington, and he might see her in the rearview and decide to stop and have another go at her. She lowered the rifle, a fierce smile on her face. She’d forgotten what it was like to feel strong and in control.
    How had they found her so quickly?
    “By gawd, ma’am, that was good, real good. You got the sumbitch—pardon my Italian—I saw a brief glimpse of him holding his sorry arm and running away as fast as he could.”
    “Call me Rachael,” she said as she ran to Roy Bob’s phone and dialed 911. The dispatcher Mort asked her to state her emergency. She nearly laughed. She sucked it in and asked for Agent Savich. He wasn’t there ... wait a minute, he and the sheriff just walked in.
    “Hello? Savich here.”
    Rachael shouted into the phone, “A guy tried to kill us! Roy Bob’s place, hurry!”
    When Sheriff Hollyfield, Savich, and Sherlock came running, every deputy in Parlow racing behind them, she yelled, “He’s in a black Ford pickup—that way! The first three letters on his license plate are F-T-E!” She wanted to go with them, but the last thing they needed was to haul along a civilian with an empty Remington. It was hard, but she stood still and watched them take off after him.
    Sheriff Hollyfield yelled, “I saw that wuss car you’re driving. Take my Chevy, it’ll get you anywhere,” and he tossed the keys to Savich. He looked after them, and sighed. He turned to look at Roy Bob and Rachael. Roy Bob was holding his arm, his eyes nearly whirling in his head, not from pain but from excitement. And Rachael looked pretty pumped herself. Sheriff Hollyfield said, “Roy Bob, that was fine shooting. You said you shot him in the arm?”
    “No,” said Roy Bob, “it wasn’t me.”
    The sheriff’s left eyebrow arched as he looked at Rachael. “Sorry, that’s my bib overalls talking. All right, you shot him. Tell me exactly what happened.”
    She laughed, couldn’t help herself. “That was funny.”
    “Yeah, well.” The sheriff was embarrassed he’d been sexist, and it calmed her, even made her smile a bit. She said, “Roy Bob and I were discussing how speedily he could get my car fixed when a bullet whizzed by our heads. Roy Bob would have shot him, but he got hurt, as you can see. I crawled to his office, got the rifle, and shot the guy. Fact is, Sheriff, he could have run in and shot us both dead, but he didn’t. Maybe he was afraid Roy Bob had a gun handy and so he waited and shot from the bay door.”
    “I didn’t realize,” Roy Bob said, still riding so high on adrenaline he couldn’t hold still, didn’t even pay any attention to the blood still dripping between his fingers and down his arm, “it was bullets. Then there was another shot and she pulled me down behind those Goodyears. The guy kept shooting, I got hit in the arm with a piece of concrete, and Rachael crawled into my office and got Daddy’s Remington. Boy she knows how to use a rifle, good as my grandpa, and she stood right up and fired, hit the bastard—pardon my Russian— her first shot. She fired again but he was moving fast so she missed.” He paused for a moment, grinned real big. “Would you marry me, Rachael? I don’t want Ellie, she can’t shoot worth spit.” He paused, looked down, and paled. “Oh,