Read Online To Hell in a Handbasket by Beth Groundwater - Free Book Online Page A

Claire said, “then I’ll call you and let you know. Maybe they can protect you without being so obvious. Can I have your phone number?” She dug a pen and an old grocery receipt out of her purse and passed them to Naylor.
    He hesitated then scribbled his cell phone number. “You won’t give him my name until I say so, right?”
    Claire looked directly into his eyes. “Right.” What she didn’t add was that she would keep hounding him to give himself up for questioning until he did.
    He returned the stare and worried his lip. “Okay.” He stood and hunched his shoulders against the cold. “I’m going back to Yeti’s now. Some people are expecting me.”
    â€œThanks for talking to us, Boyd—Nail-It.” Claire extended her hand.
    Naylor shook it. “Thanks for the crepes.” He walked to the street, glanced both ways, and stepped out. His head was bowed, as if pondering their conversation.
    Tires screeched. Aimed straight at Naylor, a black SUV roared along the asphalt.

Five: The Black SUV
    Claire leapt up, toppling her chair. She screamed, “Look out!”
    Judy jumped up next to her. “Nail-It!”
    Roger’s chair fell over with a loud clang as he shoved himself to his feet.
    Boyd jerked his head up but had no time to react before the black SUV rammed him. Arms flailing, his body was catapulted over the hood.
    Claire tensed, almost as if she had been hit, too. She gaped in horror at the scene unfolding in slow motion before her.
    Beside her, Judy gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth.
    The SUV jolted to a stop.
    Boyd slid off the side of the hood and slammed to the ground.
    The vehicle started moving again. Its rear tire ran over Boyd’s groin with a sickening crunch. Once free of Boyd’s body, the rear tires spun on the slick street, spewing crystals of brown ice on his still form. All four tires caught, and the SUV shot down the street, with the dark silhouette of the driver inside sitting stone-still.
    Roger ran after the vehicle and peered at the back bumper.
    â€œOhmigod,” Judy shouted, “that car smashed into Boyd and never stopped.”
    Claire grabbed Judy’s shoulders. “Yes, and we’ve got to help him.”
    Judy gazed at her, glassy-eyed, then blinked and nodded.
    Claire ran to Boyd, dragging Judy behind, and knelt on the asphalt next to the young man, who lay sprawled on his back in a widening pool of blood. “Boyd, can you hear me?”
    He groaned softly but his eyes didn’t open.
    Roger met them there, already pulling out his cell phone. “Christ, that driver hit him deliberately.” He stared at the young man’s mangled body.
    Feeling slow and stupid as if she had just woken from a nightmare, Claire asked, “Did you see the license plate?”
    â€œSome of it. I’m calling nine-one-one.” He punched in the numbers.
    Claire called Boyd’s name again. He remained silent and unmoving. At least he’s breathing. She took a deep breath herself to still the wash of panic flooding her heart. Here it was only the day after Stephanie’s accident, and Claire needed to rely on her rusty first-aid training again.
    Check the scene first. She scanned the road. No cars approached, but Boyd and the rest of them were vulnerable out in the middle of the street. The two crepe-stand workers, a young man and young woman, had run over to the side of the street. They stood craning their necks and wringing their hands in their aprons.
    Claire pointed to the young man and yelled, “Hey you. Stop any cars that come. Got it?”
    He nodded, as if grateful for something to do, and ran into the street, south of where Boyd lay. Roger moved to the north, ready to stop traffic coming in the other direction.
    Check the victim. Blood stained the top of Boyd’s jeans, which were scored with black tire tracks. Likely his pelvis was crushed. Oh, God, the pain. She hoped he