Double Take. Jenness Walker

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СКАЧАТЬ A pale face with wide, sad eyes—

      Those eyes narrowed. “Something wrong?”

      Heat swept his face. Cole shook his head and looked away, down at Obsession’s cover again. She could be the model’s twin.

      Weird.

      “Oh, good. Here it comes.”

      His bench partner pointed to a bus with orange stripes and a turquoise MARTA sign as it rounded the corner. Cole gathered his things and walked to the curb as the bus arrived. But hesitated before following her up the bus steps.

      She chose a seat near the front, but, face still burning, Cole strode down the aisle. About halfway back, he dropped into an empty seat beside a James Earl Jones look-alike. His chest abnormally tight, Cole reached for the novel again.

      She sat near the front and crossed her legs. One of her shoelaces dangled in the aisle, swinging like a slow pendulum as other passengers walked by. She studied the pedestrians outside the window, the way sunlight played off the apartment windows, the angle of the bus driver’s hat, the warm leather of a passenger’s jacket. She thought she should take a picture to help her remember this day for the rest of her life, every part of it.

      She didn’t.

      But she would remember anyway.

      The bus lurched forward, and Monique braced her hand against the seat in front of her. The gray fabric itched, but she held on, leaning into a curve. When the tree-lined road wound out of the commercial area—

      Cole looked up from the page and stared at the gray fabric on the seat in front of him. Maybe he shouldn’t be reading this. Not right here, right now, on a bus with the heroine’s twin sitting in the second-row aisle seat. It was kind of like watching an in-flight movie with a plane crash somewhere in its plotline.

      When Cole didn’t settle back into the book, his seatmate took that as a cue to talk. “Beautiful day, ain’t it, son? Makes me glad to be alive.”

      Cole followed the man’s gaze to the window as the bus rounded a corner. Rays of sunlight spread through thick tree-cover, dancing over the grass of an undeveloped area.

      The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

      “Reminds me of home.” A soft smile transformed the old man’s face. “Back when my wife was alive, we used to—”

      The bus swerved off the main road and ground to a halt. Out of the corner of his eye, Cole caught a flash of light—the sun glinting off metal.

      This could not be happening.

      But it was.

      “Put your hands on the seat in front of you,” a man’s voice grated out. “Everyone! Hands on the seat where I can see them.”

      Cole spotted a second masked gunman just as a bullet tore through the roof of the bus. Someone screamed.

      “I said now!”

      “Do it, son.” His seatmate sounded calm, but his withered hands trembled as he placed them on the top of the seat.

      Cole obeyed, hot anger competing with cold chills.

      “This is a holdup,” the second man said, walking to the rear of the bus. “We don’t want to hurt anyone. We just want your valuables.”

      Someone whimpered as a bag’s contents hit the floor. A cheap pen rolled by, stopping near Cole’s feet. He stared at the label and narrowed his eyes.

      Why would someone hold up a bus? And why did he feel almost as if he’d known something like this was coming?

      TWO

      It felt like some crazy Western movie gone awry. Kenzie Jacobs gripped the seat in front of her and wished she could disappear. Her life seemed to be a series of bad days. Just when she didn’t think things could get any worse…

      She winced as the first gunman—the one with the leather jacket, the one who had been sitting right in front of her—shoved his weapon into the bus driver’s face again.

      “Get away from the radio!”

      “Yes, sir,” the driver said, holding his hands high.

      The gunman jerked the driver to his feet, then marched him up the aisle with a gun pressed to the back of the man’s head. Kenzie didn’t watch. She couldn’t. She closed her eyes and prayed that she wouldn’t hear more gunfire, more screams, the sound of the driver’s body hitting the floor.

      “Keep your hands on the seats!” the second man yelled from the rear. “Heads down. No looking around. The faster we get your valuables, the faster you can get off this bus.”

      No shots. The driver would live another few minutes, at least.

      Kenzie wished she could pull a Hollywood stunt and save the world…or at least this bus full of people. But she was never any good at saving people. So she lowered her head and closed her eyes and tried to keep the tears from pushing past her eyelids.

      She didn’t have anything of value with her. No jewelry. Little cash. One credit card. Even her shoes were inexpensive.

      Something bumped her foot. Her eyes cracked open and she saw a gloved hand snatch her purse from the floor. The gunman breathed heavily near her ear. She could feel the heat radiating from him as he dumped her belongings. Her pocket knife hit the floor with a clatter. Lip gloss rolled to the front and thunked down the steps. A package of tissues landed near her shoes. She was glad they hadn’t been open. She might need them today, if she ever made it to lunch with her mom.

      When cold metal pressed against her temple, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t.

      The second gunman stood just in front of Cole. He could kick the thug’s knees and throw his backpack over the man’s face, if someone else could just go for the gun.

      But the gun would go off before anyone could get it. Someone would die. And the bad guys would have to be together, or he’d have to take out the second man when the first one’s back was turned. But how could he know, when he had to keep his head down? Peeking into the aisle gave him a full-on view of the man’s camouflage jacket, Wolverine work boots and nothing else.

      Maybe it would be all right. If everyone just relaxed, they could take the money and go, and everyone would be okay. Maybe heroics would be the wrong thing to do—would hurt people more than help.

      He winced. Yeah, he was good at doing that. His gaze fell on Obsession—still open on his lap—and he skimmed down to where he’d left off. Where two gunmen told the bus passengers to put their heads down, their hands up, and robbed them.

      No…

      Where they put a gun to Monique’s head. Where the bad guys jerked her to her feet, marched her down the steps. His eyes jumped to the first line again.

      If her car hadn’t died that morning, Monique might not have, either.

      Someone was going to die.

      No. СКАЧАТЬ