Double Take. Jenness Walker
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Название: Double Take
Автор: Jenness Walker
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Короткие любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon Love Inspired
isbn: 9781408966396
isbn:
Cole settled his foot flat on the floor again and tried to slow his breathing, but his heart raced faster. He could feel the blood pulsing in his neck as he tried to remain motionless, to fight the urge to jerk away from the weapon, to not give the gunman the wrong idea.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” the man in the front finally shouted.
The gun shifted, but remained inches away from Cole’s ear. With it so close, he could grab the gun first, if he got lucky. Duck and grab, then drop the guy while the seat still protected him from the first man’s gaze…and weapon.
The one he could use to fire at Cole anyway. Hitting the kid in front of him, or the man next to him. His seatmate met his eyes, blinked, mouthed, “No, son.”
“Don’t move! Keep your hands on the seats, your heads down.”
Something rustled near the front. Cole’s eyes settled on the book cover, with Monique gazing up at him. Frightened. Haunted.
“We’re taking one of you with us.”
The whimpers grew louder.
“If you move before five minutes, if someone calls the cops, if we don’t get away clean, she’s dead. But if you cooperate as well as you have so far, she’ll be deposited somewhere, unharmed, for the police to find.”
Monique’s face merged with the girl from the bench, and Cole’s heart lurched.
Kenzie stood in the aisle after being jerked to her feet. Numb, she looked toward the back of the bus. The man from the bus stop met her gaze for a split second as the guy in the camo jacket held a gun to his head. Then, nothing but a sea of hands. No faces except the two men leering at her with their eyes. No one to come to her rescue.
“Come on,” said the man with the leather jacket, tugging on her arm. The other guy moved toward her and pointed his weapon at a nearby child. The message was clear: Struggle, and she’d take more down with her.
She walked with leaden feet, slowly descending the stairs. Her shoe touched the tube of lip gloss, and she watched dully as it fell to the ground beside the front tire. It was her favorite kind—discontinued. Her purse lay on the dusty floorboard. Maybe when it was all over she could pick up her things. Maybe the bus driver would hold them for her.
Maybe she’d no longer need them.
Her breath hitched as she was led to the road. Her captor gripped her arm, keeping a watchful eye on the bus. The other man disappeared from view. Moments later, a black van skidded to a halt, and the side door popped open.
“Your chariot, pet.”
Just before they shoved her inside, she glanced back at the bus. Something crashed against her head.
Then everything went black.
Cole strained his ears but couldn’t hear over the rumbling engine and crying passengers. Had the gunmen left on foot or in a getaway car?
The crying grew louder. One man raised his voice, shaky with fear. “Don’t move. Don’t want nobody hurt. They said five minutes. Still got four left.”
Cole ignored the timekeeper, inching his head up high enough so he could see out the window. The street appeared empty except for a black van. It disappeared around the corner before he could get the license number. He felt under the seat for his belongings. The book was there. His cell phone, gone. They needed to get help fast, get the Atlanta PD looking for that vehicle before Moni—no, the girl from the bench—wound up dead.
Cole half stood, then jerked his gaze to the side as the old man gasped. His hands clutched his chest, and his mouth hung open as sweat trickled down the side of his face.
“Anyone still have a phone?” Cole yelled, leaping to his feet. “This man’s having a heart attack!”
“Are you crazy?” the shaky voice yelled again. “Sit down before you get us all killed!”
A woman rose from the last seat and strode forward as the old man’s head slumped against the window. “I’m an LPN.”
“Good.” Cole shoved her into his seat. “Someone help her.” He ran up the aisle, but another man beat him to the driver’s radio. Cole stared out the windshield. The van was long gone.
“The radio’s busted,” the man said. “And they took the keys.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
The timekeeper raised his voice from halfway back. “Still got two minutes left, man. You go, you kill that girl.”
Cole stiffened, trying to block the image of the girl’s face—her sad eyes, her lips white with fear. If her car hadn’t died that morning…“I stay, and this man dies.”
Sirens blared. First a patrol car, then a fire truck, with an ambulance not far behind. Cole blew out a breath, glanced down the aisle where the nurse still hovered. It was out of his hands now. He could tell his story and go. The Atlanta Police Department and emergency response teams would take care of everything.
When the first policeman stepped from the car, the subdued silence on the bus gave way to controlled chaos. In a blur of movement, paramedics whisked the heart attack victim away, the bus was emptied and roped off and a staging area was set up farther down the blocked-off section of street.
Cole sat on the curb and mulled over his statement as emergency personnel began weaving through the crowd, treating injuries and checking those with medical conditions. He played the scene in his head, his pen flying over the paper as he jotted down what had happened, filling in as many details as he could remember.
Two men with black ski masks—he hadn’t noticed their faces before the masks went on. Probably should have, because one had been seated right behind him. He should have known, somehow. Should have been able to—
Clenching the pencil tighter, he continued to write. The gun. The boots. Their clothes. The black van. James’s heart attack. The search for a phone…
And that was it. Cole sketched the boots and the little he had seen of the men’s faces, then turned and stared at the bus. All he’d wanted to do was get a little air and some lunch, kill some time while his cousin was at work. Try to find a little peace between jobs.
He’d found a nightmare instead.
Thump-thump.
The sounds faded in and out around Kenzie as she regained consciousness: The hum of an engine. The slow-speed, lower-pitched men’s voices. The sharp pounding of her heart and the rasping of her own breath.
Thump-thump.
Her head throbbed. She tried to lift a hand to feel for a bruise or gash but couldn’t. Something cut into her wrists, binding them behind her back, her fingertips brushing the wall of the vehicle. Her ankles were bound, as well. She tried to force open her eyes, but the blackness stayed.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
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