Mistletoe and Murder. Jenna Ryan

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СКАЧАТЬ checked the mirror again. “She said she was being stalked.”

      “I take it she didn’t know by whom.”

      “She said she didn’t. That could have been the truth. Belinda flirted with men.” At her silent look, he added, “All men, Romana, not just your ex.”

      “Go in another direction, okay? Belinda was being stalked. Could it have been by her husband?”

      “It could have been by any number of people, with names known only to Belinda. She wouldn’t give me anything specific. She simply wanted to know how to obtain a restraining order.”

      “And after you told her, she… What is it, Jacob?” Romana demanded when his eyes strayed to the mirror for a third time. “Is someone tailing us?”

      “For the past two miles.”

      “And you’re only telling me about it now?” She zeroed in on the headlights behind them. “So that’s why we’re zigzagging all over the city core.” She tried to gauge the distance, but it was difficult with the heavy snowfall. “I think he’s closing in.”

      Jacob turned left, away from the busy downtown streets, toward Riverview Park. The vehicle behind them made the same turn.

      They wove a path into an older part of the city. Tall, thin houses seemed to sprout straight out of the white-coated ground. Many of the windows were dark, a few were boarded up. Romana counted five Christmas trees in total, plus a trio of inflatable snowmen rocking in the wind.

      In the middle of the street, a woman pulling a toboggan piled high with bags walked against the wind. Jacob swerved to avoid both her and a parked car. At the last minute, so did the vehicle behind them.

      “I’m not sure playing cat and mouse is the best idea here, Knight.” Romana scanned the dash. “What’s your dispatch number?”

      “Ninety-one-Vector.”

      She would have called it in if he hadn’t reached over and removed the radio from her hand. “No backup, okay? Let’s keep this unofficial.” When she started to argue, he added an even, “Like you are.”

      She blinked, drew her hand back. For a single, unguarded moment, she’d slapped on her old hat, the one she’d packed away after a few short years on the force, a painful personal evaluation and a brief struggle with guilt.

      Still amazed by the easy switch, she refocused on their pursuer. “He’s pulled to within thirty feet.”

      “He’s also using his high beams.” Jacob squinted into the mirror. “Can you make out the vehicle type?”

      “I think it’s a GM off-road. Dark color. No front plates. And either he’s speeding up or you’re slowing down, because he’s ten feet off your back bumper.”

      As she spoke, the truck’s engine revved. The vehicle leaped forward, rammed into Jacob’s SUV, backed off and prepared to charge again.

      “This is ridiculously predictable.” Romana fought a ripple of fear with irritation.

      After another solid hit, Jacob unsnapped his holster. “Can you shoot out a front tire?”

      “Yes, but that’ll make things pretty official.”

      He handed her his gun. “Just don’t kill him.”

      Lowering the window, she braced her left knee on the seat and waited for the truck to close again. “You’d think a guy who’d spent most of his youth in the Amazon jungle would be a bit more inventive, wouldn’t you?”

      Jacob checked the side mirrors. “Whatever works, Romana.”

      She started to lean out but was suddenly jerked sideways as Jacob swerved yet again. Unanchored, she toppled into his arm, and almost into his lap.

      “Jacob, what are you…”

      “Civilians.”

      She pulled herself upright. Shoving the hair from her eyes, she peered through the snow until she spotted a pair of men in baggy parkas. They were carrying lunch boxes and holding their hoods up with their free hands.

      Behind her, the truck’s engine roared again. Snow spat out from under all four tires.

      With her rib cage pressed to the door, Romana stuck her head and hands through the window, took aim and fired.

      The truck immediately skidded sideways, struck a mailbox and spun in a wild half circle.

      The engine subsided for a moment, then gave a growl like an enraged bull. More streams of snow shot upward. The back end of the truck fishtailed before gaining traction. With the front bumper now pointed toward the city, it bounced across a corner lot and vanished into the darkness.

      Jacob reversed.

      “Wait.” Romana caught his arm. “Critch knocked the mailbox onto one of those men.”

      Clearly frustrated, he watched the taillights fade.

      She hopped out and ran to the sidewalk where the second man kneeled next to his friend. “Are you hurt?”

      “Foot’s caught.” The pinned man’s breath whooshed out. “Was that guy playing chicken with you?”

      “In a way.” Going to her knees, Romana examined his trapped foot. “There’s a cushion of snow under your ankle. It might have prevented a break.”

      “We should call the police.” The man’s friend fumbled for his cell phone. “That guy was a nutcase.”

      “It’s covered.” Jacob revealed the badge on his waistband. Crouching, he snagged the top corner of the box. “On three,” he said to Romana.

      Within seconds, the trapped man was free. He flexed his foot. “Feels okay,” he said in relief. He frowned at Jacob. “Don’t chases involving the police usually work the other way round? You go after him?”

      “Guy’s a nutcase,” his friend repeated. “He started shouting when his tire blew. I didn’t catch all of it, but I heard the last part clear enough.”

      She didn’t want to know, Romana told herself. Really didn’t want to know. “Can you tell us what he said?” she asked.

      “Yeah, he said this was the first threat. How many more you get depends on how he feels. But the real thing’s coming, and when it does, it’s gonna make you real dead. Then he spun his tires and yelled, ‘Merry Christmas, murderers.’”

      IT WAS DONE, ANOTHER THREAT had been delivered. Damn, but he felt good.

      He knew when he wanted to do it; the gray area remained the manner of their execution.

      He’d been working on his plan of revenge for years, since before those prison doors had clanged shut. He’d created and re-created Christmas cards for both of them, constructed and deconstructed a thousand bloody scenarios. He’d visualized them in death. He’d pictured himself placing mistletoe on their graves.

      Whatever СКАЧАТЬ