She slid the gun under the flap of her leather vest so that it was out of sight, but still aimed at him across her body. She ran the windshield wiper and together they watched the blue-and-white roll up fast. The cops pulled up driver to driver, facing the wrong way on the street to do so.
“Everything okay, ma’am?”
Frank had the distinct impression that even though the woman was reassuring the cop, if Frank so much as flinched, there’d be a big, bad hole in his chest and that the thing that would really tick her off was the damage to her German-engineered car door where the bullet would punch a good-sized hole after making a real mess of his body on its way through. It took her long enough to talk the cop down that Frank had time to register how the car’s seat fit to his body. It was way more comfortable than any chair or sofa he’d ever slouched in. Damn seat alone probably cost more than everything he owned.
Finally satisfied, only after blinding Frank with a big flashlight a couple of times, the cops rolled away real slow. He’d purposely dressed okay in his best jeans and a loose button-down shirt he’d worn to Levon’s courtroom wedding. That way he wasn’t too scary for the windshield-washing scam to work. It paid off now, he didn’t look too out of place in this classy car. He eyed the woman carefully, as classy looking as her vehicle. Or even more.
She pulled her hand out from under her vest of dark leather even finer than the seat upholstery, leaving the gun behind, and rolled up the window. Shoulder holster. He’d tried to carjack a woman who wore a .357 in a shoulder holster. What were the chances of that kind of bad luck? Well, one in three. Third carjacking ever, woman with large gun. Not exactly high-level math.
Though he’d never heard of anything like it on the street. He’d been told to watch for crazies, diving for glove compartments and purses, so full of nerves that they were more danger to themselves than anyone else. Best advice on those had been to run. Toward the back of the car. Make yourself a hard shot when they’re all buckled in and facing forward. They’d be undertrained, have lousy aim, and probably wouldn’t shoot if they thought they’d won. That’s if they could find the damn safety.
Not this lady. Cool and calm.
He’d bet she could execute his ass without havin’ a bad night’s sleep.
“Let’s go somewhere and talk.” With the window up, the air-con dropped the temperature about twenty degrees from the July heat blast going on out in the real world which was sweet, but left a chill up his spine that started right where his butt was planted in the fine leather seat.
She punched the gas and popped the clutch, in seconds they were hurtling downtown on Amsterdam and Frank knew he better hang on for dear life.
Available at fine retailers everywhere
Copyright 2016 Matthew Lieber Buchman
Published by Buchman Bookworks, Inc.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof,
may not be reproduced in any form
without permission from the author.
Discover more by this author at:
www.mlbuchman.com
Cover images:
Helicopter over Baghdad © U.S. Army | Flickr
Sparkler © Denys Prokofyev | Dreamstime.com
Beautiful Couple In Each Other's Arms © Teksomolika | Dreamstime.com
Other works by M. L. Buchman:
The Night Stalkers
The Night Is Mine
I Own the Dawn
Daniel’s Christmas
Wait Until Dark
Frank’s Independence Day
Peter’s Christmas
Take Over at Midnight
Light Up the Night
Christmas at Steel Beach
Bring On the Dusk
Target of the Heart
Target Lock on Love
Christmas at Peleliu Cove
Zachary’s Christmas
Firehawks
Pure Heat
Wildfire at Dawn
Full Blaze
Wildfire at Larch Creek
Wildfire on the Skagit
Hot Point
Flash of Fire
Delta Force
Target Engaged
Heart Strike
Thrillers
Swap Out!
One Chef!
Two Chef!
Deities Anonymous
Cookbook from Hell: Reheated
Saviors 101
Angelo’s Hearth
Where Dreams Reside
Maria’s Christmas Table
Where Dreams Unfold
Where Dreams Are Written
Eagle Cove
Return to Eagle Cove
Recipe for Eagle Cove
Longing for Eagle Cove
Keepsake for Eagle Cove
SF/F Titles
Nara
Monk’s Maze
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