Loe raamatut: «Blindsided»

To Brianna, the daughter my heart chose.

Acknowledgments

I’m the safest driver you will ever find on the road, definitely a following-the-rules kind of gal. So all these speed chases had to be researched and yes, tried in a safe environment. I am thankful to the Rusty Wallace Racing Experience and Gotham Dream Cars for their expertise and training. Honestly, I have loved the thrill of getting behind the wheel of so many different kinds of cars, from a stock car to a Ferrari. The pressure against my head as the race car careens around a turn at 120 miles per hour is not something I ever would have thought about—and definitely would never do on my own. Kids, don’t try this at home, either! But the experiences are out there to be had with organizations like Rusty Wallace and Gotham if you ever want to give it a whirl. Be safe. Drive safe. Enjoy!

Contents

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

INTRODUCTION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TITLE PAGE

BIBLE VERSE

DEDICATION

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

Dear Reader

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

ONE

Veronica Spencer’s fuchsia patent leather boots, useless in the New Hampshire soggy spring, stalled on the backlot pavement of her racetrack. The sound of mechanical whirring and the clang of metal tools came from behind the closed bay doors of a dark, unused garage at Spencer Speedway. This was her garage, she silently staked her claim. She had a plan for it, and it didn’t include a squatter.

The damp, cold, night wind matched her bitter mood and fluttered her signature rose pink silk scarf, also not an accessory for functionality—but in the case of her scarves, glamour wasn’t their purpose either. Mutilated scar tissue from a car fire at three years of age covered her neck and right arm. It was the arm she’d used to reach for her mother, who’d sat in the front passenger seat before the flames killed her. Roni’s burns reminded her of the memory daily. The scarves?

They helped her forget.

They also had a way of putting people at ease when they saw her coming. Gave them something pretty to look at instead.

Roni had no intentions of putting her intruder at ease.

She smiled the first smile since she left her uncle grumbling at his dining room table earlier that night.

Perhaps taking the scarf off to show this trespasser what ugly looked like would make him second-guess squatting on her track again for...what? Just what was he doing here this late at night when the track remained closed for the season? The sounds told her he was building a car. He probably planned to race it in the Icebreaker, the first spring race, next week.

Not a chance, buddy. Not on my track. And not anyone else’s after the sponsors heard what Roni Spencer had to say about him. He wouldn’t be the first man who underestimated her influence in the racing world.

The last one would never race again.

Her determined steps picked up, but at the door, deep, guttural voices filtered out and tripped her up again.

Someone gave an order like a drill sergeant breaking in new recruits, or more like threatening their lives. Her hand paused on the doorknob, and her gaze shot to the window a few feet to her left.

The square glass panes were covered with black paper. From afar it appeared dark and unused. Up close it all appeared...criminal. As much as she wanted to meet her trespasser face-to-face, perhaps barging in might not be the way to go. Her choice of weapon was her cutting tongue. Something told her she might not like theirs.

Always known for her uncanny ability to escape trouble, on and off the track, Roni grabbed her cell phone from the back pocket of her white jeans and backed away. Sometimes Reverse saved lives.

Her black Porsche Carrera beckoned at thirty feet where she’d parked it, and now with each retreating step she wished she’d pulled up closer. But that might have alerted the intruders to her presence if she had.

This wasn’t the first time the track had seen illegal activity. A few months back the main office had been ransacked, computers stolen, windows smashed. She loved her little town of Norcastle, but she knew it had fallen on hard times before; many were still struggling. It was only realistic that crime would follow. She wasn’t naive. She was an intelligent businesswoman—despite what her uncle implied and what her ex-fiancé denied.

She’d approached her uncle Clay again tonight about opening a racing school at the track. And again, he’d scoffed. “No man will ever want to learn how to race from a girl. Especially one so...pink,” he’d said. “Didn’t you learn your lesson with Jared? Your own fiancé didn’t want his peers knowing you were the brains behind his driving. Why would anyone else?”

Veronica punched in 911 with a vengeance. She’d handle this without calling Uncle Clay. She’d show him she could manage the run of the place without anyone else. He was free to leave his CEO position anytime. With her brother Wade retiring from the army and finally moving back to New Hampshire with his new wife, Lacey, Uncle Clay’s days of being in charge since the car crash twenty-eight years ago that took her parents and baby brother, Luke, away from her were coming to an end.

Her thumb moved to the call button. Her decision to do this alone meant so much more to her than making a phone call. It meant independence.

But just as her thumb pressed the button, the phone disappeared from her hand. Just like that. One moment she held it in her grasp, the next it flew out into the night. Before she could fathom the occurrence, a yank on her scarf jerked her head back in a sharp, quick, painful snap. Roni’s throat closed to life-giving air. She felt a body behind her, but the identity of her assailant took a backseat. In her struggle, her red hair whipped across her face like a red flag of warning that had come too late.

“You’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, chica. Too bad for you.” The harsh voice of the drill sergeant spoke close to her ear as his hand twisted the scarf tighter.

Gurgles escaped Roni’s mouth, her long nails breaking as she clawed at her neck. Useless, her mind blared. But it also didn’t give her any other ideas in its fog-laden, asphyxiating state. Her vision blurred even as she felt her eyes bulge with each painful twist of her scarf, tighter and tighter. Her only thought was when would the pain finally end? How long must she endure the torture? It was the same question she’d asked herself since she was three, when the agony of her burns consumed her, and then, when the sting of being marred for life set in. When would the pain end? The answer was always the same.

Never.

Was that the answer for her tonight?

Roni grappled with the material of her scarf. Her scars beneath would never go away. But Jared’s success on the track under her tutelage these past couple of years had given her an idea. A hope.

The Roni Spencer School of Racing.

Roni had something to offer. She knew it now, and it was why she’d come to the garage tonight. There would be no more putting it off.

And she would not allow her dream to fall by the wayside along with her dumped body!

Roni bent her knees to drop her weight in a faux fall. Judging by the way her scarf pulled down, her choke holder stood shorter than her nearly six feet in heels. She used her tall frame against him. He would have to lift her or risk falling forward himself. As his knees bent, she brought a foot up and kicked back at him, heel first. In the dark, she could only hope she hit her mark.

His hold loosened and both of them fell to the ground, apart. Stunned, she continued to claw at her neck as air rushed back in. Her lungs heaved and spots brightened in her eyes, but she pushed her body to face her attacker before another attempt could be made. He got to his knees and spit. His hands shot out of the darkness for her.

Roni rolled away. She wished she could tell the loser he was messing with the wrong person, but her dented voice box blocked her sharp tongue. Anger surged within her. Had the man known her weapon of choice?

He reached for her again, and Roni kicked out. Her body flew back...right into an unmovable wall.

Her hand reached behind her. No, she realized, not a wall.

The legs of a second intruder blocked her. The solid mass of a strong-armed, muscled man in a black tank and unbuttoned white shirt towered over her. So much taller than the other guy...and so much bigger. She scooted to her right and crab-walked back, outnumbered and outwitted without her voice.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the guy standing over her barked.

“Me?” Roni squeaked, her throat strained. Her hand fumbled on empty pavement in a last-ditch effort to find her phone. “You’re on...my...property.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he replied, his voice low and disgusted.

In the light of the moon, she watched her assailant step up to the tall, hulking man. She craned her neck to see them face off with each other.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Tying up loose ends, because you were sleeping on the job. Now get inside so I can finish it.”

The tall man didn’t make a move. Just crossed his arms at his chest. “You can’t kill her. She’s Veronica Spencer, the owner. Do you have any idea of the media frenzy you would cause? She’s high profile. Her family wouldn’t stop until they got you and every person who knows you.”

“Well, she sure ain’t walking out of this place. Now get inside.”

Hanging around to see who won the battle wasn’t Roni’s style. She made a run for the moonlit outline of her Carrera, Spanish for race and career, but the loss of her career would be the least of her worries if she didn’t get her feet in gear.

Her breath hitched with each rapid footstep, one in front of the other. Her car closed in, her arms reached out. The door handle brushed her fingertips just as her scarred arm was yanked back in a vice grip. Instantly, her legs flew out in front of her as her body smacked hard into the shorter guy’s chest.

He held her with both arms this time. She couldn’t budge in any direction or with any part of her body. Her squirms and painful screams did nothing as he dragged her back to the garage.

“Open the door, Gunn.”

“I told you, you can’t kill her.” It was the big guy talking. Would he help her?

“And you’re not in charge. I am. You keep forgetting that.”

She took that as a no.

Gunn opened the door as instructed, and Roni saw her first real glimpse of him as the short guy carried her over the threshold. Blond hair, curls at his nape and eyes that tripped her up. She went for Gunn’s baby blues, demanding he look at her. See me, she wanted to say. Look at me. I’m a person.

Conflict resided in their depths, but no compassion.

He turned away, and she knew he would be of no help. What a waste of a handsome face, she thought. He obviously lacked brains in exchange for it.

Roni accepted her solo fight, but that would mean coming up with some fast thinking on her part.

First off, who were these men?

Were they friends of Uncle Clay? It would explain their presence in her garage if it was her uncle who let them on the property. Uncle Clay may have fooled the rest of her family into believing his innocent spiel about his involvement in the car crash that killed her parents, but he didn’t fool her. He knew more than he let on, and she wouldn’t stop digging until she discovered everything.

But just how far would he go to stop her?

Would he invite criminals to her track to do his dirty work?

The door slammed behind Roni, cutting her off from the world and locking her inside with killers.

She craned her neck to see how many closed in on her. She swallowed past the burning pain in her throat and spoke as strong as she could muster. “You’re not going to get away with this. I have family in the CIA.” Not a total lie, just not sure if her grandfather could be contacted fast enough to save her. The man lived a secret life.

Her peripheral vision showed four men approaching, tools in their hands. Big metal crowbars and wrenches no doubt meant to silence her.

“You were saying?” The small but extremely strong man holding her spoke into her ear, his breath hot and putrid.

Roni turned her face away to Gunn, the man who had saved her outside, if she could call it saving. In the full garage light, she thought his baby blues and blond curls warred against this whole lethal scene. He didn’t look like the other guys with their shaved heads and tattoos etched into the sides of their necks, heads and arms. He also carried no wrench or any other tool to be used against her. But perhaps his weapon of choice wasn’t of the visible kind.

No weapon formed against me shall prosper. The scripture popped into Roni’s mind from someplace deep and forgotten. Cora had prayed it over her as a child, but it had been years since the Spencer family’s maid had repeated the words. Roni had made it clear to Cora that when it came to God, she didn’t want to hear about anything He had to say. But in these dire moments, Roni didn’t question why His words came to mind now...only the fact that they brought on a sense of empowerment.

Power that she would need against these men.

They looked at her with such hatred. Maybe they weren’t friends of Uncle Clay’s, but of Jared’s. That would really explain the flaming eye-daggers coming her way. Jared Finlay still sulked about her terminating their relationship.

Roni lifted her chin. Jared used her to jump-start his racing career. He got what was coming to him, exactly what he deserved.

And so would these lowlifes.

“What are you doing in my garage?” she demanded and glanced around the bays. Three vans, painted white, rear windows replaced with metal inserts to block the view to inside; car parts strewn about.

She had her answer but didn’t want to believe it. Maybe she was wrong.

Yeah right, like these guys were legit.

“You’re using my garage to clone cars?” she rasped angrily.

Car cloning was a federal offense. Stealing the identity of a legitimately owned vehicle and slapping it onto a stolen car in a chop shop gave the car a new identity so it could be used for criminal activity. Drug deals, mafia jobs, drive-by shootings, you name it. Criminals could get away with a lot when their cars didn’t out them.

Roni sneered at the men. “How dare you use Spencer Speedway as your chop shop. I will not allow you to link my business to your crimes.”

Gunn’s eyes narrowed. His arms crossed at his front as they had outside.

“How did you know that’s what we’re doing here?” he said.

“I didn’t, but thanks to your confession, I do now.” She gave his formidable physique a quick once-over and continued, “Such a shame.”

Roni’s neck wrenched back in pain. Her original attacker grabbed her scarf again, tilting her head until she felt his prickly, unshaven cheek against her. “I should have killed you immediately, chica. You talk too much.”

Something hard pushed into the side of her head.

It clicked.

Roni closed her eyes on a sharp inhale. This was how she would die? Shot down in her own garage. The place that was supposed to be where her dreams of a racing school came to fruition. This was so unfair. But then, when had her life ever been fair?

She looked at Gunn, standing in front of her. No concern showed on his face. It was as if he didn’t care one way or the other if his partner pulled the trigger, even after he’d saved her outside. He stepped up close and lifted a strand of her hair in his finger. “Red.”

“Good, you know your colors. Your mother must be so proud.” If Roni was about to die, she wouldn’t go out cowering.

Gunn stilled, expressionless. Not the reaction she’d hoped for, but if imminent death didn’t deflate her nerve, Gunn’s lack of emotion wouldn’t either.

“You’ve got moxie,” he said. “That’s dangerous.”

The shuffling steps of the other four men drifted to her ears. They tapped their various tools against hands itching to use them. Roni’s breathing picked up even as her chin lifted higher to defy them to come any closer.

“I say we ransom her,” Gunn said with a smirk inches from her face. “Think of the money, boys. She’ll bring a pretty penny.” He let her strand of hair go after one more brush between his fingers. “Her family would pay out big.”

The room went silent. Then a deep, sick laugh erupted from the man who held the gun to her head. Slowly, he released the fabric of her scarf, then the pressure of the gun upside her head disappeared.

“I like the way you think, muchacho,” he said in her ear, then shouted, “Stuff her in the back of my van. We’re movin’ out...now.”

“No!” she yelled, but eager, grubby hands grabbed at her from all sides. All hands except for those of the man who just saved her from being killed...again.

But now Roni knew why he’d saved her.

Money. The root of all evil. And this blond-haired, tough guy with his mocking baby blues was the evilest of them all.

He was also no dummy.

But his weapon of intelligence made him more dangerous than any crowbar the other men carried.

A greasy rag filled her mouth on a gag and her hands were bound behind her. She screeched and twisted with all her might, but one against six proved her fight hopeless.

No, not hopeless, she decided, settling her eyes on Gunn. She made sure he knew he would be the one to pay for every atrocity inflicted on her, right down to each and every broken nail.

The next second a bag covered Roni’s head, putting her into complete darkness. She took solace knowing she’d made her message clear. Like Jared, Gunn didn’t know how ruthless she could be, and also like Jared, he would soon find out.

* * *

FBI agent Ethan Rhodes needed to figure out a way to contact his handler, Pace O’Malley. He had a mock ransom to set up...and fast. With every mile away he drove, the stakes of life-and-death increased and his investigation imploded. Ethan stole a glance at the passenger seat where the vicious Franco Guerra practically licked his chops every time the woman stuffed in the back of the van restarted her screeching. She went through bouts since the second hour of driving north began. Ethan couldn’t believe she had a voice left after the first hour. She had to be so raw.

And scared.

Although you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. Ethan had never met anyone so brash when a gun was held to their head. She was either really sure of her fighting skills, or she was crazy.

Or, Pace was right about her, and she was working with Guerra’s boss.

Pace had enough on her to link her to the operation, and the way she knew they were cloning cars showed her knowledge about it. But something didn’t sit right with Ethan.

Veronica Spencer couldn’t be a part of the organization, no matter what her bank statements read. Guerra had aimed his gun at her head and meant to kill her. Why, if they were cohorts?

Did the woman know how close to death she’d been in that moment? Ethan doubted it by the way she’d lambasted them all for being in her garage. She had been fearless, even after nearly losing her life in the parking lot. Franco had been torturing her then, cutting off her air little by little to prolong her misery, playing with her like a cat and its dinner.

Ethan’s lips curled in disgust. The man was beyond sick. Eight months of getting close to him had turned Ethan’s stomach multiple times a day. The man had no loyalty to any of his men, using them as an example to the others when they “disappointed” him. One wrong move, and it was over. One guy caught with a cell phone a few months back paid the ultimate price when the phone nearly led the cops to Guerra’s door. Ethan didn’t dare have a cell on his person, which meant he was deep under with no contact with his handler. Just a tracker in his boot and a gun on his ankle.

When Guerra’s gun targeted the redheaded spitfire, Ethan knew Guerra would pull the trigger and laugh for days after. But what could be done to stop it, other than blowing the investigation?

Still Ethan had to try.

He had stepped up to her, planning to confiscate the gun and turn it on Guerra, but instead he said the first thing that came to his mind. The word ransom spilled from his lips. The only other thing Guerra liked more than torturing people was money. Veronica Spencer was worth a huge chunk of change. But still, as Ethan threw out the idea to ransom her, his lungs seized as he waited for Guerra’s response. He thought for sure his cover was blown. A year’s worth of going deep, tanked. An innocent woman’s life, ended.

No. Not innocent. Ethan had to believe the evidence Pace had on the glamour girl. Enough to put her away for years. There were even pictures from a street race in Miami with her and Guerra. And as soon as Ethan could get her “ransomed” out of here, Pace could cuff her, and Ethan could get back to bringing down Guerra’s ring—and the man he worked for.

As much as Franco Guerra was a despicable man, he wasn’t the man Pace wanted. Guerra was a car thief and mechanic, a means to much more sinister crimes that his cloned vehicles contributed to.

The man waiting for the cars was the real prize.

Ethan had no name at this point, just the term Guerra used: the Boss.

The Boss was in charge of a whole list of crimes, but it was what he transported in these vans that was beyond comprehension. Drugs, yes, and lots of them. But apparently, the Boss didn’t get the memo that the slave trade had ended. He trafficked thousands of victims in and around the United States each year, and Ethan had finally worked his way up to being one degree away from taking down one of the largest human trafficking operations in the States.

So close he was to cracking this case and infiltrating the operation successfully. So close he was to breaking free thousands of victims by putting away their owner.

So close.

The woman screeched again, an earsplitting sound, a reminder that he had another person to break out of here first. Get Veronica Spencer out before the whole investigation went down.

And if he could, do it without giving himself away.

She kicked the rear door for the hundredth time, and Guerra laughed with delight. “The chica’s got fire in her. I look forward to snuffing it out.”

Ethan’s stomach clenched along with his teeth. He fought the urge to pull over and arrest the sleazy man right there. Instead, he smiled Guerra’s way and hoped that it covered his true feelings well.

As well as his growing doubts in Roni Spencer’s guilt.

If she was working for the Boss like Pace said, why would Guerra try to take her out? A little disagreement between accomplices? Jealousy?

Or was this whole scene staged, made to look as if she was innocent in front of...who?

Him?

Ethan sent a quick look Guerra’s way. Had the man figured out he had an agent in his presence?

Ethan’s hand curled tight around the steering wheel. “Are you going to give me some directions, or are we just going to drive all night?” he asked, acting as if he didn’t really care.

“The Boss wants us to bring our feisty chica to him. He also wants to meet you. He was impressed with your vision to go big and ransom the woman. You just earned your way into the big house. What do you think of that?”

Ethan’s saliva glands juiced. He could taste the victory with this case already. So close had just become right now.

Ethan envisioned the win being handed to him on a silver platter, although knowing the extent of this ring, the platter would be solid gold. He couldn’t wait to tag the platter as Asset Forfeiture, and every other piece of property stolen by this crime ring. If he believed God cared one bit about him he might have thought he was being handed the win as some sort of reward. But that couldn’t be the case. God would never give him anything. And Ethan definitely didn’t deserve a reward, nor did he want any favors. He’d learned it was best never to expect any, especially in his line of work. He had a job to do, and he did it alone. Period.

Ethan switched lanes and answered Guerra’s question with an aloof shrug. “Should be interesting, but I was looking for some pocket change. I thought we were going to ransom the woman. What could the Boss possibly want with Spencer?”

Guerra stilled and glared at him with his beady black eyes. The man didn’t appear to buy Ethan’s nonchalance.

Ethan readied to spring into fight mode, his gun within reach in his ankle holster.

“Remember, muchacho, I’m putting my life on the line by bringing you along. I could leave you right here, if you catch my drift.”

Ethan locked his eyes on Guerra’s black-gazed warning. Slowly, Ethan smirked as if to say, is this a joke? A slow rumble of a laugh erupted from his tight vocal cords. The bluff was a risk, but no fear could be shown or he would be pushing up this spring’s daisies along the roadside.

Guerra smirked in return and chuckled, too, at first low, then loud and cackled. A laughing hyena came to mind, all sharp teeth bared in a wide-open mouth; 100 percent vicious and sickly illuminated by the lights of the dashboard. “The Boss is going to like you, Ethan Gunn. Keep heading north. We’re going to the border. Right outside Canada in a logging community. The middle of nowhere, really. Wait till you see this place. Our chica might never want to leave, if she even could.”

Ethan stilled his hands on the wheel. Once again Guerra’s words didn’t sit right. “And we’ll ransom her there?”

“We’ll see,” Franco said with a small smile and looked out his window. End of conversation.

Again, Roni Spencer felt like a victim in all this, not an accomplice. She felt like an innocent civilian caught up in his investigation.

Ethan bit down on the inside of his cheek, remembering the last civilian he’d snagged in an investigation—and nearly got killed. He’d vowed never again. Solo or no-go. That’s how it had to be with him.

Ethan peered into the rearview mirror to the woman tied up in the back. Not a noise or movement could be heard now. He doubted she’d fallen asleep. She had to be listening to them. Had Guerra’s words ground her impudence into fear? Was she feeling as sick as he was? He had to stop this from going any further.