Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 Karen Whiddon (best fiction books to read TXT) 📖

and picked the SUV parked next to it. But he wanted to ensure a quick escape if need be.

“You’ve improved your transportation means in two years.” She spoke as he started the engine and backed out of the space.

“Business expansion.” He was half listening as he prepared to egress the garage, his gaze constantly scanning the concrete floor, the walls, the spaces between other vehicles.

“The blacked-out windows are cool.”

He drove up two ramps, entered the street-level floor. The exit was in view, onto a one-way, side-access street. Traffic moved along, toward Main Street. The gate arm at the sentry station was down, but was automatic. It would rise as he approached.

“Stanton!” Dominique’s scream pierced the air a split second before the gunfire exploded.

“Get down!” His arm reached toward her but then he pulled back when he saw she was already under the dash. He used both hands to maneuver, flooring it through the exit, past the garage tender’s booth. Wood splintered as the barrier gate arm broke over the front hood and split in half on the windshield, which thankfully remained intact. Colton Protection had paid dearly for the precautionary extras, including bulletproof windows and double-framed reinforced doors. Still, depending upon the type of bullets flying, “bulletproof” could be a misnomer. He’d had an armored car shot at by tank piercers last month, in the desert between LA and Las Vegas. Their client, a multibillionaire oilman, had remained unharmed, as had the agent assigned, but the car was destroyed.

He drove through the exit, the pings of bullets ricocheting off the car’s body filling his ears, and when he heard a definitive crack, he looked at the passenger side to see a long line across the passenger window, with Dominique’s head popping up to take a photo with her camera.

“Stay down! What the heck are you thinking?”

“I wanted to get photos of the shooters.” Triumph rang in her voice and he wanted to stop the car and make her see how risky this all was. The impulse rattled him, right in the midst of his automatic motions to keep her safe and his decision to trust her to stay under the dash.

“We don’t need photos! We need to get out of here.” He turned toward Main Street, clipping two parked cars and a bicycle chained to a lamppost as they sped down the narrow road. The car’s extra layers of protection made it take turns a bit wider at times. He ignored the wreckage he left behind as well as he ignored the constant crunch of numbers his accountant fired at him for incidental damages. Colton Protection was insured for any vehicles damaged during the course of duty.

“They’re blurry anyway,” she grumbled but at least she was slouched down, as safe as she could be at this moment.

A black Porsche cleared the exit behind him and was on his tail almost immediately. The armored car’s heft made it an easy target in the short run. Stanton knew Grave Gulch as well as the backyard he’d played in as a boy. He’d lose these jerks with a lot of concentration and a little luck.

Instead of turning left toward the station, he went right, then left down a side alley, turning onto the street that paralleled the main drag. Up and down the side streets, farther and farther away from the center of the city, he kept up the avoidance maneuvers until they were safely on the highway that led out of town, toward Lake Michigan.

“You’re circling back, right?” Dominique’s query broke his state of flow—the place his mind went during an op. Where nothing existed except doing whatever it took to keep a client safe. He finally let out a breath and risked a glance at her. Instead of her earlier pallor and the stressed posture, Dominique was the energized version of herself, her enthusiasm contagious. A bark of laughter escaped his parched throat.

“You get off on this, don’t you?” The words escaped his mouth and he knew he wasn’t over the adrenaline rush either, not by a long shot. It was always a kick in the pants to outwit the bad guys, no matter how many times he did it. But it wouldn’t last for long, and he had to stay miles ahead of the cartel clowns.

“If by ‘get off’ you mean I had something to focus on other than my mind’s replay of that loser’s paws crushing my throat, yes. Where are we going, Stanton?”

“I’m thinking.”

He gripped and released his hands on the wheel a few times, double-, triple-and quadruple-checked the side and rearview mirrors. He’d lost them. For now. He’d never expected Jimenez’s outfit knew what his vehicles looked like, where he stored the extras. They wouldn’t outwit him again.

“What can I do? I’ll call 911.”

“Hang on a sec.” He used the hands-free phone to call in to GGPD, directly to his sister.

“Chief Melissa Colton.” Melissa’s warm voice answered with its customary professional clip.

“Melissa. Stanton. We’re on speaker and Dominique de la Vega is with me. I called the station number because I’m reporting an attack.” He outlined what had happened in the parking garage, and the ensuing pursuit. “Troy expected us to show up at GGPD to file a report. I assume you’ve heard that Dominique was assaulted this morning on her way to an interview with the trial witness for Charlie Hamm. Witness’s name is Johnny Blanchard. Both Dominique and I agree that this is most likely the work of Pablo Jimenez. He’s the only one has everything to lose if her story uncovers evidence of witness tampering. We’re not heading into the station this afternoon after all. We’ll swing in tomorrow, or the next day, whenever it’s safe. I’m not messing around with threats from Jimenez.”

“That’s wise. Troy’s filled me in about the attack. I’m sorry, Dominique. Glad Stanton was there to help out. Where are you and Dominique going? To Colton Protection headquarters?”

“No. I can’t risk that they knew who I was, what I do.