I hand my license to Jim, who gives it to the sheriff.
“Lara Wine,” the sheriff says as he studies my ID. “How come you two don’t have the same last name?” The man’s not dumb, he’s trying to trick us with the question. But Jim answers smoothly.
“Lara’s my niece on my sister’s side,” Jim says.
“She don’t look anything like you.”
“My sister thanks the Lord for that every day.”
“Ain’t you on the job? Why she’s traveling with you?”
“She’s got a boyfriend in Florida she’s missing. I’m heading that way so I offered to give her a ride.”
“Do her parents know she’s with you?”
“Excuse me, Sheriff,” I interrupt. “You’re holding my license. You can see I’m twenty-two, legally an adult anywhere in this country. I don’t need my parents’ approval to travel.”
“Is that a fact?” the sheriff asks before looking down at his faxed papers. He rifles through them and I catch a glimpse of several blurred photos. One looks like me, another like Matt, but the quality is extremely poor. It’s possible the sheriff doesn’t recognize me. Still, he’s suspicious and I’m forced to contemplate another round of violence. It doesn’t matter how I try to live my life, I think, blood follows me like an extra shadow.
“May I have my license back?” I ask.
The sheriff ignores me, glances toward the rear of the truck. “What you carrying?” he asks Jim.
“Levi blue jeans, the originals, five hundred cartons.” Jim pauses. “You want to see my paperwork?”
The sheriff takes a step back and waves his hand. “I want to see what you’ve got in the back. Open her up.”
“No, sir. Not until you give me a legitimate reason why I should.”
The sheriff shakes the papers in his hand. “I have a fax here from the Federal Bureau of Investigation that contains a photograph matching the young woman seated beside you. She’s said to be in this area, and I want to know if her partners are traveling with her, in the back of your truck. Does that give you a good enough reason to do what I say? Because if it doesn’t, we’re going to have a problem.”
Jim turns to me and his eyes are worried. “Lara?”
I shake my head and pat his arm. “It’s not going to be a problem. Sit tight and let me take care of this. Okay?”
His eyes stray downward and he finally catches sight of the Glock wedged between my legs. “What are you doing?” he says in a tight voice.
“Trust me, it’ll be fine,” I reply as I throw open the door on my side of the truck and smash the face of the deputy, who has enough sense to land on his back in the thick grass that lines the road. An instant later I have my gun in my hand and point it at the sheriff. I fire a single shot that takes off the tip of his left ear. The sheriff drops his papers and staggers back a step, going for his gun.
“Not so fast!” I snap in a voice Jim has yet to hear. My ruthless tone, the sheer power of my order, makes it impossible for the sheriff not to obey. He freezes with his hand on his revolver’s handle, blood flowing freely from the side of his face. I continue. “Now Sheriff, listen closely. Your partner’s unconscious, he’s out for the count, and you’ve just been given a vivid demonstration of my shooting ability. That’s right, I nicked your ear on purpose, when I could have put a bullet in your forehead. The only reason you’re still alive is because I’m letting you live. Understand?”
The man looks startled but far from ready to surrender.
“Go to hell,” he says.
“Been there done that,” I reply before I shoot off the tip of his right ear. This time the sheriff staggers back several steps and turns as white as the fax papers in his hands. Blood drips from both sides of his head. Yet he has the nerve to reach for his gun. “I’ll blow off your hand!” I shout.
He freezes. “What do you want?” he demands.
“Remove your gun from your holster and throw it in the grass. Move slow, Sheriff, like you’re in a dream, and you may live to see tomorrow.”
“Lara,” Jim gasps. A pity for him the tip of my gun is only two feet from where he’s sitting.
“It’s all right, Jim. No one has to die here. Isn’t that right, Sheriff?”
He has his gun in hand, pointed toward the ground, but he’s reluctant to give it up. “You’re not going to get away with this,” he says.
“Throw it in the grass. You have two seconds. One . . .”
The sheriff tosses his revolver into the tall grass.
“Stand perfectly still. Don’t move an inch,” I say as I climb down from my seat and circle the front of the truck. I move faster than is humanly possible, but both the sheriff and Jim are so shaken they don’t notice. In a moment I’m standing three feet in front of the sheriff, my Glock pointed at his head.
I’m not surprised Matt hasn’t rushed to my aid. He can hear and understand everything that’s going on and knows I have the situation under control. He also knows it would be a mistake to reveal that the others are with me.
The sheriff stares at me with scorn. “Put a gun in your hand and you think you’re hot shit,” he swears. “You’ll get life for this.”
“That would be a very long sentence. Longer than you can imagine.” I pause. “Do you have a video feed on the front of your vehicles?”
His chest swells in defiance. “Everything you’re doing right now is being taped. In fact, bitch, it’s being watched live back at headquarters.”
His first remark is true. His cars are equipped with cameras. Also, he’s probably right to call me a bitch. He’s going to need plastic surgery to reconstruct his ears. But his last comment is false. He’s all alone with his unconscious deputy.
I allow a degree of my persuasive power to enter my voice.
“Listen closely. Jim picked me up as he was driving down the road,” I say. “He thought I was an ordinary hitchhiker but I’ve kept him hostage since I climbed in his truck. He’s innocent and has nothing to do with me. Remember that.”
“Bullshit,” the sheriff mutters, but I can tell he believes me, which means I’m finished with him. In a blinding move, I strike him on the sweet spot on his jaw with the short barrel of my Glock. He’s out before he hits the ground.