Janet Evanovich - Full Scoop

"She's a beauty," Cook said, shooting a quick look at the clipping. "Too bad she messed you over, huh?"

Carl Lee regarded Cook with a look of contempt. "Keep your fat mouth shut or I'll shut it for you."

Cook shrank away. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it."

"Okay, boys," Jonesy said. "I'm not going to have none of that. I've got enough to tend to with this crazy traffic. Couldn't pay me enough to live in Atlanta, no siree."

The traffic began to thin as they passed over the city toward Covington, Georgia. Jonesy was able to pick up speed, despite the still whirling wind and rain and sometimes heavy patches of fog. The speedometer rose steadily.

"There's something up ahead," Carl Lee said.

"Lights flashing," he added. "A wreck maybe. You need to slow this thing down, man."

Jonesy pumped the brakes several times but was not prepared when suddenly the cars in front of him braked and stopped dead on the interstate. "Oh, Lord!" he said, unable to slow the big rig quickly enough. He slammed his foot on the brake, and the trailer began to fishtail, even as the smell of burning rubber filled the cab.

"Oh, hell," Cook said, crossing himself.

Carl Lee shouted a foul litany.

Jonesy lost control of the vehicle, and the Prayer Mobile skidded. Ahead, passengers threw open car doors and raced from the road, only seconds before impact. The eighteen-wheeler slammed into an SUV, creating a domino effect. From behind, a large pickup truck hit the driver's side. Jonesy cried out a split second before his head hit the steering wheel in a bone-crunching blow, only to be tossed back against the seat. He fell across Cook's lap.

"Sheee-ittt!" Cook cried as he stared in horror at the gash in Jonesy's forehead. "Do you think he's dead?" He struggled to get out from under the man.

"I'm not going to hang around long enough to find out," Carl Lee said, yanking hard on the door handle. He shoved the door of the cab open with his shoulder and started to climb out. He reached for the canvas bag that held their belongings, including their guns that Jonesy had refused to let them carry inside their pants while dressed as priests.

"Don't leave me," Cook cried, and grabbed the straps to keep Carl Lee from taking the bag.

"Let go!" Carl Lee shouted.

"You need me," Cook yelled back as he tried once more to free himself from Jonesy. "Her neighborhood will be crawling with cops. I know how to get you in."

Carl Lee gritted his teeth. "Grab his wallet and cell phone," he said.

"You mean rob Jonesy?"

Carl Lee grabbed Cook by the shirt. "Can't you smell, you dumb shit? There is fuel all over the road. You want to burn to death?"

Cook gaped in horror but wasted no time. He worked Jonesy's wallet from his pocket and grabbed his cell, then shoved him hard and pulled his legs from beneath the man. Carl Lee dragged him from the cab. They hurried toward the exit sign, passing dazed motorists and crying babies. Several men and women had already begun helping people from their vehicles; one man was trying to open a smashed car door with a crowbar.

"Father!" A middle-aged woman came out of nowhere and grasped Carl Lee's arm. "My husband is badly hurt," she said, pointing to a nearby car.

Carl Lee gave her an odd look as though he'd forgotten he was dressed as a priest. He shook his head as if to clear it. "I'm going for help, ma'am," he finally said and pulled free. He turned and walked quickly as Cook followed.

Sirens whined in the distance.

"I've got blood on my hands," Cook said, "and you've got black shoe dye leaking from your sideburns." He reached into his pocket and brought out a wad of tissue.

"This sucks about as much as prison," Carl Lee muttered as he mopped each side of his face. They made their way down the exit ramp and crossed the street to a convenience store where a number of people stood outside and stared at the commotion on the interstate. Carl Lee opened the door leading into the store. "Go wash your hands," he told Cook and shoved him inside. "You got two seconds." He barely got the words out of his mouth before a sudden explosion shook the ground and rattled the windows in the store. People outside screamed. The clerk raced outside.

Cook threw open the door of the bathroom. "What was that?" He looked out a window. "Man, would you take a look at that fireball!" The cash register rang out, and he turned and frowned at Carl Lee who stood behind it. "What are you doing?"

"Don't ask stupid questions." Carl Lee grabbed the bills and stuffed them into his pocket. "This way," he said.

They left through the opposite door and started across the parking lot as fire trucks raced down the road toward the interstate.

* * * * *

Maggie was only too happy to escape the newspaper office by the time Zack led Mel and her to the van. "I hope I never have to go through something like that again," she said, climbing inside and closing her door.

"At least you didn't have to chase a stupid frog all over Jamie's office," Mel grumbled from the backseat. "Do you think Jamie is going to be mad at you for long?" she asked.

Maggie gave a small shrug. "I probably shouldn't have laughed over her falling into a frog pond. I'll make it up to her by taking her someplace nice for lunch next week."

"If we live to see next week," Mel reminded.

Zack frowned.

"Please don't say things like that," Maggie said, even as her own worries came rushing back.

"Who's hungry?" Zack asked as though trying to change the subject.

"I'm starving," Mel said.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked. "You choose the place, any place, and remember, money is no object because I'm loaded."

Maggie wondered how Zack could be so upbeat with the possibility of what lurked ahead. Of course he was used to dealing with mean and dangerous people. The only mean person she knew was Henry Filbert. Maybe Zack was merely pretending to be cheerful and buoyant so she and Mel wouldn't be so anxious. Even so, she noted how alert he was, how aware he was of everything going on around them. She knew he watched the rearview mirror, that he kept an eye on the side mirrors and back door when they stopped at a red light or pulled up to a stop sign. Those dark eyes didn't miss much.

"If you're loaded, how come you're driving this dumb-looking van?" Mel asked. "How come you're not driving a cool car?"

That was her daughter, Maggie thought. No tact.

"There weren't any cool rental cars left when I arrived in Beaumont," Zack said. "They were all rented to Elvis impersonators."

"Gross," Mel said, then suddenly brightened. "Let's stop at Harry's Burgers. They have awesome foot-long hot dogs."

"You up for that?" Zack asked Maggie, slowing.

"Sure," she said. "Who cares about high cholesterol?"

"Would you park in the back?" Mel asked, ducking low in the seat.

"No problem." Zack turned in and drove to the farthermost parking space. "How's this?"

Mel wasn't listening. She was peeking out the window, obviously checking the vicinity for someone she might know. Finally, she threw open the door, jumped out, and took off.

Zack looked amazed. "Wow, did you know she could run like that? Faster than a locomotive, faster than a speeding bullet, faster than the speed of light?" he added.

Maggie laughed. "She learned to run like that when she turned thirteen. To avoid embarrassing situations." Once again, she saw him staring out the side window, his eyes fixed on Mel, obviously wanting to make certain she was safely inside the building.

"Are you embarrassed easily?" he asked as they walked toward the restaurant, his gaze scanning the parking lot.

"Are you kidding? You're talking to a woman who led a goat right through town in broad daylight. Nothing embarrasses me."