Janet Evanovich - Full Tilt

First she had to get out from behind this blasted bar.

Max sped up. Jamie balled her fists at her sides but tried to remain calm despite the fact they were going way too fast for her comfort. Why was the man in such a hurry, for Pete's sake? She wasn't wounded or missing a body part that had to be sewn back on in the emergency room. Not that she could do anything about it. If she did manage to raise the steel bar and jump out, she would be road kill.

"Why are you driving so fast?" she asked Max.

Max looked at her. "I like speed. But don't worry, I'm a good driver."

She was riding in a car with a madman. Where were the darn cops when people needed them? The little town of Beaumont passed by her in a blur, the square where the old courthouse had stood for more than eighty years, and the bandstand where the townspeople often gathered on summer evenings to listen to music or watch free movies on a large screen, all provided by the local arts association. She and her father had sat on those same benches feeding pigeons when she was a little girl.

Max slowed the car and rounded the square. "So, this is town, huh?"

Jamie nodded, thankful they were moving at a slower pace. Her pulse slowed as well. She tested the bar once more as they passed Lowery's Hardware, Susie-Q's Cut and Curl, and Maynard's Sandwich Shop, places Jamie visited on a regular basis. Bates's Furniture took up half a city block. Jamie wondered if Vera had managed to talk Herman Bates into lending them furniture. Her earlier problems seemed insignificant at the moment when all she wanted to do was get the heck out of Max's car and his imaginary talking computer.

"Nice town." Max sped off again.

"I need to get back now," Jamie said.

"We've got plenty of time."

"No, really, I—"

"Would you relax?" Max said.

Jamie took a deep breath. Okay, so he wasn't going to take her back. She was pinned inside his car with no way of escaping. How many times had Vera warned her against getting into a car with a strange man, the kind of man who did terrible things to people, especially women. As far as Vera was concerned, the whole world was dangerous. Men lurked in alleys and parking lots, just waiting to pounce on the first unsuspecting female. Vera knew every gruesome detail of every crime ever committed, thanks to a detective show she watched each night in bed while eating caramel corn.

Maybe Vera was right. Maybe Max was really a deranged maniac out to rape and kill. They'd probably find her body tomorrow in a Dumpster, and Vera would say, "By golly, I tried to warn her about how dangerous this old world is getting to be." Jamie shivered at the thought.

"Cold?" Max asked.

"Huh?" She looked his way. He appeared normal, but then so did most serial killers, as Vera had mentioned many times. "I'm fine. The hamburger place is just up the street. Take a right at the next light."

"I thought we'd ride a bit first," Max said. "Maybe I can coax Muffin into saying something. Did I tell you she's equipped with a global positioning system? This car has enhanced PDA, with keyboard, printer, fax, and E-mail capabilities."

Jamie wanted to tell him she didn't give a hoot in hell what the car could do, she just wanted to get back to the country club. Besides, she didn't believe him. What she did believe was that he was delusional. Not that she had any intention of telling him as much. Vera would have told her to play along, pretend to be interested in everything he was saying. Keep him talking, Jamie thought.

"I'm impressed," she said. "I happen to know a few things about cars myself."

"Oh, yeah?" Max looked interested.

"My dad used to rebuild old cars in our garage. I helped him rebuild the vintage Mustang I drive now. As a matter of fact, it was one of the first to roll off the showroom floor. They referred to it as the nineteen sixty-four and a half edition. Back then it was only available in the coupe and convertible models. I have the convertible."

Max studied her closely as he stopped at a red light. "You know, I'd like to continue this conversation. Is there somewhere we can talk? Alone?" He smiled. "I'm not about to let you get away. I'm surprised you didn't suspect as much when you climbed into my car."

Jamie took a shaky breath. Holy cow, the man had just admitted he wasn't going to let her go, that he'd planned the whole thing. He probably already knew where he was going to leave her poor body. Vera was right. She was as good as dead. Oh, damn. Double damn.

Fear shot through Jamie's veins, sending such an adrenaline rush that she thought her heart would burst in her chest. She felt dizzy, out of breath, her entire body shook uncontrollably. She could hear Max talking but couldn't make out the words, only that his voice suddenly sounded very loud and irritating.

"Hey, are you okay?" Max asked.

All she could do was stare and try to catch her breath.

Max hit the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt.

"Jesus Christ!" Muffin shouted. "Would somebody please tell me what's going on?"

Jamie was only vaguely aware of a woman's voice. A hallucination, she thought, because the voice sounded like Marilyn Monroe. She felt a sense of impending doom as the colors around her became muted and dark, closing in on her.

There was no escape.

Suddenly, her door was flung open, and the metal bar lifted. "Jamie, what's wrong?" Max demanded.

"My chest," she said in a strangled voice.

"What's she doing?" Muffin asked.

"Holding her chest and gasping for breath."

"Do you think she's having a heart attack?" Muffin asked. "Should I call nine-one-one?"

Jamie looked into Max's face. "Who is that?"

"Muffin."

Jamie sucked in a deep breath. "Y-your computer? You were serious about that?"

"Yes! Do you need an ambulance?"

"You're not going to rape and butcher me and—"

Max looked incredulous. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"She doesn't need an ambulance, Max," Muffin said. "She needs a psycho ward."

Jamie blinked rapidly. The colors around her brightened, and the sounds weren't as loud anymore. She could breathe again. "But I thought—"

"That I planned to kill you?" Suddenly, Max laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

Jamie's face burned. The heat crawled to the tips of her ears, and she was certain they were flashing like neon lights. She almost preferred having a heart attack to the look on Max's face. She had made a fool of herself. Max and his friends would probably have a good laugh over it later. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

Max made an attempt to wipe the smile from his face and failed.

"Is she okay?" Muffin asked.

"I think so," Max said. "I think she was having a panic attack or something."

"I most certainly was not having a panic attack." It sounded plausible, though, Jamie had to admit. She had been awfully scared and half-afraid she would go crazy. She was going to wring Vera's neck, that's what she was going to do. Vera, who filled her head with all kinds of nonsense about serial killers and men who climbed into women's windows at night and — She shuddered.

"You're not going to have another one, are you?" Max asked.

Jamie wished she could wave a magic wand and disappear from those laughing dark eyes. Here she was, mortified to death, and the man was laughing at her. She straightened her shoulders, trying to scrape up what little pride she had left. "Would you kindly drive me back to the country club?"

"What about the burger and onion rings?"

"I'm not very hungry right now."

"Well, then, maybe another time." Max closed the door and joined her on the other side. He started the car, and the bars closed over them once more.

"I hate this thing," she muttered.

Max drove in silence, as though he suspected she needed time to gather her wits, but he glanced her way now and then in concern. "Are you sure you're going to be all right?"