Joanna Wayne - Live Ammo

“He already did!”

Alexis pushed them out of the way and took off after the car. Her only chance was for someone to see her, hear her cries, and cut off the fleeing car. No one did.

Desperate, she cut through the maze of parked cars and raced toward the nearest lot exit. She made it just in time to see the car jump the curb and spin into the busy street.

An SUV swerved to avoid crashing into her stolen sedan. Neither driver slowed down. Bordering on hysteria, she dashed into the thick of the traffic.

Brakes squealed. Curses flew at her from passing cars. The driver of a black pickup truck that had just missed running over her skidded to a stop. He opened his door and started to get out.

Before he could, she rushed to his passenger side door, yanked it open and slid into the truck. She pointed dead ahead.

“Follow that car.”

Chapter Two

Tague Lambert stared at the shapely woman in the white shorts and cute little striped T-shirt who’d just jumped into his truck uninvited. Her right eye was swelling like biscuit dough in a hot oven and a nasty lump was forming on the back of her head.

He felt as if he’d just been dropped into a B movie and he was damn sure he hadn’t made a casting call.

“Step on it,” she ordered. “You’re letting him get away.”

Bossy, but frantic and obviously scared out of her wits. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. “Nice to meet you, too.” Tague yanked the car into gear and hit the accelerator. “Who am I following?”

“That gray Honda sedan that just blew through the yellow light at the next corner.”

Tague craned his neck to get a better view of the speeding car. “Who’s driving?”

“The crackhead who just jumped me and stole my car.”

So, she’d been carjacked. That explained a lot.

“Maybe you should go to a hospital. That Honda is not worth our getting killed.”

“It is to me. My son’s in that car.”

“Then buckle up.” Adrenaline pumping, Tague darted around a black Buick, but then lost sight of the gray sedan altogether when a panel truck changed into his lane and blocked his view. He swerved into the left lane.

A few seconds later, he caught a glimpse of the sedan a block and a half in front of them, taking the corner at breakneck speed. Another three minutes and the driver could access the interstate. Then he’d really have to stomp the pedal to the metal to keep up. It was too damn risky.

He lay on his horn and sped through a yellow light.

“Call 911,” Tague ordered. “Give them our location and explain the situation.”

“My phone’s in the car.”

“Use mine.” He yanked it from his pocket and tossed it to her.

He turned the corner to the earsplitting sound of a collision. He spotted the gray sedan as it veered into a wild spin, finally winding up against the front of a vacant one-story building. The red Jeep Wrangler that it had crashed into fared little better, but at least it was still in the street.

Traffic came to a screeching halt. Wary of what he might be rushing into, Tague grabbed his pistol from beneath his seat. He hit the ground running.

From a distance, he saw the carjacker climb from the wreckage and race away from the scene. A white handbag was clutched in his right hand, doubtlessly not his.

By the time Tague reached the scene, the thief had ducked into a nearby alley. Tague lingered long enough to see a tall guy in jeans and a blue sports shirt pull the kid from the backseat of the wrecked car.

The kid wailed for his mother; there was no sign of blood. Tague took off after the thief, pistol in hand, his senses keen to avoid being ambushed. He was used to shooting snakes in the grass, not chasing criminals.

The quick check of the alley was futile. The guy might have climbed through a broken window on one of the deserted warehouses or jumped the fence at the other end and escaped into the maze of side streets. Hunting him down was probably better left to the cops.

He returned to the scene of the accident and quickly spotted his sexy hitchhiker. She was standing in a crowd of bystanders, holding the kid in her arms.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said as Tague walked up and stopped at her elbow.

“Not sure what you’d thank me for.”

“Jumping into the fray.” She hugged her son tighter.

“Has anyone checked on the driver of the Jeep? Is he okay?”

“He seems to be,” a middle-aged brunette standing next to him chimed in. “But I called 911. I think some other people did, too. Ambulances and the police are on the way.”

Approaching sirens were already screaming in the background. Gawkers scattered as a squad car arrived.

“Be right back,” Tague said. He dashed over to his truck that he’d left in the middle of the street. It was blocked in tight, but he slid his pistol back into its scabbard beneath the seat and locked the vehicle. He was licensed to tote, but no need to waste time explaining all that to the cops.

He’d give a statement to the officers and then clear out so that he could take care of the business that had brought him into Dallas in the first place.

Two more squad cars rolled up, lights flashing. Four uniformed cops hit the streets.

“I need the owners of the cars and any eye witnesses,” one of the other officers clipped loudly. “The rest of you need to move on so emergency personnel can go to work.”

To his surprise, Tague spotted the woman, still carrying the kid, but striding away from the cops. Impulsively, he rushed to catch up with her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from the chaos so that I can take care of my son.”

The boy’s arms were locked tight around his mother’s neck.

“Do you think he’s injured?” Tague asked.

“I don’t think so, but he’s frightened and all the strangers and sirens aren’t helping.”

Maybe he’d been rash in trying to avoid getting involved. The woman still looked a bit terrified. Her eye looked none too good, either. And the lump on her head was more pronounced than before.

“You and the boy both need to be checked out by medical personnel,” Tague said. “There’s an ambulance on the way.”

“We don’t need an ambulance.” She started walking away again.

Obviously she was too upset or injured to think straight. He grabbed her arm and tugged her to a stop. “You can’t leave the scene of an accident without talking to the cops.”

“I could if you would mind your own business.”

“You didn’t feel that way a few minutes ago when you were ordering me to give chase. The least you can do is give the police a description of the carjacker.”

She stopped walking and shifted the kid to her other hip. “Okay, you win. I’ll talk to the cops, but I don’t expect it to change anything.”

The lady had an attitude problem. He’d have figured she’d be eager to describe the carjacker to the cops. It made him wonder if she didn’t have other reasons for avoiding the police.

“I think it’s time we met officially,” he said. “I’m Tague Lambert.”

“I’m Alexis.”

“No last name?”

“Beranger. This is Tommy.”

Tommy began to squirm. “Go home, Mommy.”

“Soon, sweetie.” She lowered him to the ground, but held on tight to his hand as a cop approached them.

“I’ll stick around until you’re done,” Tague offered, his interest and curiosity piqued.

She shot him a back off look. “I really appreciate all you’ve done, but I’m fine on my own now. And I’m sure you have better things to do than broil under the midday sun with strangers.”

“No. A car chase and foiling a kidnapping pretty much tops anything I had planned.”