Julie Miller - Out of Control

While JULIE MILLERhas never driven an actual drag racer, she has written more than thirty-five books and won several awards for her work, including the National Readers’ Choice Award. Some of her books have appeared on the USA TODAY and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. Julie lives in Nebraska, where she teaches English and spoils her dog. Find out more about her at www.juliemiller.org.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Lori Borrill, Alison Kent and Jennifer LaBrecque.

FROM 0–60 has been a great collaborative effort and a lot of fun to boot!

Dahlia, Tennessee, really came to life for me, working with you guys.

I feel I’ve been to that town and I know those people living there.

I appreciate you sharing your knowledge of drag racing with a novice like me.

I appreciate your humour and your creative energy fed my own.

And thanks to Brenda Chin for introducing us!

Cover

About the Author While JULIE MILLER has never driven an actual drag racer, she has written more than thirty-five books and won several awards for her work, including the National Readers’ Choice Award. Some of her books have appeared on the USA TODAY and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. Julie lives in Nebraska, where she teaches English and spoils her dog. Find out more about her at www.juliemiller.org.

Title Page Out of Control Julie Miller www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication For Lori Borrill, Alison Kent and Jennifer LaBrecque. FROM 0–60 has been a great collaborative effort and a lot of fun to boot! Dahlia, Tennessee, really came to life for me, working with you guys. I feel I’ve been to that town and I know those people living there. I appreciate you sharing your knowledge of drag racing with a novice like me. I appreciate your humour and your creative energy fed my own. And thanks to Brenda Chin for introducing us!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Copyright

Nashville, Tennessee Seven months ago

“GET OUT OF THE VEHICLE. Get out of the vehicle!”

Detective Jack Riley pulled his Glock 9 mm and pointed it, along with his flashlight, at the three-hundred-pound behemoth who ignored his badge and his command and started the engine. Shit.

As the drug dealer shifted his customized Chevy Suburban into gear, Jack jumped back inside the cab of his pickup and slammed it into reverse, hoping to block his target’s exit from the convenience store parking lot. But Lorenzo Vaughn slipped past him, burning an acrid trail of black rubber onto the pavement as he swung out into the street.

“Screw that.”

Silently apologizing to the truck’s big bruiser engine, he shifted into drive and ruthlessly gunned it.

Jack flipped on the siren and warning lights of his unmarked truck, praying Vaughn would take this pursuit to the open road. With a long, straight stretch ahead of them, Jack’s years of training behind the wheel would give him the advantage. But it might already be too late. There were too many hills, too many trees and houses blocking his line of sight—too many things wrong with this takedown.

The original plan he and his drug enforcement team had worked weeks on had gone way beyond south.

“Come on, baby.” He urged as much speed out of the engine as he dared this time of night with so many cars still on the streets.

“Jack? You in trouble?” His partner Eric Mesner’s voice crackled over the radio. “We’re hung up in traffic at least five minutes away from your location.”

Jack swore, yanking his steering wheel to the left to swerve around a car pulling out of a driveway. “We’re already a day late and a dollar short, buddy. Vaughn didn’t stick to his regular schedule. He got away from me. I’m in pursuit.”

“Son of a bitch. Did you see the drugs?”

“Didn’t get a chance to. But the Chevy he’s driving has been modified like the others. Looks like a monster-sized race car. If it’s street legal, I’m your Aunt Fanny. Whatever he’s selling was either transported in there or is still hidden inside.”

Rather than risk their lives or any innocent bystanders’ lives by confronting Vaughn at his house—where guns, drugs, lieutenants and a reputed fighting dog stayed—they’d wanted to arrest him when he slipped out to pay a nightly visit to one of his girlfriends. “You watch your back, Jack. Don’t take this guy on by yourself.”

“Too late for that.” Jack had been spying on Vaughn’s house, tracking his routine for weeks. The closest they could figure was that Vaughn was getting his drugs stashed inside one of the new vehicles that seemed to show up at his house about once a month. The plan had been to grab the man, grab the car, and break both down until NPD had the proof necessary to bring down one of the city’s biggest drug rings. But their precisely timed plan was turning into a flat-out road race. “You’re coming to save my ass, right?”

“We’re coming,” Eric assured him. “Let’s get moving. Now!” he shouted to the other team members who were closing in on Jack’s lead position.

Jack switched his radio to an all-call channel and reported his location. “Officer in pursuit. I could use some backup.”

Flying through intersections and leaving streetlights and startled drivers in the dust, Jack needed to think fast. He glanced at the name of a side street, pulled up a map inside his head. Hell, yes. Flexing his fingers around his truck’s taut leather steering-wheel cover, Jack took a deep, steadying breath…and jerked the wheel to the right. He cut through an alley, skidded around the corner and pressed on the gas, his eyes peeled for any sign of pedestrians or civilian vehicles as he zoomed ahead of Vaughn’s position on a less-populated parallel street. He couldn’t safely outrace Lorenzo Vaughn, but he could damn well outsmart him.

Spotting the cross street he wanted, Jack spun left. By the time his two left wheels hit the pavement again, he had his target in sight. He floored it. “Gotcha.”

Forty damn years old and Jack Riley could still play a gutsy game of chicken. Vaughn’s head turned. He saw the inevitable rushing toward him and Jack grinned. He was either going to turn Vaughn toward the highway entrance ramp or T-bone him.

Only Vaughn didn’t understand the rules of the game he was playing.

“Turn, you son of a bitch. Turn!”

Vaughn’s SUV loomed larger and larger. He was close enough to see Vaughn’s oh, shit expression now, close enough to count down the seconds until impact or victory, close enough to—

A blur of blue and red flashed through Jack’s peripheral vision. In the same instant a bold, taunting voice blared across his radio. “I’ve got this one, old man! Back off!”