Linda Warren - A Texas Hero

“You bet.”

“Come over this afternoon and we’ll take Chloe swimming in the apartment complex pool. Bring your rubber duckie.”

“Oh, gee, I can hardly contain my excitement.”

“Damn!”

“What?”

“I missed my turn.” Without thinking, she slammed on the brakes. A loud thump followed that jarred her car.

“Damn!”

“What’s going on?”

“Someone just rear-ended me. I’ll call you later.” She jumped out into traffic to see a man inspecting the damage to the front of his truck. He turned to glare at her.

“Why the hell did you stop?”

The early-morning August sun beamed down on them, but more heat seemed to be emanating from the stranger, rolling off his tall, lean body in waves of controlled anger. And it was directed at her.

“I missed my turn and...”

“So you just stopped on a busy highway?” She could almost read stupid woman in his narrowed dark eyes. He flung a hand toward his truck. “You’re going to pay for this. This thing is new and you’ve scratched my bumper with your insane driving.”

“Your bumper? Look at my trunk!” She lost her cool for a second but she quickly corralled her rising temper. Glancing at her watch, she realized she had eight minutes to get to work. That put everything into perspective. She needed her job. “Follow me to that bank.” She pointed across the freeway. “I work there, and we can exchange information.” Turning on her heel, she marched to her car.

In her rearview mirror she saw the what-the-hell look on his etched-in-granite face. His dark hair was slicked back and wet as if he’d just gotten out of the shower or had an early-morning swim. He was dressed for the heat in cargo shorts, Crocs and a white T-shirt that had Don’t Mess With Me emblazoned on it. Yeah, she got the message. Jerk.

A slight clang echoed as she pulled away. She probably wouldn’t be able to open her trunk now and she’d have to ask her dad for help. She really needed to find a handy boyfriend, but these days she viewed most guys as jerks. Good guys were out there and she wasn’t giving up on finding one. But lately, that feeling of hope needed a resurrection. Maybe she could talk Holly into taking a mechanics class. Then she could fix her own vehicle. No man required.

She pulled into the parking lot of one of the branch convenient banks scattered across Austin. Mr. Harmon, the manager, pulled in beside her in his Buick. No sign of the big silver truck or the furious stranger. Had she lost him? That would be a stroke of luck, but luck was more inclined to slap her in the face.

“It’s going to be another scorcher today, Abby,” Mr. Harmon said as they walked to a side door. The man was in his sixties and after over thirty years in banking, he planned to retire in October and move to Florida to be near his daughter. He was easy to work for, and she would miss him.

“The weatherman said one hundred and two for the high today,” she replied.

“Oh, heavens. It’s a good thing we have air-conditioning.”

The silver truck pulled into the parking area and the stranger strolled toward them with long, sure strides. He exuded strength, power and control. From his sun-kissed skin to his amazing biceps, he was obviously a man of action and loved the outdoors. Or maybe he spent a lot of time in a gym and a tanning salon. Either way, the arrogant Neanderthal was not her type.

As the stranger approached, Mr. Harmon said, “I’m sorry, sir. Only the drive-through is available on Saturdays. It will be opened shortly and you...”

“Oh, sorry.” Abby hurried to explain. “I had a minor accident on the way here and I just needed to give him my insurance information.” She dug in her purse for her business card, found a pen and scribbled the info on the back. Handing him the card, she said, “Call me Monday and we’ll get everything straight.” And fix your itty-bitty scratch, she added as an afterthought in her head. She didn’t even want to think about her insurance rate going up.

He nodded and turned to walk away. The screech of tires drew their attention. A battered white van swerved into the lot and backed to the curb. The double doors flew open and two guys in Halloween masks holding handguns jumped out and ran to them.

“Open the door. Open the door!” they shouted.

A robbery!

Abby’s heart jackknifed into her throat. Mr. Harmon’s hand shook as he punched in the code and used his key to open the door. The robbers pushed them all inside.

The one wearing a gorilla mask pointed a gun at Mr. Harmon. “Open the vault. Now!”

Mr. Harmon’s fair skin turned even paler, but he managed to open the vault. The bank didn’t carry large amounts. Just enough to cash payroll checks, but it was probably more than the two would see in a lifetime.

The robber shoved Walmart bags at her. “Fill these up. Fast. And don’t push any alarms and no color bombs. You got it?”

Abby nodded, entered the vault and threw wrapped twenties into the bag. Her hands shook and she kept repeating what she’d learned in classes for just this type of situation. Stay calm. Do as asked. Do not risk your life.

The last one stuck in her mind as she pushed the silent alarm. It was hard to detect and she flicked her hand across it as she pulled out stacks of twenties. She handed the guy two bags and just then a siren wailed in the distance.

The gorilla-masked guy shoved a gun in her face. She trembled. “Did you push an alarm?”

“N-o, no. You watched me the whole time.”

He pressed the end of the barrel against her temple. The cold steel on her skin propelled rolls of shivers through her.

“If you did, bitch, it’ll be the last thing you do.” The odor of sweat mixed with marijuana clogged her nostrils.

“O-oh. Oh.” Mr. Harmon clutched his chest and crumpled to the floor.

“Mr. Harmon!” She fell down by him to see if he was okay. He was so still. She wasn’t sure he was breathing.

“Man, we gotta go,” the one with the clown mask shouted. “The cops are coming.”

The other robber grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. “We’ll take her as a hostage. If she set off the alarm, she’s gonna pay for it.”

“Let’s go! Let’s go!”

The guy dragged her out of the vault. She couldn’t think. Her mind was wrapped around a cold ball of fear.

“Come on, man,” the stranger spoke up, cool as ice water. “She’s a woman. She’ll only slow you down. Take me.”

“C’mon,” the clown guy at the door yelled. “We’re losing time. The cops will be here any second.”

“We’re taking both of them,” the other robber decided, pushing them toward the door and to the van.

Never get into a van. Never get into a van. The warning ran through her mind and she dug in her heels. “I’m not getting in.”

The gorilla guy slapped her hard across the face and knocked her halfway into the van. The stranger jumped him but was stopped when the man shoved a gun into his ribs.

“Get her into the van,” the guy growled. “I’ll deal with you later.”

The stranger lifted her inside. He was gentle. That was the only thing that registered besides the sense of doom clogging her lungs. The doors slammed shut and they roared away onto the freeway.

The clown guy drove and the other one sat in the back with them. The van was dark. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. A piece of dirty, stained carpet was on the floor and heat rose up from the hot highway, warming her backside. That was the least of her worries. Her jaw ached and she couldn’t think clearly. Chloe. Her precious baby. Would she ever see her again?

Suddenly, the siren was closer and the wail was deafening. “Lookie there, Rudy, it’s an ambulance. She didn’t alert the cops.”