Page 54 of Luck of the Devil (Harper Adams Mystery #3)

Raw panic slammed into me, my vision tunneling as the metallic taste of fear flooded my mouth.

For a heartbeat, I was dazed. The headlights shone on a copse of trees in front of us, and it took me a few seconds to remember what had happened.

Glass glittered across the dashboard from the shattered windshield.

The car released an ominous groan, and I realized we’d been in a rollover accident.

Car chase.

We were run off the road.

We were in danger.

James.

I turned to face him, fear nearly paralyzing me when I saw him slumped in the driver’s seat.

Oh God.

Finally, my instincts kicked in, and I quickly unfastened my seatbelt and turned, getting on my knees so I could lean over him. I placed shaking fingers on his neck and held my breath until I felt the steady thrum of his pulse against my fingertips.

The relief nearly broke me.

I hadn’t realized how terrified I was of finding nothing there.

I gently cupped his right cheek, my fingers sticky with blood, and searched his face, trying to figure out where the blood was coming from.

A gash ran from close to his temple into his hairline.

The cracked glass in the driver’s door told me he must have hit his head when we flipped. He likely had a nasty concussion.

“James,” I said, my fear making me sound breathless. I glanced down his body, looking for visible signs of other injuries, thankfully finding none. His seatbelt had done its job too.

But for how long? I doubted they were satisfied by running us off the road. Once they got turned around, they’d be back to finish the job. I pulled out my cellphone, but I didn’t have any service.

“James,” I said, my voice cracking despite my efforts to stay calm. I lightly patted his cheek. “I need you to wake up. Please .”

He grimaced and his eyes squinted open. “Fuck. What happened?”

“We were in an accident.”

He looked dazed, as though trying to piece it together. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You’re the one who’s hurt.”

He studied my face, which was inches from his, and gave me a wicked grin. “Were you plannin’ to kiss me awake like Sleeping Beauty?”

I realized that not only were my lips inches from his, but my chest was pressed firmly against him, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could feel it.

My instinct was to jerk away, but I liked the feeling of his body pressed against mine, and something deep inside me said to stay, especially since he wasn’t complaining.

Not the time, Harper.

“That wasn’t the first thought that came to mind,” I said, reaching down to release his seatbelt. “But I hadn’t ruled out all my options.”

His grin spread, but his eyes were unfocused, further proof he was suffering from a concussion. “You plannin’ to kiss me somewhere other than my lips?”

It took me a second to realize he was talking about my hand resting on his thigh. “Not right now. We need to go.”

Movement out of the corner of my eye through the driver’s side back window caught my attention, and I turned to see a man in dark clothing walking down the hill toward us, about thirty feet away.

I doubted he was a good Samaritan coming to help us.

“Where’s your gun?” I hissed, shoving James down so he was lying across the console.

“What the fuck?” he grunted, but he didn’t resist.

“James! Gun? ” I demanded, my voice barely above a whisper but sharp with panic.

Then I remembered he’d told me his handgun was in the glove compartment.

My hands shook as I fumbled with the glove compartment latch, offering a silent prayer of thanks when I saw it was loaded with a full magazine.

I saw the spare magazine and pulled it out, the stuffed it in my front jeans pocket.

“What’s goin’ on?” he growled, trying to rise but swaying like he was fighting vertigo. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated.

“ Stay down! ” I grunted as I practically threw myself on top of him while searching for the button to turn off the interior lights.

“Where do you think you’re doin’?” he asked, but the weakness in his voice made it less threatening.

“Taking care of a problem.”

“Takin’ care of problems is my job,” he mumbled.

“Not this time.” I found the button for the interior lights under the rearview mirror and pressed it, hoping I’d actually turned them off.

I lifted my head slightly, hoping the gunman wasn’t about to peer through the window.

I could see him moving with predatory caution.

He was taking his time, probably assuming we were either dead or too injured to fight back.

He was wrong on both counts.

I slunk down in the passenger seat and put my face in front of James’s. “James,” I said sternly. “Listen to me. We were run off the road and we rolled over a few times down a hill. A man with a gun is headed this way, probably to finish us off.”

“Let me take care of it,” he growled, as he tried to lift up again.

I tugged him back down. “Stop!” I hissed. “You’ve suffered a concussion. You’re probably seeing double, so you’re not in any position to take care of anything right now. I found your gun in the glove compartment, and I’m going out the passenger door to try to draw him away from you.”

His eyes widened. “You’re gonna do what ?”

“James!” I shook his arm. “Listen. Stay down and let me handle this.” I flashed him a tight grin.

“I’m actually a pretty damn good shot.” I cracked open the passenger door just enough for me to slip out, the hinges groaning softly in protest. I froze, listening for any change in the gunman’s approach.

My heart was hammering so loudly I was sure it would give me away.

Thankfully, the interior light stayed off, so James wasn’t a sitting duck. “Stay down!” I whispered to him one last time.

For a split second, our eyes met in the darkness. I saw something that looked almost like fear in his eyes, and I knew he wasn’t afraid for himself.

I gave him a tight smile. “I’ve got this.”

I slipped out the door feet first, staying low to the ground. Once I was out, I carefully pushed the door closed but not enough for the latch to click. Hopefully, the gunman hadn’t seen me slip out, and if my luck held up, he was still a good distance from the driver’s window.

Crouching low, I crawled to the back of the car and peered around the side. The man was about ten feet away, close enough that I could hear his boots crunching on broken glass. Each step was deliberate, calculated.

“Freeze where you are,” I called out. “Put your hands in the air.”

He turned toward my voice, and two shots cracked through the night air. I threw myself sideways as one bullet whined over my head and the other punched into the back panel with a thunk .

I had every right to defend myself now that he’d shot at me, but I was going to do everything I could to keep him alive. I needed answers, and dead men didn’t talk.

“Just tell me what you want and maybe we can work out some kind of deal,” I called out, my back pressed to the side of the car. I strained to listen, hoping I could hear his footsteps in the quiet.

“We just want to have a little talk,” he said.

We. Was he talking about a partner or Nicole Knox?

“Okay,” I said. “Start talking.”

“Where’s Malcolm?” he asked. “Why’re you doin’ all the talkin’?”

“He’s dead,” I said bitterly, hoping he believed me. I also hoped James wouldn’t hear him and try to come out. “Broke his neck in the accident.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” the guy said. “He’s the one she really wants.”

That caught me by surprise. We’d been under the assumption they were after the papers from my mother’s safe deposit box.

Was this the person who’d taken over Simmons’s operations?

Or one of James’s enemies from his past?

How many had he faced since he’d been released from prison?

But if this guy was Nicole Knox’s hired gun, then we were probably looking at a cross of both possibilities. He did say she .

I peered around the back of the car again. “This is your last chance to stop.”

“Or what?” he said with a laugh, walking toward me.

What a fool. Did this guy really think James Malcolm drove around unarmed? Did he not realize I was an ex-cop who was more than comfortable using firearms?

I lifted my gun, hoping I was hidden in the shadows.

He was on full display, the nearly full moon making him more visible than expected.

I aimed for his leg, then noticed the tremor in my hand.

Was it withdrawal or nerves? I hadn’t taken my evening dosage yet.

Either way, I needed to make this shot. I drew a breath, willing my hand to be still, then slowly exhaled and squeezed the trigger.

The man grunted then howled as he crumpled to his knees. “You fucking cunt! You shot me!” A dark stain bloomed across the jeans over his left thigh.

I leaned over the trunk of the car, my gun trained on him. “Throw your gun to the side or next time I’ll aim higher.”

I couldn’t make out the features of his face, but I recognized the rage making his body shake. “I dropped it when you shot me!”

“Bullshit. You have three seconds to toss it or I’m pulling the trigger. And unlike you, I’m an excellent shot.” When he didn’t move, I started counting. “One…two…”

“All right!” he shouted, his voice tight with pain. A dark object flew through the air, landing with a heavy thud in the grass several feet away. I could only presume it was his gun given the size and the shadows.

I swept my gaze across the top of the incline, then along the tree line on both sides.

There had been a second SUV, so even if there had only been one person in each vehicle, there was at least one more person coming for us.

Probably more. I didn’t see anyone, but my ears strained for any sound that didn’t belong. “Why did you run us off the road?”

He released a throaty laugh. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“The consensus is out,” I said, “so humor me.”