Page 46 of Sam to the Rescue
“Is that or is it not, your wife?”
“Ex. And if it was, I’m guessing she thinks I skipped bail. If y’all had ponied up the dough when I got arrested, she wouldn’t be lookin’ so hard.” Like any good criminal, I blame someone else for my problems with a whole lot of attitude.
Grumbling, he stands and shoves his electronics into my hands. “Call her.”
I put it on speaker so he can hear she doesn’t pick up. “What can I say? We’re not on the best of terms.”
“Keep trying. I want that damn folder or there will be serious repercussions. Make sure she understands.”
Dammit. When I see my wife again, I’m going to tan her hide. I told her to stay put. I told her to stay out of trouble. Why the hell does she never listen?
With the phone to my ear, I bum a cigarette from Murder, guarding the metal shed. After a few puffs, I stomp it out. “Trying to quit.”
The man nods, eyes on the lifting door. Silently, we watch a white van back out and after Edge puts it in park, I sneak a glance in the back window. Three huge plastic bags of white crystals sit inside. That has to be the bomb.
“Get lost.” Murder pulls his weapon.
Chuckling, I shove my hands in the air and back away. “Why, is it gonna blow up or somethin’?”
At his furious face, I change the subject. “Damn. Can’t you take a joke? Y’all suck. When are we getting this show on the road?”
He glances at his wrist watch. “We leave at noon.”
Leaning against the metal structure, I lower my lids and out of habit, take in my surroundings. Our farmhouse sits about a mile off the main drag. On the other side of the street, an old chevy pulls into the gas-station-diner.
“Let me have your binoculars.”
The thug ducks under the strap. With the two tubes to my eyes, I turn the focus and almost lose my shit.Goddammit Sam, what the fuck are you doing here?
“See anything of interest?” Murder raises his brows as I struggle for a smart-ass retort.
“Boobs and ass.” Grinning, I wait until she’s out of sight before handing him back the field glasses.
Never let them see you sweat.
Chapter 30
Sam
After reading the contents of the manilla folder, I consider calling the FBI until I play the conversation in my head. When I arrive at the part where they ask how I came across my information, I change my mind. Spending the day in jail while they decide whether or not Suds needs to be pulled from his assignment is not an option.
“I’m going to save your daddy. Don’t worry. I got this.” I kiss Mikey, hug Rose, and borrow Gram’s old Impala circa the dawn of time. It’s gold, bigger than a boat, and most importantly, has no GPS.
Because it’s past midnight, I make good time up the West Side Highway and over the George Washington Bridge. From there, I drive north, then west toward the center of New York State.
When I stop for gas, I order coffee, the first I’ve had in over a year. Holy shit. Totally buzzed, I unfold the map I found. There’re several circles drawn but only one makes sense, the one closest to Syracuse.
With five hours left to drive, I pray I arrive in time. If only I could call Slate, my dad, or even my Uncle Vinny. The Russian’s warning rings in my ears.
Don’t use a cell phone.
But why? What if the bad guys have access to an AI unit like Jason? As much as I need help, I simply can’t take that chance.
Joey must’ve been the last to borrow her car because he left his radar detector and his police band radio plugged in. My toes press harder on the gas pedal, the eight-cylinder engine purrs, so I go faster until I reach Binghamton. There, I turn north. Ithaca is a few hours away and so is dawn. God willing, I’m in time.
Close to the address in the file, I turn off my lights and creep down the dirt road, past rows of apple trees in full bloom. To my right, there’s a gas station. To the left sits a white farmhouse, a red barn, and two metal sheds.
A familiar form leans against one of the buildings and my heart leaps. I want to blow the horn and tell him to get the hell out of Dodge. Instead, I bite down on my lower lip and watch him climb in a small truck.