Page 24 of Tide and Seek (Dr. Maxwell Thornton Murder Mysteries #8)

Max lifted his brows. “I’d have said he was, but what do I know? I’d have sworn on a stack of bibles that Margie wouldn’t sell drugs.”

I patted Max’s back. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Max. People aren’t always good or bad. They can be a mixture. I’m sure overall Margie probably was a good person.”

“Yes.” He sniffed. “A good person who just also happened to be a drug dealer.”

“Like I said, she was small fry.” Jones unwrapped a piece of gum and popped it in his mouth.

“Do you have the names of her customers?” I asked.

Jones shook his head. “Not all of them. A few of the people at her apartment complex were willing to talk, but it’s not like they knew all her business. They knew enough to paint a picture of someone just trying to make a little extra money. She wasn’t buying a yacht anytime soon.”

I sighed. “Well, one thing’s for sure, that wasn’t Luke breaking into your house.”

“No,” Max agreed.

“You boys want to see the tapes again?” Jones offered.

Max shook his head, glancing at me questioningly. “I don’t unless you do.”

“No, I think we found out what we wanted to know.” I stood and Max followed. I held out my hand to Jones and we shook. “Appreciate you taking the time to show us the video.”

“My pleasure.” Jones grinned. “It’s not often I talk to real live humans during my shift.”

I chuckled, and Max and I made our way out of the station. The sun was warm on my face as we walked to the Hummer. Max seemed deep in thought as he climbed up into the big vehicle.

I started the engine and pulled out onto the main road. “Well, we may not know who the intruder was, but I’m confident the police are doing their best to catch him.” I glanced over as I finished speaking.

Max nodded, appearing distracted. “I know the police are working hard, but it seems as if they’re stretched too thin.” He met my gaze. “I’m concerned they may never figure out who killed Mrs. Brownstone, which in turn means no way will they catch my burglar. They just don’t have the man-hours.”

“I think they’ll do both, although it may take them longer than we’d like. Odds are we’ll be back in Rainy Dale by the time they solve either of those crimes,” I said, braking as we approached a sharp curve in the road.

“I guess so long as they solve them, that’s what matters,” he murmured, staring out the window.

Leaving the sprawl around Lost Hills behind, with its schools, shopping centers, and steady stream of four-lane traffic, Kanan Dume Road narrowed as it slipped into the mountains.

The asphalt twisted through the canyon, snaking between dry brush-covered slopes that dropped into shadowed ravines.

Sage and sun-baked air drifted through the vents, and the steeper curves reminded me this wasn’t a road that forgave mistakes.

To our right, the guardrail was the only barrier between us and a steep drop where loose rock and brush slid toward the ravine floor.

The pavement bore scars from past rockslides, patched in places after heavy winter rains.

Yellow signs flashed by, cautioning of sharp curves, falling rocks, and steep grades.

“So where do you want to grab lunch?” I asked Maxwell, trying to shift our focus to something other than crime. He seemed down and I hoped a nice meal might lift his spirits. “Let’s pick a place right on the ocean. I’ll bet you know a few good restaurants on PCH.”

Max brightened as he adjusted his seat belt.

“Absolutely. One of my favorite places in Malibu is called Geoffrey’s.

It has magnificent views of the Pacific coastline, and the menu is amazing.

” His voice was tinged with excitement. “I used to love their Chilean sea bass and herb-crusted salmon. Honestly, I never had anything there that wasn’t fantastic. ”

I couldn’t help grinning at his unbridled enthusiasm. “That place sounds perfect.”

“If a restaurant can be perfect—” Before he could finish his sentence, a black Mercedes SUV came speeding up behind our vehicle and slammed into our rear bumper.

I grunted as the side of my head bumped against the window, and I struggled to keep control of the vehicle.

“What the hell—” Max growled, bracing himself on the dashboard.

The impact of the Mercedes sent a metallic screech through the cab and threw us toward the guardrail. One second I’d been nonchalantly navigating a curve, the next I was fighting to keep control of the Hummer so we didn’t punch through the guardrail.

I yanked the wheel hard left, the Hummer’s heavy frame groaning in protest. “Shit,” I ground out, gut churning.

The weight of our vehicle was a double-edged sword.

On one hand, the lighter SUV couldn’t easily shove us off the mountain road, but the Hummer’s bulk also made controlling it a challenge.

Bewildered by why the Mercedes had hit us, I briefly wondered if their brakes had failed.

That thought vanished a minute later when the SUV pulled alongside and deliberately swerved into our lane.

Training kicked in, and I focused on keeping the vehicle steady without overcorrecting.

The canyon road offered precious little room to maneuver, just two narrow lanes carved into the mountainside with a steep drop-off to our right.

“Hold on,” I said through clenched teeth, seconds before the Mercedes hit us again, this time a deliberate sideswipe that sent sparks flying from where metal met metal. Whoever they were, it was now clear they were purposely trying to drive us off the road.

When they slammed into us again, the Hummer lurched toward the edge, and for one heart-stopping moment I could see nothing but empty air through Maxwell’s passenger window.

The smell of burning rubber filled the cab as I fought the wheel, feeling the rear tires lose traction on the narrow shoulder.

I tried not to panic as loose gravel pinged against the undercarriage and we skidded closer to the drop-off.

A sedan appeared around the curve ahead of us, horn blaring, and the Mercedes had to fall back to avoid a head-on collision. I used the momentary reprieve to get us back fully onto the asphalt, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.

“Jesus Christ,” Maxwell breathed, his voice shaking. “Are they insane?”

I didn’t have time to respond. All my focus was on the Mercedes.

The black SUV had dropped back, but now it accelerated again.

I could hear the whine of its engine echoing off the canyon walls as it closed the distance.

In my rearview mirror, I watched it pull into the oncoming lane, preparing for another run at us.

“Can you see the driver?” I asked, my eyes darting between the road ahead and the mirror.

“Not really, the windows are tinted too dark,” Maxwell said, his voice tight with fear. “I think it’s a male, but I can’t see their face.”

The Mercedes swerved around us on the left, preparing to ram us again.

Instead of waiting for the impact, I hit the brakes, and the sudden deceleration threw off his timing.

The car shot past our Hummer just as another vehicle appeared around the bend.

Horns blared, tires screeched, and the Mercedes was forced to jerk back into our lane ahead of us or risk a head-on collision that would have taken us all out.

Now the Mercedes was directly in front of us, and I could see the driver’s silhouette through the rear window.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles had gone numb.

Every instinct I had as a law enforcement officer was screaming at me to do something, anything, to stop this son of a bitch who’d just tried to kill us.

“Any chance you can see the license plate number?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“It’s hard to make out from this angle.” Maxwell leaned forward, squinting at the black SUV ahead of us. “It’s... 8CM— I can’t see the rest.”

The Mercedes slowed deliberately, brake lights flashing in a taunting rhythm.

The driver was toying with us now, daring me to make a move.

My foot hovered over the gas pedal, and I fought the urge to ram straight into his rear bumper.

One good hit at this speed and in this big vehicle, and I could send that bastard spinning off the road.

“Royce?” Max sounded uneasy, as if he knew what I was thinking.

Maybe if I’d been alone I’d have given into my worst instincts, but guilt nudged me at the fear in Max’s voice and I moved my foot away from the accelerator. Keeping Max safe had to be my priority right now. “We should call the cops. They might be able to head off this asshole.”

“Good idea.” Max tugged out his phone, hands shaking so much he almost dropped it. He swore under his breath. “I don’t have a signal. Zero bars.”

“Damn.” Not that I was surprised, considering we were deep in the canyon.

I rode the Mercedes’s tail for about half a mile, trying to decide what to do.

When the Mercedes suddenly swerved left, then right, weaving erratically across both lanes like a drunk driver, I slowed.

The lunatic was going to kill himself and someone else if he didn’t wise up.

Cars coming toward us had to brake and veer onto the almost nonexistent shoulder to avoid a collision.

The driver showed no concern for the innocent lives he was endangering.

“He’s going to kill somebody,” Maxwell said, echoing my thoughts.

“Yeah, he is.” I watched in horror as an oncoming sedan nearly clipped the Mercedes’s front end, the driver laying on the horn as he swerved wildly to avoid impact. The Mercedes corrected at the last second, tires screaming against the asphalt.

“What a goddamn asshole,” Max hissed, his fingers digging into the leather armrest. “Is he actually trying to kill himself?”