Page 39 of Shane
Shane ran alongside Everlee but kept Ms. Smart sandwiched between them. Into the night. Away from the police. Away from whoever was gunning for her. Two blocks down, Everlee stopped beside a full-size, rusted pick-up truck that had seen better days. Without a word, she reached into one of the bags from the convenience store and pulled out three pairs of knitted gloves. “One for you, Ms. Smart. One for you, Shane. Put them on. We leave no fingerprints. Ever. Understood?” She looked directly at Smart when she said that.
Tuesday’s head bobbed. Everyone put their gloves on. Everlee climbed up into the driver’s seat, which was a sight all by itself. She was much shorter than Ms. Smart, and there were no running boards. But Everlee was limber, and Shane had a feeling she’d never ask for a boost up. She was one of those independent women. Good to know. He made a mental note to never hold the door for her again.
With a hand gripping the armrest built into the door, her other hand clutching the lower part of the doorframe, she hoisted herself off the ground like a gymnast and plopped her backside in the driver’s seat.
“I could’ve helped you, you know,” Shane told her.
“I don’t need any help,” she shot back at him.
Again, good to know. He’d pegged her right.
Everlee flipped the visor down and keys fell into her lap. She turned to Shane with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Why are you guys still standing out there? The keys were where I thought they’d be. Get in. We’ve got to keep moving.”
Once again, Shane did as he was told. He held Ms. Smart’s elbow while they walked to the passenger side, but ended up having to lift her onto the seat. As before, he had her in his arms, up close and personal. It was hard not to notice how delicately she was built and how small-boned she was. How tiny her waist was. That she weighed next to nothing. That her hair smelled like powdery roses, and somewhere along the way, she’d stubbed the big toe on her right foot, and it was bleeding. But she hadn’t pitched a fit, hadn’t even complained or drawn attention to herself.
Very interesting.
There was no console in the old truck, just a long bench seat. Smart scooted all the way over, closer to Everlee, lifted her left leg over the stick shift, then turned to Shane and patted the empty space beside her.
As much as he wanted to keep her in the guilty-until-proven-innocent column, Shane was beginning to like Tuesday Smart—a lot. Maybe there was something else going on. Maybe she hadn’t killed anyone.
Yeah, right. Not only no, but hell to the no. Security tapes didn’t lie, gawddamnit. Neither did his eyes. He knew what he’d seen on that video clip. Shehadkilled her kids and her last husband. Her legal namewasTuesday Bremmer, per the marriage certificate to Atchison Bremmer on file in the New York borough of Manhattan registrar’s office. If she’d switched back to her maiden name, she hadn’t done it legally. But shewasan arsonist and a killer.
“Hang on to your asses,” Everlee ordered.
And he knew without a doubt that former LT Yeagerwasbossy.
Shane climbed up beside Ms. Smart and away they went.
Chapter Thirteen
Everlee didn’t have to go far, just far enough to ditch the piece-of-shit truck she’d borrowed and locate a more respectable getaway car. It was a good thing she’d found the truck’s keys on the driver’s side visor just when she’d needed them. Shane might’ve been surprised at her good luck, but she knew men, and most guys who owned POS trucks and cars, if they were anything like her ex, were over-confident and lazy. Guys who owned cars worth stealing might be just as overconfident, but they didn’t leave keys in their vehicles. But drunks and do-nothings? Their loss.
She found the ride she was looking for in the small, rectangular parking lot beside Uncle Luigi’s Italian Dining on the corner of Seventeenth and Oxford. A silver Lexus. Recent model. Perfect. Handing over the bag from the convenience store, she told Shane, “Hold this. I’ll be right back.”
“Copy that,” he replied obediently.
She wanted to tell him to keep his hands to himself, too. That he was getting too chummy with an alleged murderer, but that conversation had to wait. Him holding Smart like he had during that shootout rankled Everlee in a way she hadn’t expected. She didn’t know Shane. Wasn’t sure she even liked him anymore. But in no way was she jealous of a woman who’d torch her children. If he was crushing on Smart, Shane was as worthless as Butch.
While Shane stayed in the truck with their apprehended killer, Everlee hurried into the eating establishment and headed straight for the bathrooms to tidy up. A woman had to look put together to be believable, and Everlee intended to present a polished image instead of the red-faced, sweaty one looking back in the mirror at her now. It wouldn’t hurt to look decent the next time she saw Shane, either. Not that he cared. And she couldn’t care less if he did. After a short-lived marriage that had totally sucked, she’d had enough of men to last the rest of her life.
Soaking a handful of paper towels under the cool running water, she wrung them out gently and wiped the chaos of the night off her face and neck. Another few towels dried the excess moisture from her skin. She slicked her hair behind her ears and pinched her cheeks to add a little color. Licking her lips, she tossed the towels in the trash receptacle and headed for Luigi’s fine-dining room.
Outside the restroom, with a yummy mixture of scents to her left and a feast of quintessential Italian dining on her right, Everlee paused. Actually sitting down and dining at Luigi’s would be the perfect way to end this hectic day. Inhaling the savory aromas of tomato sauce, oregano, parmesan cheese, olive oil, and all the wonderful seasonings that made Italian dining a feast for the senses, was almost sinful. Almost enough to make her stay.
But not tonight. Before long, Everlee was holding a large paper bag filled with three take-out orders of piping hot, salted, buttered bread sticks, three slabs of luscious, parmesan covered lasagna, and bottled waters.
She was inventive, if not always efficient or coordinated, and a little proud of herself for procuring dinner. Too bad they’d end up eating it cold.
Everlee marched back to where she’d left Shane and their prisoner. His eyes opened wide when he saw the oversized takeout bag, and man, the guy knew how to smile. He still looked like he’d just survived the zombie apocalypse. His jeans were sooty and singed, his clean shirt just as bad. But that ruggedly handsome, if somewhat ash-lined face, lit up when he spotted what she held in her hand.
Everlee liked that a lot. She lifted the bag to tease him. “I’ve got dinner.”
“I see that.” By then, Shane had climbed out of the truck and had one hand on Ms. Smart’s elbow. She winced as she set a dainty foot to the sidewalk, grabbed Shane’s biceps for balance, then bent over and brushed something off the bottom of her bare foot. Poor thing had no shoes. Everlee nearly snorted.Like I care? Poor thing, my ass.
Shane held still and let Smart use him to catch her balance. Annoyed at the nice-guy feelings this female killer seemed to invoke in her fellow agent, Everlee jerked her head toward the lot beside Luigi’s. “Over there, guys. See that Lexus? That’s our new ride. Hurry it up. This food’s hot now, butwe’ve got promises to keep and—”
“‘And miles to go before I sleep,’” Shane finished brightly for her. There was that same light in his eyes again. “‘Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening,’by Robert Frost.My favorite.”