Creeper was still in the driver’s seat, his gaze focused on the truck the girl had climbed into. If I tried to get her out, Creeper would see. But there was no way in hell I was going to stand here and let that girl have sex with yet another pedophile.
“Dammit, James,” I muttered. What was taking him so long?
Then I saw him lurking by a dumpster about ten feet from the car.
Maybe James needed a distraction. Letting Creeper see me might not be such a bad thing after all.
I stomped around the front of the truck, making sure Creeper saw me as I walked up to the driver’s door of the truck and jumped up on the running board, noticing the elaborate artwork of a dragon on the side panel.
I didn’t see anyone in the front seats, so I started pounding on the window with both fists. When there was no response, I slammed my fists against the glass again and shouted, “I saw that girl go into your truck! If she’s not out in five seconds, I’m calling the police!” I beat on the window again.
Creeper had noticed the commotion. He got out of his car and stalked to the front of his car, looking like he was about to head this way and confront me.
James snuck up behind him until he was about a foot away. Creeper stiffened, and seconds later, James steered him toward the trunk, following closely behind him.
Time to get the girl out of here.
I pulled my gun and held it up to the window, hoping the trucker could see it. “Asshole, I’ve got a gun and you don’t send that girl out here, I’ll use it!”
“You can’t shoot me back here,” he shouted from the sleeper section, his voice muffled by the glass.
“Maybe not,” I shouted. “But I can shoot your fancy paint job! Or I can run this barrel down the side and add a little artwork of my own.”
“I’ll call the police, lady!” he called out.
“And I’ll tell them you’re trying to have sex with a thirteen-year-old girl,” I shot back. “Maybe I should call them myself and give them your license plate number. That way they won’t have any trouble finding you.”
He scrambled to the front, bare-chested, but thank God, still wearing pants. I wasn’t sure what I would’ve done to him if he’d already molested her.
“I didn’t know she was thirteen, honest to God!” he shouted, his eyes wide with panic. “She told me she was seventeen!”
“That’s still underage, you fucking pervert. Where is she?”
He shot a disgusted look over his shoulder. “She’s freakin’ out in the back.”
“Open your door,” I said, my voice full of menace.
“No way!” he barked. “You’ve got a gun!”
“I just want the girl. Send her out, and I’ll leave you alone.” I hated that I was letting him off, but what could I do? Actually call the police? They wouldn’t do anything without proof, and besides, after Natalie’s news about all the dirty cops on the force, I couldn’t trust them.
The truck driver turned and snarled at the back, “Get the fuck out of my truck! I’m not gettin’ shot over you!”
I leveled the gun, pointing it at his face through the glass. “If you talk to her like that again, my no-shooting-you rule will fly right through this fucking window.”
He held up his hands, fear washing over his features.
She suddenly appeared behind him, mascara tear streaks tracking down her cheeks. Thank God, she was still clothed too.
I swung my glare back to him. “Did you hurt her?”
He shook his head hard. “I didn’t touch her, lady! We just got started, then you were bangin’ on the window!”
Her eyes widened when she recognized me. Then they dropped to the gun. She shrank back.
“Roll down the window,” I said to the driver, rapping the butt of my gun on the glass. “I need to talk to her.” When he looked like he was going to say no, I leveled the gun on him.
The window started to lower, but only halfway.
