Lucky knelt down by the snarling man. “I don’t like the idea of roasting like a pig on a spit. I’m guessing you don’t either. Unless you want me to toss your sorry ass back into the car, stop being an asshole.”
The man struggled. Bo shoved the arm higher, earning a pained grunt.
Lucky trained his gun on the guy. Given half a reason he’d pull the trigger, if not for the punch, then to dare waste a fine car like a Mustang.
Bo yanked the guy up and took off toward the truck, half dragging the idiot hell bent and determined to get them all fried.
Lucky took a quick look inside the car. No more people, or anything appearing to have much value. Smoke clung to his clothes, clogged his nose. Flames showed to his left and right, the broom sage ripe for the flames. He stumbled and nearly fell.
Bo trotted in front of him, but their captive fought, slowing their progress. Lucky spun him around to face the blaze.Boom!The car’s hood shot into the air. They all jumped. “You want to stay here or go with us?” Lucky barked.
The man whirled and, much more cooperative, kept pace with Bo. God, please let them get back to the truck and out of this field before the fire overtook them.
This far out had no city fire department, but a bunch of good ole boys from a volunteer outfit should be showing up any minute.
Bo hoisted the man into the back seat and jumped in behind him.
Lucky crawled behind the steering wheel and buckled in. “Better hold on. This old girl got some kick.” Firing up the engine and flooring the accelerator, he got the hell out of there back the way he’d come.
Black smoke cut his vision, but at least his captive had stopped fighting.
He turned long enough to rake a gaze over Bo. “You okay?”
Bo coughed, but nodded. “Yeah. You?”
“I’ll do.” Lucky jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Him?”
“He’ll live. Maybe.”
Lucky glared into the rearview mirror at his passenger. “I’m sure you know the drill with the you got rights thing, right?” He should, he’d been in the same classes Lucky had.
The man grunted, but didn’t speak.
“I picked up your mother off the street corner last night. Two hours later, she insisted on payingme.” Nothing, proving asswipe wasn’t a Southerner. They’d go down swinging if you talked about Mama.
Bo scowled but kept quiet. Good cop, bad cop, then.
Lucky hated silence, especially when he’d asked questions. He’d make the bastard sorry for not talking. He turned on the radio wide open.
Sirens sounded as he shot out of the dirt road and onto asphalt. Let the locals do their thing.
He drove a safe distance and pulled off the road at one of the many abandoned stores dotting the rural south. Rusted out gas pumps, a sign hanging by a length of chain on one side, roof caved in, and a tree taking root where customers used to park cars.
He sucked in a breath, killed the engine, and turned to face the sorry sonofabitch he’d saved.
Blond hair, blue eyes flashing something close to fear.
“Hello, Phillip. Your mama know you go ’round trying to kill folks?” Lucky gave the man a vicious smile. If Bo wasn’t there, he’d be tempted to use the parking lot for a boxing ring.
Phillip’s eyes didn’t contain the hate Lucky expected. Defeated. He hung his head.
“Are you going to explain why you’ve been following me?” Lucky asked.
“No,” Philip replied softly.
Maybe adding more growl to his voice might get Lucky some answers. “Did O’Donoghue put you up to this?” Victor said no, but it would take more than a former trafficker’s word on the subject to convince Lucky. He knew firsthand how well Victor could and would lie if given reason.
Even to the end the lapdog protected his boss and didn’t answer. Instead Phillip averted his gaze and stared out the window. So quietly Lucky strained to hear, he mumbled, “Are you going to tell Loretta?”
