Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [25]
Sweat plastered my blouse to my back and rolled down my face. My eyes burned from the salty drips. I hunched my shoulder and swiped my forehead, checking the mirror. Although the last turn had gained me some distance, the truck was still behind me.
There. The large complex loomed ahead on the right. I waited until the last minute and yanked on the wheel. The Beemer shuddered but I sped along the drive to the back of the building. Spotting a ramp by a bank of doors, I pulled up, slammed the car into Park, opened the door and bailed out.
I stumbled but a strong hand grabbed my elbow and steadied me. I barely had time to register that my savior was Sam before he propelled me to the side of the ramp. I looked over my shoulder just in time to watch the truck plow into the side of the BMW. Metal collapsed with a sickening sound. Glass crackled, exploded. Rubber burned as my car flipped.
Gears ground as the other driver tried to put the truck in reverse, but khaki-clad deputies holding guns and rifles emerged through the doors and surrounded the truck. My assailant put his hands up. Moments later he had been pulled out of the truck and was lying spread-eagled on the ground.
“Are you all right?” Sam sounded agitated as he ran his hands over my shoulders.
“I’m fine.” My smile was tremulous. “I guess he was so determined to take me out that he didn’t notice I was leading him straight to the detention center.” Gun Club Detention Center was the large jail complex for Palm Beach County.
Suddenly, Sam’s miraculous presence hit me. I frowned. “How did you get here so fast? I was booking it and only a few blocks away when I called you.”
“I was meeting with a suspect and his attorney.” He lifted a hand and stroked a damp tendril of hair from my temple. “Let me tell you, Red. I ran to get out here and almost wasn’t in time. You must have broken every speed limit.”
“Not to mention a few red lights.” I shuddered, recalling how close I’d cut it. “If it weren’t for my car…” I swallowed as I took in the wreckage.
The BMW was a twisted chunk of metal. A sharp pang cut through me. My father had given it to me when I’d landed my job as a prosecutor. Initially, I’d been angry at the gesture and had almost handed the keys back to him. After all, my parents had divorced when I was five and Nick Sterling had—for all intents and purposes—also divorced himself as my father.
Little heard from, rarely seen. Birthdays and Christmases often passed without a call, let alone a gift. Mom had gone to court several times over alimony and child support payments. Then after two years of strife, Dad had married his secretary, Debra, and all had changed.
I had to give my stepmother an A+ in the conscientious department. Checks signed by her arrived on time. Dad called me every holiday and together they dropped off brightly wrapped gifts. Within short order, they had their own children, a boy and a girl. I’d even been invited to their house for family gatherings.
I’d kept such family occasions to a minimum, but Debra had dragged the whole brood to my law school graduation. She had been the one who made me see that Dad’s gift was his way of saying he was proud of me.
Now the Beemer was a total loss. I sighed and glanced up at Sam. Worry scoured lines in his face. I reached up and covered his hand.
“I’m fine, really. The car was a gift from my dad, that’s all. Now it’s toast.” I hitched my shoulders. Taking the hint, he released me.
I picked my way through the debris. Going around to the passenger side, I grabbed my bag and shook off the glass in a glittering spray. I emptied the glove compartment of the registration and a few CDs. Then I searched for anything else I should remove. Spotting the cell phone on the driver’s side floor, I picked it up and stuck it in my purse.
The car