Lifeguard - James Patterson [27]
“Okay,” he said.
“And if I were you, I’d keep that gun pointed at me every once in a while,” Ellie said. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. “They do teach us ways to disarm someone, you know.”
“Right.” Ned Kelly grinned nervously. He gunned the 4Runner up the ramp. “First thing we’d better do is ditch my mom’s car.”
Chapter 31
WE SWITCHED THE 4RUNNER for a Voyager minivan left running in a supermarket parking lot.
An old maneuver. Growing up, I’d watched Bobby pull it off a dozen times. The owner was just wheeling her shopping cart back to the market. With everything that was going on, I figured I had at least an hour before anyone would respond to the call.
“I can’t believe I just did that.” Ellie Shurtleff blinked, amazed, as a minute later we were cruising back on Route 24. The look on her face read, It’s one thing to stay with this guy, another thing entirely to be part of stealing someone’s car.
An evergreen car freshener was dangling from the rearview mirror. A yellow notepad fastened to the dash. On it was scribbled, Groceries. Manicure. Pick up the kids at 3:00. A bag of groceries bounced up in the back. Pizza puffs. And Count Chocula.
We looked at each other and almost laughed as the thought hit us at the same time: a wanted killer driving a minivan.
“Some getaway car,” she said, shaking her head. “A real Steve McQueen!”
I had no idea where to go next. But I figured the safest place was my little motel room back in Stoughton. Fortunately, it was a motor lodge, so I could get around to the room without going through the lobby.
I locked the door to the room behind us and shrugged. “Look, I have to pat you down.”
She rolled her eyes at me, like, What, are you kidding? Now?
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I never take advantage of an FBI agent on the first date.”
“You think if I was trying to apprehend you, I wouldn’t have done it by now?” Ellie Shurtleff said.
“Sorry,” I said, a little embarrassed. “Just a formality, I guess.”
I was lucky that if I had to abduct an FBI agent, I had stumbled onto Ellie Shurtleff and not some Lara Croft type who would’ve had my arm twisted out of its socket by now. Truth was, I would never have pinned her for a fed. An elementary-school teacher, maybe. Or some MBA. With wavy, short brown hair and a couple of freckles on her cheek, a button nose. And nice blue eyes, too, behind the glasses.
“Arms up”—I waved the gun—“or out to the side, whatever it is.”
“It’s up against the wall,” she said turning, “but what the hell. . . .”
She extended her arms. I knelt, patting her pants pockets and thighs. She was wearing a tan pantsuit with a white cotton T-shirt underneath, which she filled out pretty nicely. Some kind of green, semiprecious stone hanging from her neck.
“You know, it wouldn’t exactly take much to drive an elbow into your face right now.” I could see she was losing patience. “They do teach us stuff like that, you know.”
“I’m not exactly a pro at this.” I edged away from her. I didn’t like that “elbow to the face” comment.
“You might as well check the ankles while you’re down there. Most of us keep something strapped there when we’re in the field.”
“Thanks.” I nodded.
“Just a formality,” Ellie Shurtleff said.
I didn’t find anything, except some keys and breath mints in her purse. I sat down on the bed. All of a sudden I realized what I’d just done. This wasn’t a movie. I wasn’t Hugh Jackman and this wasn’t Jennifer Aniston, and this scene wasn’t exactly moving toward a happy ending.
I placed my forehead in my hands.
Ellie sat on a chair, facing me.
“What do we do now?” I asked. I flicked on the tinny TV, just to hear the news. I tried to moisten my mouth, but it stayed as dry as the Sahara Desert.
“Now,” Ellie Shurtleff