Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [90]
I shut off the truck. Nyla probably wouldn’t 320
hear the engine idling, but I wasn’t willing to take the chance. I studied the junky cars scattered on the street. A beige Ford Escort. A jacked-up Chevy Blazer. A rusted-out Honda Civic. A brand-spanking new Dodge Ram pickup. A beat-up Ford conversion van. A Buick.
By the time I’d pegged the crappy Honda as hers, Nyla burst out the back door, head down, and went right for . . . the conversion van. She backed out and headed south.
I started my truck, kept the lights off, and watched her taillights, staying as far back as I dared. A light snow fell, which was good for masking my vehicle but bad for visibility with no headlights.
Nyla drove aimlessly for fifteen minutes. I’d begun to think she’d made me when she changed directions again and parked in the far corner of the Kmart parking lot. I killed the engine and wished the sodium lights weren’t a neon arrow pointing to my location. After five minutes, she climbed out the driver’s side door with a messenger bag slung across her shoulder. She took a quick look around, but never once my direction. Satisfied, she briskly walked to a seedy motel, disappearing at the edge of the building. No choice but to follow her on foot. I jammed my gun in the outside pocket of my jacket and slipped out of the truck. Luckily, the snow wasn’t blowing her tracks away, but I had to run to keep up.
I snuck along the back of the brick building. When 321
I reached the corner, I poked my head around. Nyla was at the front desk of the motel office. The night clerk handed her cash, a receipt, and an old-fashioned key fob. She didn’t bother with another paranoid perusal when she exited the office. She headed straight for room 112, unlocked the door, and scooted inside. I didn’t budge from my spot in the shadows for at least ten minutes. Too damn cold to stay outside. I raced back to my truck and parallel parked on the street behind the motel, which offered me a clear view of Nyla’s room.
Surveillance is boring as shit and the only time I allow my mind to blank completely. I think about nothing except what is in front of me. Or, in this case, how I’d restrain Nyla once Big Mike gave the all clear to bring her in. I’d brought a couple of TuffTie restraints, in addition to my Sig. Times like these I really missed my stun gun. I made a mental note to have Jimmer order a new one. A whack to the head with a shovel didn’t seem as glamorous as the hightech device for knocking someone unconscious. Hours passed. The sun rose and traffic around me picked up. I stretched and called Big Mike.
“It’s almost eight. No one has come or gone. You ready for me to grab her? The maids started cleaning rooms on the upper level. Be a good excuse to get her to open the door.”
“Gut feeling. Think Jackal’s in there with her?”
“No. This place seems a random choice. If she’d 322
already been registered, she would’ve gone directly to her room rather than going to the motel office first.”
“You armed?”
“Do ya think?”
“Be careful. Call me the second you have her.”
I clicked the phone off and moved my truck to the open parking spot in front of her room. With the ties on my wrist, the bolt cutters in my right hand, and firepower in my pocket, I felt as bad-ass as “Dog” the Bounty Hunter. But with better hair.
Quick survey of the surrounding area revealed no one paying attention to me. I held my thumb over the peephole and knocked.
No answer.
I banged harder. Longer. “Housekeeping.”
Finally, I heard, “Go ’way.”
Heh heh. Another minute passed. I began the knocking process all over. “Housekeeping.”
The second I heard the locks disengage I was ready. My adrenaline kicked in. The door opened as far as the safety chain allowed.
“Do you fuckin’ mind? Some people are—”
I slid the bolt cutters around the chain, applied pressure, and snapped it in half. I had my gun in hand before the cutters hit the ground. I shoved the door open. Nyla wasn