Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [102]
“I’ve got him in my sights,” Sandy whispered into the phone. “They were sitting in his Mustang in the parking lot, then the passenger door opened. But I haven’t seen anyone come out yet. I’ll get back to you as soon as something happens.”
For what seemed like hours, but surely was just a few long, drawn-out minutes, Sandy watched the Mustang, waiting for something more to happen, waiting for Lawrence to jump out of the driver’s seat, wailing like a hungry baby. But nothing.
“Pete,” she whispered, “how long have we been here?” As usual, she hadn’t remembered to wear her watch. She didn’t want to risk opening the phone again to check the time. That little green screen put out more light than one thought.
“Fifteen minutes,” came his reply.
Sandy nodded. “I want you to stay here. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, hit the number one on my phone and tell Jelly I need backup.”
Without waiting for his reply, Sandy kicked off her three-inch heels and sprinted across the street to the bank parking lot. Approaching from the side, only a row of shrubbery at least eight feet high was between her and the Mustang. She kicked herself for wearing her white jeans, knowing she’d be a moving target for whoever had forced Lawrence into the car.
While she couldn’t stand the sight of him, he was an agent, and she’d taken an oath to protect her fellow agents no matter what the case. Leave it to Lawrence Tyler to screw up a date with the first decent guy she’d met in like forever. If she got his ass out of this alive, no when she got his ass out of this, whatever the hell this was, she would personally kick his ass all the way to the governor’s mansion. If he thinks Kate’s an ass kicker, wait till I let loose with my Cuban temper. The image caused her to smile.
Sandy took a few steps closer to the tall shrubbery, hoping to get a better view of what, if anything, was taking place inside the Mustang. It was dark, and the streetlights were too far away for her to make out anything other than shadows. She’d have to get closer. With that thought in mind, Sandy squeezed through the bushes. She was cussing beneath her breath like an out-of-work sailor. She felt something crawl along the back of her neck and wanted to scream. Taking a deep breath and trying not to think about tarantulas, and God forbid those icky brown recluse spiders that were so deadly, she shivered in the warm night air. She was getting pissed just thinking about the thought of a spider when she heard a muffled cry coming from inside the car. Spiders aside, Sandy cleared the small hedge in front of the shrubs in one giant leap. She stepped on several tiny pebbles but remained quiet until she knew what the situation was.
Holding her breath, gun aimed directly in front of her, Sandy crab walked around the back of the Mustang. She inched her way over to the driver’s side, where the door still remained closed. Stopping again, she again heard muffled cries from inside the car. She slithered on her belly like a snake underneath the Mustang. Tyler had better be dead; if he wasn’t, she planned to kill him on first sight. Not only were her jeans ruined, but she could feel the asphalt as it dug into her belly.
With her entire body under the car, Sandy positioned her head so that she could view the inside of the vehicle. What she saw almost made her pee her pants. She pulled herself out from under the car and slid into the passenger’s seat.
“What the hell have you got yourself into this time?” Sandy asked, as Tyler tried to talk with layer upon layer of duct tape across his mouth. She stuffed her gun back inside her shoulder holster. “I should leave you here just like this. Maybe I’ll even take a picture.” Sandy laughed loudly. “Would make a hell of a screen saver for my computer, but, Mr. Tyler, today is your lucky day because I don’t have my phone on me. Rather I do, it’s just not in a convenient location. So—”
“. . . et eh,” Tyler mumbled.
“Oh, all right.