Brad glanced back at me. “I talked the officers at the scene into questioning you later. I hope you’re up for it when we’re in town this afternoon.”
I sighed and nodded. A few more hours of sleep would help take the edge off my latest trauma before I had to cough up the play-by-play.
I leaned forward between the front seats. “Are Puppa and Candice going to be okay?”
Sam and Brad looked at each other, but neither answered.
“Hey. What’s going on?”
Brad kept his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel. White knuckles shone in the glow from the dash. He cleared his throat. “We searched the vicinity of the Watering Hole for your grandfather and Candice. We couldn’t find them.”
“What?” I gripped the seat backs. “Where could they be?”
How had I slept through all the drama? I looked at the clock on the console. 3:36 a.m.
Brad’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Hopefully it means your grandfather got away.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “What’s happening, Brad?”
He sighed. “Near as I can tell, your grandfather has been working to pinpoint a major drug connection in this area. He’s set a few snares, but none have been successful. Until now. I don’t know how to tell you this, but everything points to your friend Candice being a main drug pin around here.”
I stared at the blur of yellow lines flashing past on the highway. Assorted conversations ran through my mind. Candice’s condemnation of the entire peninsula, her avoidance of my grandfather, the confession that she’d killed Paul and Sid and Drake—all seemed to uphold Brad’s accusation. But what about her reminiscences of our time with my mother, her love of horses, her gracious hospitality, her parting kiss? How did that fit in with a lifetime of drug distribution? She had admitted that she’d taken over for Paul while he was in jail, but she’d also implied that she’d gone straight somewhere along the way, hadn’t she? And yet, how did one get a box full of photos of drug manufacturing locations and dealer faces if one wasn’t on the inside of the trade?
It was depressing to think the accusation was true.
“Brad.” Samantha said his name low and urgent. “What is this guy doing?” Her eyes were glued to the side mirror.
Brad looked in his rearview. “Hang on.”
I turned around. Headlights glared through the back window, close to our rear bumper. I held up a hand to shield my eyes. Brad sped up. The vehicle stuck with us.
“Here we go again.” I sat back and tightened my safety belt.
Brad switched lanes, so did the other car. Brad slowed, the other car slowed. Brad floored it, the other driver mimicked him.
“Oh, I don’t believe it,” Samantha said, bracing herself against the dash.
“What?” Brad asked.
“It’s Gill. I’m pretty sure it’s Gill.”
Sam’s ex-husband drove a white, rusted-out Suburban, the one I’d seen leaving my driveway awhile back. As we passed the yard light of a rural home, the vehicle behind us shone pearly white.
“What are we going to do?” My heart raced with this latest threat.
“Like I said, hang on.” Brad stepped on the gas, kicking his new-model SUV into overdrive. He floored it down the highway. The white Suburban fell behind, but stayed in sight. We flew past Hilltop Grocery and a few minutes later, Ed’s Bar.
“Brad, I can’t take this.” I hadn’t yet recovered from the high-speed chase earlier that evening. “Please slow down.” I held my stomach, sure that the next jolt of the car would force me to stick my head out the window.
“It’s okay, Brad,” Samantha kicked in. “He’s not really going to hurt us. He just likes to put on a show.”
Brad lifted his foot a notch. The SUV slowed to just under break-neck speed. “I’d rather not take any chances where Gill’s involved.”
“Come on. You know he’s all hot air.” Samantha put her hand on the crook of Brad’s elbow.
“Would I have sent you up here if I thought Gill was just hot air?” the older of the two siblings asked.
Sam conceded by crossing her arms and giving a big sigh.
“Fine.” Brad stepped on the brakes. “You know what? Let’s just see what he’s full of. Let’s settle this once and for all.” The car slowed to fifty-five.
Behind us, Gill raced ahead, closing the gap within seconds. The Suburban pulled into the opposite lane until the passenger door was even with Brad’s. Gill rolled down his window and gestured for Brad to do the same.
Brad complied. Samantha leaned forward for a full view of her ex-husband. The two men maneuvered the vehicles to keep them from colliding.
“Samantha, baby,” Gill shouted from his vehicle. “I’m sorry. Come home.”
“It’s over, Gill. It’s been over for years. Quit following me.” Her voice was sucked out the window as she yelled.
“I want you back.” Gill’s vehicle veered toward ours. “I’ll do anything.” He jerked the wheel and took it back to a safe distance. “Let’s work things out.”
“No. It’s over. Leave me alone.”
“Had enough, sis?” Brad asked Samantha.
She nodded.
Brad braked, letting Gill get ahead of us and back in the correct lane. Gill slowed and pulled his car to the shoulder. Brad parked behind him, leaving the engine running and the headlights on high beam.
“Don’t get out. Lock the doors behind me.” Brad stepped from the vehicle.
“Are you crazy?” Samantha asked. “What if he’s got a gun?”
Brad patted under his arm. “So do I. Besides. He’s all hot air, right?”
I jumped on Sam’s bandwagon. “Let’s just call the police and let them take care of it. Don’t do anything foolish,” I pleaded.
“I am the police.” He slammed the car door and walked toward Gill’s vehicle.
My macho cop boyfriend was about to get his Achilles’ heel crushed. “Sam, do something. He’s going to get hurt.”
“Sit tight. He must know what he’s doing.” Sam didn’t sound so sure herself.
“I’m calling the police.” I flipped open my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. NO SIGNAL, came the response. Why did Brad have to confront Gill smack in the middle of nowhere?
I watched with my heart in my throat as Brad approached Gill’s rolled-down window. They talked for a minute, then Brad gestured with his finger for Gill to get out of the car.
Trepidation washed over me as Gill stepped out, chest puffed like a fighting cock, and rolled up his flannel sleeves. Brad pointed to the grassy shoulder. The two men walked to the shallow ditch, their huge shadows blacking out the space behind them. They took up aggressive poses, paused five seconds, then lit into each other.
40
Inside the car, Sam and I had our noses glued to the glass.
Brad made fists and did some fancy footwork. Gill danced around him making half swings. Then he lunged. Brad dodged the attack. Gill landed on his face in the grass. He stood and brushed off. They went at it again.
“This is nuts.” I couldn’t take the thought of Brad bleeding. The whole idea twisted my guts. So what was I doing dating a cop? I wanted to jump out of the car and separate the two ruffians.
I looked at Sam. In the backwash of headlights, a tear glinted on its way down her cheek.
“Oh, Sam.” I reached over the seat and touched her shoulder. “You must feel terrible about this.”
She shook her head. “No. I feel lucky.”
“Why lucky?” I couldn’t grasp her logic.
“Lucky to have a brother like Brad. Look at him out there, defending my freedom.”
Brad was a protector. A defender. I bit my lip. It was enough to bring tears to my own eyes. I was the lucky
