Brent guided Rowan to the sidewalk, glancing around as they approached the street. Nearby, an engine idled. Not able to pinpoint where the vehicle was located, he tightened his grip around Rowan’s waist and stepped onto the street with her.
Tires squealed.
Brent’s head snapped to the right to see a dark-colored full-sized truck dart from a driveway and barrel toward them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Brent raced across the street with Rowan. A quick glance at the approaching truck and he wrapped both arms around her and dived over the side of the ditch. He twisted so he took the hard landing, keeping Rowan’s head tucked against his body to protect her as much as possible. They stopped rolling at the bottom of the ditch.
Brent glanced at his girlfriend as he palmed his weapon. “You hurt, baby?”
She shook her head, eyes wide.
“Stay here,” he whispered and climbed back up the embankment. He carefully peered over the top. No sign of the truck or its driver. However, some of the neighbors were turning on lights. He needed to get Rowan out of here before someone asked questions he didn’t want to answer. The neighbors might know Rowan by sight. Not hard to do since her picture had been plastered all over the news for the last two days along with the photos of the Maxwells.
Brent scrambled back down the slope and lifted Rowan to her feet. When she swayed, he tucked her against his side. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Shaken up. Who was that? Was it one of the kidnappers or someone else?”
“Not sure. We have to leave. The neighbors will be here any minute to see what’s going on.” Again, he wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her up the slope to the sidewalk. Once there, Brent quickly walked with Rowan to his SUV and lifted her to the passenger seat, all the while staying alert for yet another attack.
He drove away from the Maxwell’s neighborhood at the speed limit, not anxious to attract the attention of the people spilling out onto their porches.
Once he was on the main drag, Brent sped up. In the distance, he noticed flashing blue lights heading their direction.
“Do you think that was the kidnappers?” Rowan asked again, clutching the red dog.
He thought about that a moment, then shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense. They want you to find the record. Why run you down before they know if you have it? You’re the only one who has a chance of finding what they’re after without drawing the attention of the police.”
There were three other possibilities. A reckless driver, a coincidence he didn’t buy. The shooter who killed Nolan White, maybe concerned Brent and Rowan saw too much. The third possibility was Carstairs had somehow tracked him and Rowan to the Maxwell place and tried to exact a little revenge.
No tracking devices on his SUV. Brent had checked before they left. If it was Carstairs, that meant the former employee had done an excellent job trailing him. Possible, he admitted to himself, but not likely unless Carstairs had enlisted help from his buddies.
Once he was sure they weren’t being followed, he called Zane. “Hack into the traffic cams.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Dark colored full-sized truck on Mead Lane. The truck tried to run us down ten minutes ago.”
Zane growled. “Rowan, are you all right?”
“As soon as my heart rate drops into normal range, I’ll be fine thanks to Brent.”
“Close your eyes a moment, sugar.”
She frowned, but complied. “Okay, my eyes are closed.”
“Picture the truck in your mind. What do you see?”
“Headlights bearing down on us. Lots of chrome.” Rowan paused. “Black rims.”
“Good job. Boss?”
“Yeah.”
“I assume you’re driving.”
“Yeah.”
“Got an address as a starting point?”
His lips curved. This was why Zane was one of the most valued members of his company. Brent rattled off the address where the truck appeared to be waiting for him and Rowan.
The sound of keys clicking could be heard over his sound system. “Got it,” Zane said a moment later. “Navy blue or black pickup backed into the driveway not long after you and Rowan crossed the street and headed toward a neighbor’s yard. Waited for you to reappear. I’m checking the license plate now.”
“How can he do that so fast?” Rowan asked.
“Magic fingers and much experience.” Brent wove through traffic as he headed for the Interstate and the safe house. Rowan needed to rest. Tomorrow would be a long day.
“Brent, the truck was reported stolen early this afternoon.”
Of course it was. “And the homeowners?”
“No owner. The home is in foreclosure.”
In other words, a dead end. “Track the truck as far as you can. Let me know if anything pans out.”
“Copy that. Rowan?”
“Yes?”
“Claire and I will see you tomorrow. Later, boss.” Zane ended the call.
“Is he serious?” Rowan asked.
“He never says anything he doesn’t mean.”
“But why? He and Claire didn’t know my sister.”
“They know you. That’s enough for them.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“No need to say anything, honey. They want to be there for you. Let them.”
More than an hour later, he parked at the safe house’s back door. A light glowed over the doorway, a signal that at least one of his operatives was waiting inside.
Before he turned off the engine, the door opened and Remy Doucet stepped out. He walked around to Rowan’s side and opened the door. After a quick perusal to be sure she wasn’t hurt, Remy said, “Lily’s waiting for you inside. We have a light meal and some hot tea ready. Try to eat. You need the nourishment, sugar.”
Rowan glanced at Brent. When he gave a slight nod, she grasped Remy’s outstretched hand, accepting his help to exit the SUV, and made her way into the house without a backward glance.
Brent exited the vehicle and met his operative at the front of the hood. “Talk to me.”
“Zane did some checking on Carstairs
