Identity Unknown (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 1) by Alana Matthews Page A
Authors: Alana Matthews
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that's what happened?"
"The way it just went out on us? Yeah."
"But you rented it, right? Why would they think it's stolen?"
"No reason they should, unless I gave them a call and told them it was." Parker looked grim. "Or someone else did."
"Taggart," I said.
Parker nodded. "He's right—I am predictable. I came in by plane and he knew I'd have to use a rental to get you to Houston, so he called around until he found the right agency. But losing power isn't the worst of it."
"What do you mean?"
"The kill switches are also GPS trackers—only a lot more sophisticated than the one we found on you. Which means there's a pretty good chance he knows exactly where we…" Parker paused and looked toward the highway, scanning the horizon. His expression hardened and he swiveled his head back to me. "We need to get out of here. Now."
I turned and saw a couple of black dots in the distance, shimmering in the morning heat as they moved toward us along the highway, but there was no way to tell if they were a threat to us.
"You think that's them?"
Parker opened the passenger door, unlatched the glove box and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He pointed them toward the two black dots, watched for a moment, then lowered the glasses and tossed them onto the passenger seat.
"Run," he said.
TWENTY-EIGHT
We ran. Harder and faster than ever before, heading for the nearest off ramp that took us straight to a massive truck stop. The only saving grace was that I was now wearing running shoes.
The Cedardale Truck Plaza looked like a shopping mall, with a post office and fast food franchises and a grocery store and repair garage and even a small chapel. The lot was the size of a half dozen football fields, jammed full of RVs, trucks with campers, and long haul freight trucks.
We ran past a multi-pump gas station and onto the lot, moving into a sea of sixteen wheelers parked in rows alongside the main building. We slowed as we approached, catching our breaths and checking over our shoulders to see if anyone was behind us on the ramp.
So far so good.
Maybe what we'd seen on the highway hadn't been Taggart and his friends after all. Maybe it was just a case of Parker being overly cautious.
But just as these thoughts exited my mind, a black SUV appeared at the top of the ramp and drove toward us. I felt Parker's hand on my shoulder and he jerked me sideways, pulling me into the space between two big rigs. Breathing hard, we watched as the SUV glided past, followed by Taggart's cruiser.
Something came loose inside me. The donut I'd eaten during the drive started wreaking havoc with my digestive system and I began to tremble involuntarily.
Sensing my distress, Parker got behind me and put his arms around me as we watched the two cars approach the main building.
"Easy," he said. "They can't even be sure we're here. For all they know, we've already caught a ride."
The SUV came to a stop and deposited two of the Ukrainians onto the blacktop, who then separated and headed in opposite directions. As the SUV started moving again, Taggart pulled his cruiser into a slot in front of the main building and got out, reaching for his shirt pocket as he approached a couple of truckers standing near the entrance.
He showed them what I assumed was a photograph of either me or Parker, got negative head shakes in response, then headed inside. Fortunately, no one had seen us yet, but the SUV was probably sweeping the area, and with two of the Ukrainians on foot, we needed to get moving. Quickly and quietly.
We heard a faint clanging sound and Parker pulled me backward, toward the rear of one of two trucks. Crouching down, he peered through the undercarriage of the big rig on our left and raised a hand, warning me to be quiet.
I crouched beside him and saw the legs of someone walking. I couldn't be sure, but my instincts told me it was one of the Ukrainians.
Taking hold of my elbow, Parker pulled me to my feet, urged me to follow him, and we
"The way it just went out on us? Yeah."
"But you rented it, right? Why would they think it's stolen?"
"No reason they should, unless I gave them a call and told them it was." Parker looked grim. "Or someone else did."
"Taggart," I said.
Parker nodded. "He's right—I am predictable. I came in by plane and he knew I'd have to use a rental to get you to Houston, so he called around until he found the right agency. But losing power isn't the worst of it."
"What do you mean?"
"The kill switches are also GPS trackers—only a lot more sophisticated than the one we found on you. Which means there's a pretty good chance he knows exactly where we…" Parker paused and looked toward the highway, scanning the horizon. His expression hardened and he swiveled his head back to me. "We need to get out of here. Now."
I turned and saw a couple of black dots in the distance, shimmering in the morning heat as they moved toward us along the highway, but there was no way to tell if they were a threat to us.
"You think that's them?"
Parker opened the passenger door, unlatched the glove box and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He pointed them toward the two black dots, watched for a moment, then lowered the glasses and tossed them onto the passenger seat.
"Run," he said.
TWENTY-EIGHT
We ran. Harder and faster than ever before, heading for the nearest off ramp that took us straight to a massive truck stop. The only saving grace was that I was now wearing running shoes.
The Cedardale Truck Plaza looked like a shopping mall, with a post office and fast food franchises and a grocery store and repair garage and even a small chapel. The lot was the size of a half dozen football fields, jammed full of RVs, trucks with campers, and long haul freight trucks.
We ran past a multi-pump gas station and onto the lot, moving into a sea of sixteen wheelers parked in rows alongside the main building. We slowed as we approached, catching our breaths and checking over our shoulders to see if anyone was behind us on the ramp.
So far so good.
Maybe what we'd seen on the highway hadn't been Taggart and his friends after all. Maybe it was just a case of Parker being overly cautious.
But just as these thoughts exited my mind, a black SUV appeared at the top of the ramp and drove toward us. I felt Parker's hand on my shoulder and he jerked me sideways, pulling me into the space between two big rigs. Breathing hard, we watched as the SUV glided past, followed by Taggart's cruiser.
Something came loose inside me. The donut I'd eaten during the drive started wreaking havoc with my digestive system and I began to tremble involuntarily.
Sensing my distress, Parker got behind me and put his arms around me as we watched the two cars approach the main building.
"Easy," he said. "They can't even be sure we're here. For all they know, we've already caught a ride."
The SUV came to a stop and deposited two of the Ukrainians onto the blacktop, who then separated and headed in opposite directions. As the SUV started moving again, Taggart pulled his cruiser into a slot in front of the main building and got out, reaching for his shirt pocket as he approached a couple of truckers standing near the entrance.
He showed them what I assumed was a photograph of either me or Parker, got negative head shakes in response, then headed inside. Fortunately, no one had seen us yet, but the SUV was probably sweeping the area, and with two of the Ukrainians on foot, we needed to get moving. Quickly and quietly.
We heard a faint clanging sound and Parker pulled me backward, toward the rear of one of two trucks. Crouching down, he peered through the undercarriage of the big rig on our left and raised a hand, warning me to be quiet.
I crouched beside him and saw the legs of someone walking. I couldn't be sure, but my instincts told me it was one of the Ukrainians.
Taking hold of my elbow, Parker pulled me to my feet, urged me to follow him, and we
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