The Target by Catherine Coulter Page A

of the way, alarm suddenly hitting her brain. Ramsey towered over the man, who was middle-aged, losing the war to fat, and looked as sincere and nice as Ted Bundy had probably looked.
    â€œHey, buddy, that your kid?”
    â€œYes, she’s my kid. Why do you want to know?”
    â€œNo reason. She’s just cute, like one of my little granddaughters.”
    Ramsey handed the waitress a twenty, saying to both of them, “Have a good day. Bye now.” He went to the front door, but not before he looked for the other man. He didn’t see him. Not seeing him bothered him a lot more. Where was the bastard?
    His gut was dancing double time. He looked back again. There was no single guy in the restaurant. Why had the man wanted to know about Emma?
    It was then he heard the screech of brakes. He was out the door in an instant to see Molly backing up the Jeep, then slamming on the brakes again to miss a parked pickup truck, by about four inches. He saw a man running toward her. She gunned the engine and the Jeep shot forward. The man shouted and dived into the scrawny bushes that lined the wall of the restaurant.
    â€œMolly!”
    He grabbed the passenger door, pulled it open, and jumped in.
    She was onto the entrance ramp to the 70 before he even got the door closed.
    He looked back to see the man dusting off his pants, staring after them. Then the man he’d been speaking to came out. The two men conferred, heads bent close. He lost sight of them as Molly veered onto the 70, tires screaming.
    â€œRamsey.”
    He heard the small voice and looked down. Emma was scrunched on the floor at his feet. “Come here, kiddo. We’re just fine. Your mama’s a heroine. She saved us. Come hereand hug me. I need some attention and a kiss. Yeah, a kiss would make my heart slow down and put my stomach back where it belongs.”
    Emma crawled up and let him lift her onto his lap. Now wasn’t the time to worry about his seat belt. She kissed him on the cheek. “That’s better. Thanks.” He said calmly to Molly, “Slow down, and go out at this next exit.”
    â€œBut—oh, yes, you’re right. Then we’ll see if they follow.”
    â€œSlow down. We don’t want to attract any attention. When you get off, make a sharp right, and drive behind that Mobil gas station. Emma, hug me tighter. Yeah, that’s better.”
    â€œIf I see them, I’m going to get back on the highway. Maybe we can see their license plate. You’d be able to find out who it belongs to, won’t you?”
    He nodded. She looked calm and steady, handling the Jeep well enough. Emma was hanging onto him like a leech. It felt good, those skinny little arms of hers choking his neck. The kid had grit.
    Molly was off the highway, veering right, then turning sharply right toward the back of the Mobil station, all in the space of about twenty seconds. “Well done,” he said. “Now, kiddo,” he said to Emma, “I want you to look with me back up to the highway. We want to see if those two men are following us.”
    â€œI should have waited to see what car they were driving,” Molly said. She hit the steering wheel with her fist. “I just had to keep moving. I didn’t think it through.”
    â€œIt’s okay. We’ll recognize them. Keep looking.” A dark green Corolla went by with two women inside. Then a truck with a single guy and a big German shepherd, his head out the window, his tongue hanging long. There was a space of five heartbeats, then a filthy black truck, its bed empty. In the cab were two men.
    â€œThat’s them,” Ramsey said. “Okay, Molly, ease back onto the highway. Keep a minimum of three cars back.”
    She was already driving out from behind the Mobil station. There was a small white Honda in front of her. She wanted to honk, to run over it, to yell at the older woman driving, but she managed to keep herself calm and