Three Days to Forever (A Mac Faraday Mystery Book 9) Page 15

  “Rog-Roger …” Madge nudged the burly trucker who had chuckled at Jessica when she came in.

  “I’m not stupid,” Roger said.

  “Right answer,” the thug carrying Jessica said while nodding in the direction of the door where one of his cohorts had cleared the way for their escape. “We’ll be leaving now. If all of you are smart, you’ll forget you ever saw us.”

  Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

  The door at the end of the hallway abruptly opened. Murphy charged out so fast that he resembled a black blur in his black leather chaps and leather jacket. Like a ball player diving for home plate, he slid across the floor, swinging the mop handle to swipe the brute’s legs out from under him.

  Dropping Jessica, the thug tumbled backwards to the floor. He landed on his back so hard that his breath was knocked out of him.

  Roger and another trucker rushed to pull Jessica out of the way of the chaos that followed.

  Splashing hot coffee on her hand, Madge slammed the coffee pot on a nearby table to help protect Jessica. Grimacing at burning herself, she pulled out a chair for them to place Jessica in.

  The customers took full advantage of Murphy’s distraction.

  Seizing on the remaining gunmen’s surprise, one trucker charged like a linebacker. Lunging right out of his chair, he grabbed the gunman around the middle and drove him backwards into a shelving unit containing chips and other snacks. He was moving so fast that they slid all the way across the floor and body slammed into the wall. Once they stopped, the trucker proceeded to punch the gunman in the face repeatedly until he was unconscious.

  One of the clerks behind the counter raced out to grab the weapon that the gunman had dropped and ran back behind the counter to take cover with his coworker.

  “Do you even know how to use a gun?” the clerk behind the counter asked the one who had grabbed it.

  “No, but as long as we have it, they can’t use it on us.”

  A trucker who was waiting by the door rammed his full three hundred pounds of muscle into the assailant by the door, causing him to drop his gun. The impact was so powerful that the gunman broke through the glass door and dropped onto his back in the shattered glass. Pulling up his sleeves, the truck driver stepped through the broken door to finish the job.

  Murphy didn’t stop moving after toppling the first man. With the mop handle still in hand, he jumped to his feet and drove its end into the diaphragm of one gunman. When the gunman doubled over, two truckers descended on him to take him face-down to the floor.

  Seeing out of the corner of his eye that the ringleader had recovered enough to make a grab for his weapon, Murphy delivered a kick to his head and sent him flying over a table. As the gunman went down, Roger slugged him in the face to make him stay down before snatching the gun out of his hand.

  “Go ahead, punk,” Roger said with a growl while aiming the weapon at the unconscious man. “Make my day.”

  “Roger,” Madge pointed out, “he’s out cold. He’s not going to be making anyone’s day for a while.”

  “What’s happening?” As Jessica was coming to, she realized that her head felt numb. Her hands were shaking.

  “Looks like some knight has come to rescue the damsel in distress,” she heard Madge say. “Some ladies have all the luck.”

  His gun gone, the last gunman came back up with a hunting knife. He lunged at Murphy who blocked each thrust with the mop handle. Through her blurred vision, Jessica could only see a young man in a black jacket sparring with an ugly brute wielding a knife.

  “H-help him,” she said, but found that her words came out as an unintelligible stutter. She was still feeling the effects of the chloroform that had knocked her out.

  Behind her rescuer, the brute who had carried Jessica out of the restroom was climbing to his feet and reaching for the gun in his holster. He had his eye on Murphy.

  Spotting a full pot of coffee resting on a table where she was sitting, Jessica grabbed the hot pot with trembling hands. Lunging forward, she poured the whole pot of scalding

  coffee over the head of the man who had tried to kidnap her. Screaming, he grabbed his burning face and collapsed down to his knees.

  His cohort turned at the sound of the scream, which distracted him long enough for Murphy to strike the assailant’s wrist with the mop handle. In spite of the pain from the blow, the hoodlum refused to release his weapon.

  Murphy was ready to take full advantage of the small window of opportunity Jessica had given him. He grabbed his opponent by the arm and wrapped it around the mop handle. Pinning both the stick and arm against his side, Murphy whirled around into the gunman’s body and elbowed him in the nose, breaking it. Then, Murphy hooked his foot behind his opponent’s and yanked his feet out from under him.

  After the gunman fell to the floor, Murphy stepped on the hand still clutching the knife and pressed the end of the stick against his throat. “Drop it!” he ordered.

  The doors at every entrance and exit busted open, and some Maryland State Police Officers came running in with their guns drawn. “Don’t anybody move!”

  Seeing the rough-looking truckers standing over the downed well-dressed assailants, the police officers paused. “Some of you are under arrest.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Just to be clear,” the Maryland State Trooper asked his sergeant, “the scruffy looking ruffians are the good guys …”

  The sergeant nodded his head. “The well-dressed guys are the bad guys, and the rednecks are the good guys. Arrest the suits, and then get the smelly ruffians’ statements and send them on their way.”

  Looking over to the back of an ambulance where an injured gunman was being loaded, the trooper said, “Looks like the bad guys got the worst of it.”

  The sergeant agreed. “Every call should go down like this.”

  It was only after the emergency crews had arrived and one of the EMTs had started checking Jessica Faraday for bullet wounds that she realized her clothes were covered in blood. Then she remembered shooting the first attacker and him landing on top of her.

  Now her clothes were evidence, and the Maryland state police needed them. A female forensics officer was willing to accompany Jessica to the hospital to be checked over by an emergency room doctor.

  Determined to get to Spencer, Maryland, as quickly as possible, Jessica took her suitcase from the Ferrari’s trunk. The manager of the truck stop consented to her and the forensics investigator using his office for Jessica to change out of her bloody clothes. Aware that allowing her dog to accompany her, even if only to offer mutual comfort, would contaminate the evidence she was wearing, Jessica had left Spencer in the front seat of the car.

  When Murphy and the state police officer who had taken his statement stepped outside the truck stop restaurant, Murphy heard Spencer whining from where she was waiting in the front seat of the Ferrari. “Hey, beautiful, are you worried about your master?”

  “How is she?” the officer who had questioned Murphy asked one of his colleagues. “Which hospital are you taking her to?”

  “None,” his colleague replied. “Ms. Faraday has refused a hospital examination. She’s hell-bent on getting to Spencer, Maryland. She’s taking off her clothes in the manager’s office for the forensics people to take into evidence.”

  Hearing the last name, Murphy whirled around to them. “Did you say Faraday?”

  “As in Mac Faraday?” the senior officer asked.

  “Her first name is Jessica.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I guess she could be related to him.”

  The senior officer regarded Murphy. “Have you met Ms. Faraday before?”

  “No,” Murphy said. “It’s a huge coincidence that those men tried to abduct her when a hit squad tried to off her father just yesterday.”

  “What are you talking about?” the junior officer aske
d.

  “This guy,” the senior officer jerked his thumb in Murphy’s direction, “is Murphy Thornton. His father is the guy who disappeared along with Faraday yesterday—” He jerked his thumb toward the inside of the truck stop. “Her father.”

  Both officers turned to Murphy, who had opened the passenger door to the Ferrari and was attaching the leash to a squirming Spencer. The sheltie was so grateful that she covered Murphy’s face with licks.

  “I guess she likes you,” the senior officer noted.

  “She likes everybody.” Murphy set her down. “Come along, Candi. I think you need a break.” He led her to a grassy area at the end of the parking lot to allow the pup to squat and pee, something she was very anxious and grateful to do. During the walk across the parking lot, Murphy took a cell phone from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and thumbed a phone number.

  The senior officer followed him. “Jessica Faraday is the daughter of a rich man. It was in the news a few months ago that he sold the movie rights for Mickey Forsythe to Holly. The amount was undisclosed, but you know it was several million dollars. That’s a lot of motive for someone trying to kidnap her for ransom.”

  “These guys were organized,” Murphy said. “I heard them in the bathroom. They assumed that she was a pampered diva who wouldn’t put up a fight. They were quite surprised when she did, but they were prepared.”

  Murphy held up his finger to motion for the trooper to hold his thoughts. “Chief David O’Callaghan, this is Lieutenant Murphy Thornton. I believe you spoke to my CO last night.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” David replied with an edge of irritation in his voice. “What’s your ETA?”

  Murphy took note of the police chief’s tone. The message between the lines was, “I’m in charge of this operation.” He followed the police chief’s lead. “Forty-five minutes, sir. We’ve had a complication that you should be aware of, sir. There was an attempted kidnapping here in Grantsville. The target was Jessica Faraday, Mac Faraday’s daughter.”

  The irritation shifted instantly to worry. “Is Jessie okay?”

  “She’s fine, sir,” Murphy reported. “The kidnappers were thwarted by civilians and are now in police custody. One is dead, shot by Ms. Faraday. Four are on their way to the hospital. One with second- and third-degree burns, attributed to Ms. Faraday. The other has a concussion. Two with multiple broken bones. The sixth is just badly bruised and in a state of great disappointment.”

  “He’s on his way to the state police barracks for processing,” the state trooper told Murphy to report, which he did. “All of them are screaming for a lawyer, except the dead guy. None have any identification.” After Murphy relayed this information, the trooper grasped his arm. “Tell him about the black van that we saw tearing out of here when we pulled in.”

  “Chief O’Callaghan,” Murphy reported, “the police saw a black van with Washington, DC, plates leaving the truck stop when they arrived. The truck stop does have security cameras and they are checking to identify the van.”

  “Jessica is a rich woman …” David said thoughtfully.

  “I don’t believe this is a coincidence, sir,” Murphy told him. “I could tell by how they handled themselves that they had military or law enforcement training. Ms. Faraday is here now, being processed for evidence. I’ll await your instructions about how you would like me to proceed, sir.”

  There was a slight pause from the other end of the line during which Murphy knelt to pet the pup. By the time David replied, all annoyance in his tone had evaporated. “Can you escort Ms. Faraday to Deep Creek Lake, Lieutenant?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Murphy saw the entrance doors open across the parking lot. A uniformed state trooper wheeled out an oversized suitcase and held the door open for the raven-haired beauty to exit.

  In the heat of the abduction, Murphy hadn’t had time to get a clear look at the woman being carried out of the restroom. But now, after his heartbeat had slowed down to normal, the sight of her slender figure clad in black faux leather pants with over-the-knee black boots that revealed long, shapely legs, Murphy felt his heartbeat kick up until it was roaring in his ears. The top half of her lovely body was clad in a loose-fitting purple sweater with a plunging V-neckline.

  “Lieutenant Thornton?” David’s voice came across the line again. “Are you still there? Can you stay with Jessica Faraday to make sure she is safe and personally deliver her to me at the police station here in Spencer?”

  “No problem, sir,” Murphy said while taking in her silky alabaster skin. “It would be my honor.”

  Through it all, she did not lose sight of her knight. More than one trucker, a server, and even the clerks behind the counter made sure she knew that she owed her life to the guy in the black leather jacket and chaps who knew how to swing a mop handle like a pro.

  Well, I wasn’t completely helpless. I did take out two of them.

  The kidnappers who were in a condition to speak refused to talk, except to say they wanted a lawyer. But they had said enough to her.

  We need you to deliver a message to your father. Jessica recalled the one saying. This has to do with Dad. I need to find Dad.

  “Ma’am,” one of the state troopers stopped her when she stepped out of the manager’s office after dressing in fresh clothes from her suitcase. “I thought you might like to meet the gentleman who saved you.” He took the handle of her suitcase to wheel it out for her.

  Having acquired friends who lived in a variety of places, Jessica had learned how to pack. With her clothes ruined by the blood, she made an easy change. Seemingly unaware of how the sweater and leather pants hugged every slender curve of her body, Jessica followed the trooper through the truck stop and out the front door into the snowy weather.

  How she wished she hadn’t gotten evidence on her coat. Note to self—pack two winter coats next time.

  Jessica stepped outside to see the most dashing smile she had ever seen. He held out his hand from where he was holding her dog. Jessica felt the blood rushing in her ears while he stared at her with blue eyes that sparkled like sapphire jewels.

  The state trooper cleared his throat. “His name is Murphy Thornton. He’s an officer in the navy.”

  Murphy continued to stare at her.

  The senior trooper said, “And her name is Jessica Faraday.”

  Blinking, Murphy stuck out his hand. “I’m Murphy Thornton.”

  “I already told her that,” the trooper whispered.

  Before Jessica could take Murphy’s hand, Spencer proceeded to lick his fingers and wag her whole body. He patted Spencer on the head.

  “Th-thornton?” she stuttered out. She stopped to swallow. “I’m sorry, I’m still lightheaded from the chloroform.”

  “I understand.” He reached around Spencer to take her hand. “Your father is Mac Faraday?”

  “Y-yes,” she said through chattering teeth.

  Murphy glanced around to the man with the knife who was being loaded into the back of a police car. “I don’t want to frighten you, but these guys were not your average kidnappers of opportunity. I know your father is missing. Mine is, too. My dad is Joshua Thornton.”

  Jessica gazed up at him. “Our fathers are friends,” she said in barely a whisper.

  He gazed into her deep violet eyes. He had to fight to keep from being pulled into the desire he felt as he gazed at her lovely face, framed by raven waves and her alabaster skin. He was dying to touch it.

  He had to concentrate on the matter at hand. Here was Mac Faraday’s daughter, and whoever was chasing their fathers had gone after her.

  Why?

  “Why do you have my dog?” she asked him, interrupting his attempt to take his focus off her gorgeous violet eyes.

  “Candi needed a bathroom break,” he replied.

  “Her name is Spencer,” she said.

  “I c
all her Candi.” He stroked the sheltie’s head while she continued to lick his jaw.

  She took her dog back into her arms. “You renamed my dog?” To her surprise, Spencer struggled against her.

  “Because she reminds me of a girl I knew in high school,” he replied with a crooked grin. “She liked to kiss all the guys, too.”

  With dimples in both cheeks, his smile is as sexy as his eyes. A shiver ran through her that made her feel weak in her knees.

  “You must be freezing,” she heard him say. Before she knew it, his leather jacket was draped across her shoulders. She became lost in his blue eyes when he stood before her to pull the collar together in the front to block the cold wind.

  “Feel better now?” He flashed that killer smile at her.

  “Totally,” she murmured.

  Taking her by the shoulders, he stepped in close to her. “You and I are going to be close friends.” She took in the warmth of his hand on her elbow while he led her to her car.

  “I’ll drive you to Spencer.” He held open the passenger door and eased her into the seat with the care of someone handling a delicate piece of glass. Once she was sitting in the car with Spencer in her lap, he knelt in front of her.

  What’s he doing? Proposing? I wish.

  To her surprise, he gently lifted her feet from where they rested outside the car and placed them inside.

  “What about your car?” she asked.

  He gestured at the black BMW motorcycle parked next to her sports car. “I’ll send someone to pick it up.” He went around to the travel compartment at the rear of the bike, opened it, and took out a black canvas bag, which he tossed behind the driver’s seat of her Ferrari.

  “That’s all you’ve got?” She noted how easily he tossed his bag around while her suitcase practically filled the whole car trunk.

  “I travel light.” He knelt down beside where she was sitting in the passenger seat of her car. “I’m going inside to see if I can get your keys and wallet from the crime scene investigators.”