Biker romance book bundl.., p.359
Biker Romance Book Bundle: 17 Full Length Novels, page 359
The Bank was in the perfect location. At the north side of San Diego, in Torrey Pines, it was mere feet off Carmel Mountain Road. All we had to do was drive a mile and a half, get on the 5, and head south. In fifteen minutes, we’d be in the clubhouse, counting money.
We turned onto Carmel Mountain Road. Soon, Baker pulled in behind us.
“I don’t know what’s in those boxes,” Reno said. “But there’s a lot of it, whatever it is.”
Ally proceeded toward Ted Williams Freeway, which was our access to take the 5 southbound without sitting at traffic lights. Left turns while attempting to evade, according to Ally, were a no-no.
Watching her drive was similar to seeing her manipulate the lock on a bank vault. Her eyes darted from the road ahead to the rearview mirror, then to each side view mirror.
As if she was preprogrammed, Ally repeated the same process, over and over. Our heavy breathing was the only sound inside the vehicle. Seeming unaffected by it, she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of an unknown song.
“Fuck,” she whispered, her eyes locked on the rearview mirror. “Someone came in behind Baker.”
“From where?” I asked.
“Don’t turn around,” she demanded, her tone thick with authority. “Anyone. Eyes straight ahead. Until I say otherwise.”
With her eyes fixed on the mirror, she began to push buttons on the steering wheel. In an almost robotic gesture, she blindly reached toward the console and pushed a button without so much as taking her eyes off the mirror.
“What’s going—”
“Quiet,” she snapped. “Nobody. Say. Anything.”
Something was going on, and I had no idea what it was. She’d instructed each of us to stare straight ahead, yet her eyes were fixed on the mirror, which provided her a full view of whatever was behind us.
“Come on, Baker. Come on,” she said beneath her breath. “Pick him up. Pick him up.”
“Buckle up, boys,” she said. “Shit’s about to get—”
The piercing sound of a siren caused me to nearly piss my pants. Red and blue lights illuminated the pitch-black sky.
“—Real!” The car took off like it had been shot out of a cannon. “Reno!” She shouted. “Take the left window. Anything out that window I need to now about, tell me. Cash! Take the right. Keep your heads by the B pillars. Tito! Keep your head low. Goose! Recline your seat until your head is beside the B pillar. Keep your eyes on the road ahead. Anyone tries to come up on my right, let me know.”
I had no idea what a B pillar was, but I reclined my seat and hoped like hell no one started shooting.
“Everyone. When you can, get your weapons cocked and locked,” she said. “Make sure you’re on safety, and ready to go.”
My throat went dry. I swallowed against it.
Jesus fucking Christ.
As Ally took a sweeping right turn at the speed of sound, I reached for my Walther. The lights continued to flash behind us, eerily illuminated the interior of the SUV.
Our entrance to the highway was a mile and a half ahead. We didn’t have much distance to lose the cop before we were going to have to slow down to get on the highway.
My throat constricted so profoundly I could barely take a breath. Ally on the other hand, seemed calm, despite the fact that she was in a high-speed chase. The slight grin she wore led me to believe she was enjoying it.
“We’re taking this entrance, fellas,” she said. “Hold on.”
We were passing the on ramp to the 5, which was on our left. That particular entrance to the highway went north, not south. I glanced at the speedometer. We were going roughly 120 miles an hour and were steadily gaining speed.
We were traveling three times the safe speed limit to take any ramp.
“What entrance?!” I shouted.
“This one!” Instead of slowing down for the corner, she punched the gas. The vehicle went into a four-wheel slide, gaining speed as it headed toward the ramp.
My stomach heaved.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tito screeched.
“Cop blew the corner,” Cash shouted.
“He’s turning around in the ditch,” he added. “Okay. He’s back on the road. He’s still coming.”
“I’ll be to the Ted Williams before he gets to the top of this ramp,” Ally said.
We barreled up the on ramp, gaining speed steadily as Ally headed toward the freeway. I glanced at the speedometer.
160.
I grabbed the “oh shit” handle. “You’re going to merge at that speed? We’re going one fucking sixty, Ally.”
“We’re going uphill,” she said. “I can’t get it to go any faster.”
Faster?
Before I could object, we were passing cars as if they were parked obstructions in the roadway. The instant a distant object registered in my mind, we were whooshing passing it. Ally was obviously maneuvering from a quarter of a mile behind whatever it was she intended to pass.
We’d no more than got on the freeway, and she took the slow lane at 150 miles an hour. “Ted Williams, fellas. Hold on.”
“Why the fuck are we taking the Ted Williams East?” I shouted. “It’ll—”
Her eyes darted to the rearview. “I’m getting on and right back off.”
We exited the 5 at triple-digit speeds, and got on the freeway, headed east. Ten seconds later, we were barreling down an off ramp at 140 miles an hour, headed toward a red traffic light. Two cars were stopped at it, side by side.
Bile rose in my throat.
Please, Lord, not like this.
“Hold on, boys,” she warned.
We were headed right for the back of the parked cars, and there was no time to stop. I clenched the handle so tight I nearly passed out. “What the fuck are you going to—”
She shifted into the oncoming traffic lane at the last instant, narrowly missing the stopped cars. Like a roller coaster on rails, the vehicle was thrust into a 180-degree maneuver, screeching and smoking all four tires the entire time. As if that weren’t enough, we took an immediate right turn and shot through the underpass.
We barreled through the cloud of tire smoke, and toward the westbound traffic on ramp.
The police officer’s flashing lights were at the eastbound exit. Just like that, we were three steps ahead of him. My heart thrashed at the thought of evading him entirely. Even so, seeing the cop caused my sphincter shrunk to the size of a grain of sand.
I hoped like hell she knew what she was doing.
She shot up the on ramp, accelerating so rapidly that my gut was plastered against my spine.
“Didn’t you say this vehicle is wrapped?” she asked.
I had no idea what she was asking, or how she could be so calm.
“What!?” I blurted.
“Vinyl wrap?” she asked no differently than if we were sitting in the diner, having coffee. “Is this wrapped with vinyl wrap?”
It seemed like a strange time to be discussing the intricacies of the SUV’s paint, but I responded, nonetheless.
“Yes,” I stammered. “It’s wrapped.”
We took a 140 mile an hour sweeping left, exiting the freeway and getting on the southbound 5.
“What color is it, underneath?” she asked.
“Red,” Cash responded. “It’s…red. Baker thinks…he thinks it’s bad luck.”
“Not tonight,” she said.
She swerved into the local bypass lane, on the right side. After reaching an eye-opening 165 miles an hour, she veered toward the exit.
“What the fuck!” I shouted. “Are we doing?”
“We’re going to peel off the wrap,” she said. “And change the plates.”
“We’re gonna what?”
“All you do is grab a corner and peel,” she explained, her voice calm and steady. “It’s like taking off a sticker. Reno and Tito take the right side. Cash and Goose take the left. I’ll do bumpers and hood.”
“Where’s the cop?” I asked.
“She lost the cop,” Reno said with a laugh. “He’s still on the freeway. That smoky-tired thing back there fucked him all up. He shot past that light by a mile.”
We took the exit at 150. The SUV shot down the ramp like we’d been pushed off a mile-high cliff. After coming to a vomit-inducing stop, she calmly drove behind a building that backed up to Torrey Pines Preserve.
Shielded by the two-story building, we frantically peeled the vinyl wrap from the vehicle. It wasn’t as easy as I expected.
In fifteen minutes, I was standing beside a three-foot high pile of black plastic film. A bright red SUV was in front of me. The transformation from flat black to red was ingenious. It looked like an entirely different vehicle.
She glanced at Reno. “Switch the plates?”
“Sure did.”
She retrieved her purse from the car. After rummaging through it, she handed each of us a handful of wet tissues. “Wipe your faces off.”
“What the fuck are—”
“They’re make up wipes,” she said. “Wipe the paint off your face.”
When we were all relatively paint-free, she took her hair out of the ponytail and twisted it into a bun.
“Load that pile of plastic wrap in the back, please,” she said, checking her reflection in the window.
After Reno and Tito loaded it, she opened her door. “Cash, you’re sitting up front,” she said. “Everyone else, stay in the floorboards. This is hubby and wife coming home from a date.”
I felt like I’d just got off an hour-long rollercoaster ride. I had no idea whether to shit, fart, or check my watch. So, I simply did as she asked and got down in the floorboard with the other two men.
She rolled down her window and advised Cash to do the same. “Hang your arm out the window, like you’re enjoying the night air.”
“Are you fuckin’ serious?”
“Dead serious. We’re driving the speed limit.”
“There’s going to be cops everywhere.”
“Looking for a black BMW with five people in it. This is a red one with two. You ever seen a roadblock on the 5?”
“No,” Cash responded.
“Well,” she said. “I doubt they’re going to start tonight.”
She was right. I’d seen countless crimes much worse than the one we’d just committed, and I’d never seen them block the 5 to check traffic. In SoCal, escaping a cop’s grasp in a high-speed chase was just another ho-hum day.
In fifteen minutes, we pulled into the garage. Baker was leaning against the hood of his rental car with a bottle of beer dangling from his fingertips. When he saw the red paint, his eyes went as wide as saucers.
He leaped away from the car and rushed to Ally’s window.
Baker was the most superstitious human being to ever walk the face of the earth. Red vehicles were a no-no, as was any other well-known superstitious bullshit, including anything to do with the number thirteen.
I realized we had thirteen boxes in the back of the SUV.
“What in the fuck happened?” Baker blurted. “That cop was behind me, and I didn’t even realize it was a cop. His lights came on and I about shit myself. Fucker passed me and took off after you.”
Everyone got out and started talking at once.
“Ally outran the cop…”
“We got in a high-speed chase with the law.”
“Took the fucking on ramp at 160.”
“Ripped off the wrap.”
“That bitch can—she can—Ally can fuckin’ drive.”
Baker raised his hands. “Stop!”
“Everyone’s okay?”
“Fine as frog’s hair,” Reno said. “Chick can drive, Boss. Never seen anything like it.”
Baker shifted his eyes from Reno to Ally. “You okay?”
She grinned. “Peachy.”
He glared at me. “Why are you in a RED car? You know how I am about—”
“Wait till you hear how many boxes we loaded up,” I said.
“Boxes?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Boxes of what?”
“Ally says it’s money. A lot of money.”
“How many you get?” he asked.
“All of ‘em.”
“How many? Better not be thirteen.”
“Maybe you ought to just go home for the night,” I said. “We’ll call you down when it’s sorted.”
He pressed the heels of his palms against his temples. “This entire night is going to be bad fucking luck. Just wait. It’ll be one thing after the other. I guarantee it.”
“Oh fuuuuck,” Cash said.
Baker spun around. “What?”
Cash patted his back pocket. “My wallet.”
“Tell me you didn’t lose it.” Baker’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Tell me you weren’t even carrying the motherfucker while you were robbing a fucking bank!”
Cash swallowed hard. “I don’t have it.”
“You dumb cocksucker!” I bellowed. “You probably dropped it when you double dribbled that shit in the parking lot. Fucking great. The cops are going to be here before we know it.”
Ally looked at Cash. “You didn’t lose it again, did you?”
Cash swallowed hard. He nodded.
“Shit,” she said. “I bet it was when you dropped those boxes.”
“What happened?” Baker asked, his tone elevated. “What’d you do, Cash?”
“I’m going back,” Ally said.
A lump rose into my throat. “Back where?”
“To the bank,” she said. “I’m not going to let this entire crew get hemmed up because they find Cash’s wallet in the parking lot. I’ve got to get it before they do. We were fifty yards from the back door. They won’t be sweeping that part of the lot until morning.”
“That place will be crawling with cops,” I argued.
She shrugged. “That’s a chance I’ve got to take. I can talk my way into it.”
“Cash ought to be the one going to get it,” Baker seethed. “He dropped it, it’s his risk.”
Ally shook her head. “They’ll be looking for a six-six guy with a half-assed Mohawk. He stands out. I blend in.”
My heart sank. I couldn’t chance losing Ally. Not for a mistake Cash made. “Baby, you can’t—”
She leaned forward and kissed me. “I’ll see you in half an hour or so. If I don’t make it, you can come bail me out.” She handed me her throw-away phone and grinned. “Love ya, Babe.”
While the five of us watched with open mouths, she turned toward her car.
“Ally!” Baker shouted.
Mid-stride, she glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I appreciate this,” he said. “You’re saving our asses, here.”
She grinned. “Anything for my Brothers, Boss.”
157
Ally
I drove my Bug from the clubhouse to the all-night coffee shop in old town. I ordered a cup of coffee and a Danish. Still high on adrenaline, I took a seat in the corner and scanned the sparsely occupied lounge.
I glanced in my purse.
Cash’s wallet sat inside, right where it’d been since I took it from him at the beginning of the night.
I planned to waste thirty minutes or so and return to the shop with a wild tale. The “risk” I’d taken to retrieve the wallet would cause Cash to give me the respect I deserved. In his eyes, I’d be saving him from a trip to prison.
In reality, I was relaxing with a cup of coffee while the crew pulled the lockbox locks. In time, I’d tell everyone the truth. Everyone except Cash, that is.
It had been years since I had as much fun as I had running from the cops. Nothing beats the adrenaline rush from outrunning a police officer in a high-speed chase. Thinking two or three steps ahead while speeding at rate so fast that a quarter of a mile passes in five seconds takes nerves of steel.
As I sipped my coffee, I filled with guilt. Not for taking Cash’s wallet. I felt I needed to drive by the scene of the crime and see what was going on. The men were going to ask me what I’d seen. Lying to them wasn’t something I was willing to do. At least not any more than I must to play the prank on Cash.
With some hesitation, I went to my car, took off my sweater, and began driving north.
Before I reached the exit, I could see the flashing lights. The entire parking lot was filled with police officers, police cruisers, and a few crime scene vans. Many more than what was needed to collect evidence, that’s for sure.
I took the Carmel Creek Road exit, and immediately turned on Carmel Mountain Road. I grinned at the thought of driving on the very same road only an hour prior at over 140 miles an hour.
I crept along at fifteen miles an hour until I reached the back of the bank. The lot was filled with haphazardly parked cop cars, all sitting at odd angles with their lights flashing.
An odd sense of satisfaction washed over me. The thought of being at the crime scene of a crime I committed, and the police having no idea that I was the one they were after was strangely gratifying.
Satisfied that I would be able to safely say I’d returned to the scene of the crime without lying, I came to a stop and took one last look at the chaos before leaving. While struggling to get the gear shifter in reverse, a nice-looking plain-clothes officer approached my car.
Just as the gear shifter clunked into gear, he motioned for me to roll my window down.
“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.
“No, just looking,” I responded. “What happened?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” he said.
I nodded. “I see.”
“Do you have reason to be here?” he asked.
“It’s not a military installation, is it?” I asked.
“No, ma’am.”
“Government facility?”
“No, ma’am.”
“So, it’s not off-limits?” I asked.
“No, ma’am, I guess not. It is an active crime scene.”
I weighed my options. Getting a little more information from him, if possible, could really help us on planning future jobs. I rolled the dice. “I was going to Del Mar heights earlier for a cup of coffee, and I saw a black SUV being chased by a police car.” I gestured behind me. “Right over there.”
“Did you get a look at the occupants of the vehicle?” He pulled a notepad from his pocket. “Their facial features?”
