You Know Who I Am (The Drusilla Thorne Mysteries Book 2) (31 page)

I reached up and jabbed my fingers into the underside of his throat. He twisted away from the drawer and toward me, which gave me enough time to push him backward into the desk chair. Which took him off me and allowed me to scramble to my feet and take stock of the situation.

Anne: outside. Good.

Courtney was pushing herself into a sitting position, holding the side of her head and squinting in pain. Tears leaked out of her eyes without any sobbing motion on her part. And she was looking at Roger. Instead of, you know, getting the hell out of there.

I wasn’t going to waste time saving her if she wasn’t invested in saving herself.
 

I dashed out of the room and into the parking lot, where Anne’s car idled, waiting for me, pointed toward the exit. I yanked open the door, jumped in, and said, “Drive!”
 

She drove. I didn’t have my seatbelt on before she took the first right and I damn near flew into the driver’s seat. Hermes Trismegistus, my entire left side hurt. He must have gotten a good punch in.
 

“Are you okay?” Her voice was wavering, like she was about to lose her entire mind.

“I’m okay. Drive somewhere public. And fast.”

“He had a gun,” she said. She pressed her hand over her mouth and started hyperventilating. “I think he had a gun!”
 

So I was right about the drawer. I was willing to bet he had a few other things in there, but I didn’t care. We were out.
 

Now that the adrenaline rush was over, I realized my back hurt from where I had hit the floor. The back of my head hurt, too. And my jaw was beginning to throb with pain from where he’d punched me. My left side hurt from where I’d bashed into Anne. Today was not my day.

Anne kept turning her head to look at me, which terrified me given how erratic her driving was right now. Up ahead was the familiar large red oval marking a Ralph’s supermarket. I jabbed my finger at the parking lot. “Drive! There! What are you looking at? Is he behind us?”
 

She shook her head, vibrating back and forth. “Oh God oh God oh God.”
 

“Park, would you?” My stomach felt like crap.
 

The car thumped over the uneven curb cut into the Ralph’s parking lot. The jostling made me feel like I was going to vomit all over myself. “Park, and stop moving this car.”

She parked the car. I don’t think she lined it up between the lines very well. L.A. drivers tend to be cavalier about following parking space recommendations.

“Did you call the police?” I asked. My side was really starting to hurt.
 

“I have to call an ambulance!” she yelled. Anne was really sliding into hysteria now, with tears washing all over her face and her eyes scrunched up.
 

“An ambulance can wait. Call the—”
 

“You’re
bleeding
!”

As soon as she said it, I tasted copper in my mouth. My fingers touched the corner of my lips and came away red. Dammit, I was bleeding. My teeth felt secure, though—it was probably a cut on the inside of my mouth. I wouldn’t be able to drink my coffee hot for a few days.

Then I felt the trickle on my forehead and reached up to feel wetness. My fingertips were covered in a decent amount of blood.

“Don’t worry,” I said. My words began to slur and I had to concentrate to keep using the right accent. Now would be a very bad time to start sounding like someone from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. “Head wounds always bleed the worst.”

“Not
that
,” she screamed, and then she pointed to my ribs. “
There
.”
 

A large red spot had bloomed on the gray fabric of my sweater.
 

I licked my lips. “Stevie’s going to murder me if I ruin my clothes.”

Then I stopped talking.

#

Everybody Takes The Money
is available from Barnes and Noble.