Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(84)

“That’s the other man from the attack in Vegas,” she said.

Brody nodded. “Makes sense that the brothers would be together.”

Police chatter hummed from the radio on the dashboard. Brody’s phone buzzed again. He answered it, uttered a few yeses, then signed off with “Call me when you have something.”

“The warrant came through for Mick’s phone,” Brody said. “The geeks are already analyzing his records and trying to track data usage and pings on local towers. Hopefully they’ll be able to narrow down the search for Chet.” Brody took a deep breath. He looked haggard. The chief had kept him busy for too long. It was almost seven o’clock. Only one hour left until the end of Mick’s deadline. Tick tock. “It gets worse.”

“Tell me.” Her stomach did a slow roll as Brody steered through a turn. She grabbed the armrest. He was pushing the speed.

“The scene of yesterday’s shooting? The one where the woman was murdered?”

Hannah’s brain shot ahead of his words. “The Arnettes?”

“Their fingerprints were all over the inside of that house. Sam’s prints were on the bat used to kill Joleen.”

Her hand shot up to cover her mouth. That woman was killed because the Arnette brothers followed Hannah to Scarlet Falls from Las Vegas. Sam had beaten that woman to death with a bat. What would he do to Chet?

“What if we can’t find him?” she asked.

“There’s no we.” Brody’s tone sharpened. “You’re a civilian. Law enforcement will find Chet. Local, county, and state cops are all over this, and the FBI is on alert. Every inch of this county will be combed. There isn’t anything else that can be done at this point. Patrol cops are already out searching.”

Hannah nodded. “I still feel like it’s my fault, and I hate waiting.”

“You cannot take the blame for what some psycho criminal does.”

She knew Brody was right, but she still felt like she’d brought this danger home. If Grant hadn’t taken the family away, who knew what could have happened to them. Instead of Chet, Sam Arnette could have Carson or Ellie or another member of the family in his clutches. The temperature was still dropping. The forecast called for below-freezing temperatures tonight. Snow was a possibility. In the photo, Chet was wearing a thin shirt. No jacket. If he was still alive, he wouldn’t last long outside tonight.

A voice call came over the radio. Brody turned up the volume. The dispatcher called off a string of numbers that meant nothing to Hannah, but the tone was urgent. Hannah caught the words shooting and officers down.

Brody reached for his phone and speed-dialed a number.

“All units, be on the lookout . . .” Mick Arnette’s name and description followed.

Brody ended his call. He curled his fingers around his phone and punched his thigh. “A moving van knocked the sheriff’s car off an overpass. Both deputies were shot and killed. Mick Arnette escaped.”

He slowed the car and turned right. The rural road was empty, and he punched the accelerator. The car surged forward into the dark.

“He’s loose?” Horror crawled up Hannah’s throat.

Brody nodded.

“Oh, no.” Two women were murdered. Chet was taken, and two police officers were dead. “Now what?”

“Massive manhunt,” Brody said. Determination hardened his face. The car approached a wooden bridge over a shallow creek, and he slowed the vehicle.

The bridge exploded in front of them. Wood and dirt plumed into the air as the car hurtled forward into a cloud of smoke.





Chapter Thirty-Two

On instinct, Hannah grabbed for the armrest. Brody yanked the wheel to the side. The car flew down the embankment. The world spun as the vehicle flipped. Momentum and gravity flung her against the seat belt. Something exploded in her face. She had no idea how many times the car rolled before coming to a stop.

She breathed. Fine, acrid dust settled over the car’s interior, and the deflated airbag lay across her knees. Her heart banged against her ribs, and her eyes watered, blurring her vision. She wiped a forearm across her face. “Brody?”

In the light of the dashboard, she could see blood from a gash on his temple running over his closed eyes. She touched his shoulder, but he didn’t respond.

Bridges didn’t blow up by accident. She knew instinctively Mick Arnette was responsible, with his ex-military brother’s assistance—and they had explosives. She needed to get Brody out of the car.

Though she suspected adrenaline was blocking her pain—no one walked out of an accident this serious without at least minor injuries—her limbs seemed to be intact and usable. Her fingers were slippery with sweat. She wiped them on her sweater and grabbed for the seat belt release. The button was jammed. A broken piece of rearview mirror on the seat nicked her finger.

Calm down.

But even if she unfastened their seat belts, how would she get Brody out? She couldn’t carry him.

They needed help. Her phone. Where was her phone? She couldn’t think straight.

“Hurry up,” a voice said from outside the car.

Hannah reached for her weapon. Before she could clear the gun from its holster, the door opened.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The muzzle of a gun was in her face. Behind it, Mick Arnette was looking into the car. She almost didn’t recognize him. He was dressed like a Best Buy clerk, and his head was shaved bald. But the evil glint in his eyes was unmistakable. “Put your hand where I can see it or my brother shoots your boyfriend in the head.”