Private Rogue

Chapter 26

I slowed down once we reached the highway. I turned onto the ramp and joined the main carriageway, heading for New York.

Stunned by what had happened at the motel, neither Beth nor I said anything. Our soundtrack was the gentle, intermittent thud of the car rolling over highway section dividers, the spray of tires pressing through slush, and the muted sobs coming from the children in the back. Beth tried her best to soothe them, but they’d been badly shaken by what had happened. Finally, they settled into stunned silence.

“Who are you?” Beth asked me at last.

“Jack Morgan,” I replied. “I’m a private detective. Your father hired me to find you.”

I sensed her shift in her seat and glanced over to see her eying me with suspicion.

“You’re Elizabeth Singer, right? And these are Daniel and Marianne?”

“Beth, Danny and Maria,” she corrected me. “I’d like to see some ID.”

I reached into my pocket and handed her my wallet. She checked my identification and placed the wallet on the central console.

“Why were those men after you?” I asked.

“Can you pull over?” she said. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

She looked pale and was gulping for air, so I slowed and steered the car to a halt on the shoulder.

“Are you OK, Mom?” Maria asked.

“I’ll be fine. Just wait here,” Beth replied hurriedly, before jumping out.

She left the door open, and the cold wind blew snow into the car. She ran over to the barrier, and I watched her buckle against the metal and heave. I turned to the kids, who were watching their mother fearfully.

“It’s OK,” I assured them. “Probably just nerves.”

“Mr. Morgan,” Beth yelled, still leaning over the barrier. “I need you. I need your help.”

“You’ll be OK, kids,” I said, releasing my seatbelt and stepping out.

I hurried over to Beth. “What is it?”

The blow came out of nowhere. She spun around with a rock in her hand and clocked me on the temple. I went down immediately and my vision blurred. I couldn’t pass out. Not here. Not now.

I dug my nails into my palms and the pull of oblivion receded. I came to my senses and saw Beth jump into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes.

“Hey!” I yelled. My mouth was full of saliva and I felt nauseous. “Stop!”

Beth glanced at me, put the car in gear and stepped on the gas as I staggered to my feet. I stumbled forward as the wheels spun in the slush. They caught the road surface and the sudden friction sent the car lurching forward at speed. Beth had misjudged terribly. Almost immediately the car went into a fishtail skid. It veered toward a passing truck and Beth overcompensated, turning the wheel so hard, the M-Class swung round, sped across the shoulder and hit the barrier. The collision brought the car to a grinding halt, and I forced myself toward it. My legs felt weak and unsteady, but I had to get to them.

I opened the back door to find Maria and Danny crying. The car stank of fuel and silicon dust.

“Are you OK?” I slurred. “You hurt anywhere?”

Maria shook her head.

“Mom!” Danny cried.

The children had been wearing seatbelts but Beth hadn’t put hers on. The airbags had deployed but somehow her head had hit the driver’s window. There was a bloody crack in the glass.

I opened the door and leaned in.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

She was groggy and bleeding from a wound on her forehead.

“Get away from me,” she said, her words barely decipherable.

“Why? Why are you trying to escape from me?”

“My father,” she groaned. “My father...”

She took a deep breath, clearly struggling to speak.

“My father is dead,” she said before passing out.