Liars & Thieves by Stephen Coonts Read Free Book Online Page B

state had not gotten around to putting up a guardrail. The edge was right there, like the Grand Canyon. The added friction of the rocks saved us.
    With gravel flying, I threw the car back on the road and missed a shift, almost stalled the engine, then was accelerating hard again.
    In the rearview mirror I got a glimpse of the SUV sliding across the berm and going over the edge.
    I slammed on the brakes.
    “Why are we stopping?” Kelly shouted as the deceleration forces threw her against her shoulder belt.
    “They went off the road, over the edge,” I told her as the Benz slid to a halt and I slammed it into reverse. “This is our chance to find out who those dudes are and who the hell they’re working for.”
    I backed up at full throttle, the engine howling, then braked to a stop on the berm where they went over. I popped the shifter into neutral and jammed the parking brake on, then bailed out with Fred’s automatic in my right hand.
    No one was moving in the SUV, which was impaled on a large tree trunk thirty feet down the slope. It had slammed into the trunk of the tree just behind the driver’s door, and the tree had arrested it. The glass was gone; the vehicle was badly twisted from impact. I could see two heads—the driver’s and passenger’s—and they weren’t moving.
    I slid down the mud and gravel of the slope, struggling to keep my feet under me, until I reached the wreck.
    Three men were in the vehicle. The passenger and the man on the back seat were dressed in camo pants and shirts, while the man behind the wheel was wearing jeans and a pullover. At first glance, it looked as if the air bags had saved their asses. Not the guy in back, however. His neck was obviously broken. His corpse was partially on the floor, partially on the seat.
    I felt the passenger’s carotid artery. He was still alive. And out cold. He had a snub-nose .38 in a holster on his ankle and an MP-5 between his legs. A two-way radio lay at his feet. One of his legs was broken—apparently he fractured it on the weapon during the crash.
    I reached across and felt the driver’s artery. No pulse.
    I was struggling to get the passenger door open when I heard the Mercedes engine wind up. I started up the muddy slope, took two steps, and quit. Standing there in the rain, ankle deep in mud, leaves, and roadside trash, I listened to my Mercedes going down the mountain until the sound completely faded.
    What a hell of a day this turned out to be.
    I hadn’t been smart enough to pull the keys from the ignition, so ol’ Kelly what’s-her-name made like a jackrabbit, leaving me with two corpses and a comatose killer ready for intensive care. It was enough to piss off the pope.
    A common, coarse word seemed to fit the situation, so I said it aloud, then repeated it because I liked the sound of it.

Liars And Thieves

CHAPTER FIVE
    The injured man’s seat-belt buckle was jammed; I had to cut the belt with my pocket knife. I dragged him from the passenger seat and laid him out in the mud. I wasn’t too careful about how I handled him. If he croaked, so be it.
    He didn’t even twitch. No wallet, naturally. Not even a car key. I unstrapped his ankle holster and put it on.
    There was a Virginia car registration certificate and proof of insurance card in the glove box of the vehicle, which I pocketed.
    The driver had a wallet. I had a devil of a time getting it out of his pocket due to the way his corpse was jammed into the twisted seat. When I succeeded, I looked through it, found the driver’s license, and extracted it. Didn’t recognize the name. Address was Burke, Virginia. I put it in my pocket. Looked to see what else he had in there. Some credit cards and an AAA card, all in the name that appeared on the driver’s license. Maybe that was his real name. Then again . . .
    I heard a car or pickup coming, paused, and listened. It was climbing the mountain and didn’t slacken its pace. Went around the curve above me and continued