Our First Christmas by Lisa Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

chocolate in the café six weeks ago.
    From his coat pocket, he retrieved one of his business cards. “When you finish with the scene, send me those gifts in the backseat. They belong to the driver’s younger brothers.”
    â€œYeah, sure. Might not be before Christmas.”
    â€œJust get them to me.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWhat else can you tell me about the accident?”
    â€œI found a chunk of tire on the road. Seeing as this car never made it that far, the rubber could have belonged to the second driver.”
    â€œWhat kind of tire?”
    â€œThat will take me time to figure. I’ll check the database. I should have information for you in a day or two.”
    â€œThe sooner the better.”
    The deputy accepted the order with a weary shrug. He’d likely gotten the short end of the stick and was pulling holiday duty. “Right.”
    â€œAny witnesses?”
    â€œNo. Out here it’s so desolate. If she hadn’t been on her cell with you, she could have languished in that creek bed for a long time. And with temps getting so cold over the next few days, no telling if she’d have been found alive.”
    Lucas shoved aside a dark image. “If the second driver damaged his tire, he’s going to have to stop sooner or later.”
    â€œStands to reason. And I can tell you, judging by the tire marks, the second driver was headed west.”
    Odd. If it had been the cartel, bad tire or no, her attacker would have doubled back to make sure the job was done . . . that Marisa was dead.
    â€œAssuming he kept heading west, where could he stop along the way?”
    â€œIf it were me, I wouldn’t stop until I crossed the border or found a place to stash my car.”
    â€œSay this guy isn’t as savvy. Where would he stop?”
    â€œThere’s a gas station up ahead about ten miles. He’d be getting closer to Fredericksburg and there would be plenty of places to stop.”
    Plenty of places meant more people to notice a banged-up car and disabled tire. “Thanks. Keep me posted on what you find.”
    â€œWill do.”
    With a weight bearing on his shoulders, he moved up the embankment to his car. He removed his hat and slid behind the wheel. Reason dictated that he not call the hospital and check on Marisa. Let the docs do their job. You focus on the mission.
    Firing up the engine, he allowed the heater to warm his skin, far more chilled than he realized. As he sat in the silence, his skin tightened with worry. Any other time he’d have listened to reason.
    But not tonight. Not with Marisa.
    He dialed the number of the hospital, and when he identified himself he was routed to the right person. He asked about Marisa.
    â€œNo news yet,” the nurse said. “She’s pretty banged up and still unconscious. They’re running scans and X-rays now.”
    â€œHow long before you know?”
    â€œMorning at the earliest.”
    He gave his contact information and placed his phone back in its belt holster. Fifteen minutes later he pulled into a gas station, now dark and quiet. It was past midnight, and it made sense that a garage owner out here wouldn’t be expecting much business.
    The headlights of his SUV shining on the station, he searched for signs that a driver would have come through this way. By the pumps he saw a chunk of tire. With the beams of his lights still shining, he got out of his car and studied the section of tire. This close, he could also see a depression in the dirt as if the driver was working on a rim. Moving ten paces away, he found more tire tracks, but these marks weren’t those of a damaged tire. Had the driver stopped here long enough to change his tire before moving on?
    In the dark, it was impossible to tell, and he spotted the small red light mounted on the top edge of the garage. A camera. He scribbled the name of the gas station and called Information. It took minutes before he heard