Tempted by Trouble

Tempted by Trouble by Eric Jerome Dickey Read Free Book Online Page B

Book: Tempted by Trouble by Eric Jerome Dickey Read Free Book Online
Authors: Eric Jerome Dickey
    “Abbey Rose, maintain your speed. If they turn their lights on . . .”
    Tears ran down her face as if that was her last hope of surviving. When the police turned left at Don Lorenzo, I took a deep breath.
    Abbey Rose cried a little harder.
    A Maserati was parked in front of one of the homes we passed. The next-door neighbors had Toyotas and Nissans. After that I saw a garaged Lamborghini and a fleet of Mercedes.
    I sighed. “Everybody up here has two imports per person in each household. For every one car we export, they import three hundred to our soil, and all the imports are up on this hill.”
    “Nothing. Just drive.”
    Drops of sweat dripped from my chin.
    She asked, “What did you do? Why are the police after you?”
    I licked my lips and felt pain. I said, “I can’t chance you calling the police.”
    She whispered, “I won’t.”
    “You will.”
    “I promise I won’t.”
    “If I let you go, you will.”
    She wiped her eyes. “You said if. Not when. If. ”
    I took another frustrated breath. My heart beat faster.
    I said, “You’re married.”
    She paused. “Yes. And my husband is looking for me right now.”
    “What day was your wedding? And where did you get married?”
    She clenched her teeth.
    I said, “You’re not a good liar.”
    She snapped, “You’re not a good driver.”
    Fear and frustration blistered my mind and I was about to detonate, but I put the switchblade down at my side, then I rubbed my temples and shook my head before I regarded the streets, my pained movements nothing more than controlled nervousness. I was distressed and angry, and that anger was almost explosive. I wanted to scream and pummel her German-made dashboard with my hands.
    I motioned for her to stop driving.
    I said, “You’ve seen my face.”
    She wiped her dank hands on her pants, then she pulled her mountain of hair back as best she could, but her mane remained strong, rebelled and bounced back to its circular form.
    I motioned for her to drive again. She didn’t hesitate to pull away from the curb.
    That told me she felt safer with us moving. I felt the same way.
    She said, “You were speeding.”
    “You ran the red light. Is that how they teach people to drive in L.A.? My guess is you were on your cell. You were distracted. Am I wrong?”
    She trembled. “I was reading a text message. I slowed in front of you because I was reading a text message. My fiancé was breaking up with me. Days before Christmas and he broke up with me with a text message. So, that’s why I slowed down. I was in the middle of breaking up with my fiancé.”
    I said, “Makes sense now.”
    “What makes sense?”
    “Most people get out of their cars right after an accident. It’s a natural thing. You didn’t get out right away. You didn’t scream about your BMW being wrecked. Something else was on your mind. And now it makes sense.”
    “What are you going to do to me?”
    She had driven Hillcrest Drive to Don Milagro Drive to Don Felipe Drive to Don Miguel Drive. Right before Don Miguel touched Don Lorenzo, I instructed her again to do her best to look normal. We were in the section where the houses started to become smaller and old apartment buildings began to reappear.
    I motioned for her to turn right and we came to La Brea. Again, I motioned to the right. Then she was stopped by the red light. It was a no-right-on-red light. I pointed that out and told her to obey the traffic laws. Some people crossed the street while others jogged up a dirt hill that led to hiking and jogging trails at the park. When the light turned green she turned right, drove down the pathway that cut between Baldwin Hills and Kenneth Hahn Park. We were heading north at close to fifty miles an hour, a little over the speed limit but a lot slower than the rest of the traffic. I motioned for her to turn left onto Coliseum Street and pointed up ahead. We were behind the Village Green, a seventy-acre wooded area that was

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