Page 90 of Risky Passion

“Good,” I said, nodding toward the back of the police cruiser. “Now, walk to the back of the cop car.”

He hesitated, glancing at the truck and then at me, like he was weighing whether running was even an option. When he finally walked toward the cruiser, I popped the trunk lid, and the hinge groaned as it opened.

His eyes widened, and his face drained of color as he stumbled back a step. “Oh Jesus. Is that a body?” he stammered.

“Don’t ask. The less you know, the better.”

“What do you want?” His hands wobbled.

“I want you to move her into your truck.” I lowered the aim of the gun to his belly.

His mouth fell open, and he shook his head. “No, no. I can’t?—”

I raised the gun, leveling it squarely at his chest.

“You will.” My voice was steel.

Tears welled in his eyes as his shoulders shook and his trembling hands lowered a fraction. “Please! I just want to see my grandkids again. I’ll do whatever you want. But I . . . I can’t do that. My knees, my back. They’re shot. I just can’t. Please don’t kill me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I snapped. I gestured toward the trunk with the gun. “Then help me move her. Now.”

He stared at Alice’s wrapped body like she might bite him.

“Grab her legs,” I yelled as I shoved the gun into the front of my pants.

He flinched, his trembling hands hovering over the tarp. “Jesus Christ . . .” he muttered, his face twisting in pure disgust.

My patience cracked. “Grab her now!”

He obeyed, but his nose wrinkled, and he turned his head slightly like he couldn’t bear to look. His revulsion made my blood boil.

“You think this is hard foryou?” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut. “This ismy friend.So wipe that look off your face before I wipe it for you.”

He swallowed hard, nodding, and we lifted her out. My knees screamed, and my arms burned as we heaved her toward the truck.

When we finally slid Alice’s body inside, he stumbled back, wiping his hands on his pants like he could scrub away what he’d done.

Leaning against the side of the truck, I took a moment to settle my ragged breaths. Alice’s body looked so small in the back of that empty truck. Like a little lost child. So fragile.

My chest tightened, but there was no time for grief.

Tears cut lines down his weathered face. “I did what you asked,” he said, his voice trembling. “Please, I don’t want to die. I’ve got grandkids. I’ve got dogs. I just want to go home.”

I stared at him and pulled the gun from my pants. It would be easier to kill him, to tie up the loose end right here and now. But the fear in his eyes was so raw and so human, it cracked something inside me.

“Get in the cruiser trunk,” I said, aiming the gun at his chest again.

His eyes shot wider. “What?”

“You heard me. Get in the trunk. The cops are looking for the car. You won’t be in there long.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on the sand. Then, groaning like every bone in his body hurt, he climbed into the trunk. I slammed the lid shut without another word.

Sliding into the driver’s seat of the courier truck, I started the engine and pulled back onto the road. The old man would be fine. The cops would find him soon enough.

But Alice and I didn’t have that luxury.

The truck rumbled along the empty road, and the weight of Alice’sbody in the back was an anchor dragging my soul down. I gripped the wheel tighter.

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