No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery) (30 page)

“Umffff!” Beefy grunted and he fired a shot wide and to the left of Finn’s head.

I guess Finn had known what he was doing after all because I saw another gun magically appear in his hand. He must have had some plan I had just thrown a royal crimp in. Now he couldn’t shoot without hitting me, so he launched himself forward, plowing into Beefy and me and knocking the gun from Beefy’s hand. We all fell to the ground, shouting and grunting in a tangle of limbs.

I got an elbow in the windpipe and it knocked the breath out of me. My left wrist bent unnaturally under someone’s hip and an excruciatingly hot pain shot up my shoulder. I howled, wanting to clutch my wrist to my chest, but I could neither move nor breathe with two men rolling around on top of me. Suddenly the crushing pressure on my chest disappeared and I realized Beefy and Finn were now grappling around in the dusty road for control of the gun.

I struggled to my knees, my injured wrist cradled against my chest, and looked over at the men, grunting and punching. “What do I do now?” I shouted in panic to no one in particular.

I looked around wildly and saw the pale face of the gas station attendant peering out at us through the window.

“Call the police,” I screamed and his face disappeared.

I was still trying to figure out what to do next when Beefy stood triumphant, holding the gun and pointing it at Finn who lay on the ground with blood smeared on his mouth and left cheek.

Trembling, I stood on shaky legs and walked closer to Beefy. “Leave him alone,” I pleaded. “Look, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Beefy didn’t look at me, but I noticed he was breathing hard and his face was bright red from the exertion of the fight.

“You certainly will
not
do what he wants,” Finn said, coming to his feet and wiping the blood off his mouth with his sleeve.

“You’re in no position to stop me, Irish,” Beefy said. “Face it, you’re the weaker man.”

“Kiss my arse, you
gobshite,
” Finn snarled.

I wasn’t exactly sure what
gobshite
meant, but I was fairly certain it wasn’t a glowing compliment in Ireland.

For a moment we all stood around breathing heavily and staring at each other as if unsure what to do next. Then Beefy turned unexpectedly to me.

“You bit me,” he said, frowning.

“Ah, yeah,” I stammered. “Sorry. It was a spur-of-the-moment, my-life-is-in-mortal-danger kind of thing.”

“Don’t ever do it again.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“You’ve been a lot more trouble than we ever expected,” Beefy said. “I should have finished you off in front of that disco club. Actually, maybe I should have shot up the club while I was at it. I hate disco.”

I contemplated that in stunned silence. First, that Beefy was the one who shot at me in front of the disco, and second, because we actually had something in common.

But first things, first. “You shot at
me?
” I asked him incredulously.

“You should have taken that incident seriously.”

“Believe me, I
always
take people shooting at me seriously. Why’d you do it?”

Beefy rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t want you giving away the whereabouts of Judyta Taszynski to anyone except CGM. And that still holds. Either you tell me where she is or you’ll die.”

“Um, are those options mutually exclusive?”

“Damn, I like you, Lexi,” Beefy chuckled. “I don’t want to have to hurt you or your boyfriend. So, please, spare me the trouble and just tell me where I can find Judyta Taszynski.”

“Jeez, what is with everyone?” I said indignantly. “Finn is
not
my boyfriend.”

Beefy rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Don’t tell him anything,” Finn warned.

Desperate, I glanced over my shoulder, hoping to see the gas station attendant marching out with his shotgun. Unfortunately he was nowhere in sight. I hoped like hell he’d at least called the police and they’d be here momentarily. That is, if they even had police out here in Nowheresville, Pennsylvania.

“I’ll give you one more chance, Lexi,” Beefy said, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Where is Judyta? If you don’t answer, I’m going to shoot the Irishman in the knee. After that I’ll shoot his arm, shoulder, back, both hands and then his neck. At some point, he’ll be begging me to shoot him in the head. I’ll make you watch until you tell me where Judyta is hiding. Or you can tell me now. This is your last warning,” Beefy said, his eyes narrowing. “One.”

“Wait!” I screeched.

“Two.”

As panic gripped me by the throat, I shifted my weight and, using all the strength I had, gave him the best karate roundhouse kick I had ever performed. The kick hit him square in the lower back. I think the sheer surprise of it knocked him forward a couple of steps.

Unfortunately the arm holding the gun didn’t waver or budge. Not one single iota.

Instead Beefy started to laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding. Is that the best you can do?”

“Nope,” I said, panting. “How about this?” I leapt onto his back shrieking as if I were a crazed maniac, clawing at his face. Not very James Bond-like, but we are who we are.

Beefy kept laughing and threw me off with barely any effort. I nearly fainted from the pain in my wrist when I hit the ground hard. Unfortunately, throughout all of this, Beefy didn’t seem alarmed in the slightest. Instead he laughed even harder, tears starting to stream from his eyes. His entire body began to shake and I thought he’d shoot Finn by accident before he could do it on purpose. I started to silently say my prayers because I was afraid Finn and I were about to become serious toast.

Suddenly Beefy began to cough and choke. As Finn and I watched in astonishment, the gun dropped from his fingers and he keeled over face-first onto the ground. I scrambled to my feet and then Finn leapt over and kicked the gun away, rolling Beefy over onto his back. He was out cold.

“Are you hurt?” Finn asked me.

“Just my wrist,” I shouted. When I get scared, I shout to hide the clawing, embarrassing fear. “I don’t think it’s broken, but it hurts like hell.”

“What did you do to him?” he asked, looking down at Beefy.

“Nothing. He just keeled over.”

“Shit,” he said, dropping to his knees. To my horror, he abruptly ripped open Beefy’s shirt to the white T-shirt beneath.

“What are you doing?” I shouted.

“Stop yelling,” Finn said, wincing. “What does it look like I’m doing? He’s had a bleeding heart attack, lass. I’ve got to start CPR. Go see if that useless attendant called the police. Tell him to call for an ambulance, as well.”

Holding my throbbing wrist to my stomach, I ran into the station. The chair where the attendant had sat was empty. I went around the counter, picked up the phone and called 911. I found the gas station address on top of a receipt on the desk and requested police and an ambulance, then hung up despite the operator insisting I stay on the line. I ran back to Finn who was still administering CPR and told him what I’d done.

“We’re going to have company soon,” he said.

“I know. Well, I guess I’d better be going.”

Finn looked up at me. “And where might that be?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Finn leaned down close to Beefy’s face. “Dammit, he’s not breathing.”

“Too bad,” I said, lifting my hands.

“You’re going to have to help me,” he said, resuming the chest compressions. “Give him mouth-to-mouth.”

I looked at Finn, flabbergasted. “Are you freaking nuts? No way are my lips touching his.”

“He’s dying, Lexi.”

“He just tried to kill us!”

“Do you want to stoop to his level?”

I took a step back. “Frankly, it’s looking like a pretty attractive option at the moment.”

“Lexi!”

“Oh, jeez,” I said, trying to calm myself. “All right, all right. Can’t I do the pushing part?”

“Do you know how?” he asked as he steadily continued the compressions.

“Not really.”

“Then lock lips and start blowing.”

“This can’t be happening,” I moaned, kneeling down next to Beefy. Grimacing, I turned his pudgy face toward me with my good hand.

“Check to make certain he hasn’t swallowed his tongue,” Finn ordered.

“Sure, easy for you to say.”

Finn helped me pry open Beefy’s mouth and I got an unpleasantly close-up look at his front gold tooth. Trying not to appear squeamish, I grasped his tongue and pulled it straight. “There, at least he’s not choking on it.”

“That’s the spirit, lass. Start the breathing and don’t forget to pinch his nose shut. Listen for my count during the compressions. When I’m done, you start.”

“Oh, God, oh, God,” I murmured as I leaned over Beefy and pressed my mouth to his. His skin was cold and clammy. His mouth smelled faintly of onions.

I did the breaths as instructed and lifted my mouth. “Now what?” I asked.

“Keep going,” Finn instructed.

Finn made me keep up the pace for what seemed like forever, but was really only a minute or so. To my surprise, Beefy suddenly took a huge, gasping breath.

“Oh, my God, you did it,” I said in amazement. “He’s alive.”

“
We
did it, and he’s just barely alive,” Finn said grimly. “See if you can find something to keep him warm. Then we’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

I rushed into the station again, but still no sign of the attendant. I yelled for him and heard a noise in a back room. I ran over and tried to yank the door open, but it was locked.

“Open up,” I shouted. “I need a blanket.”

“Get out of here,” he screamed back at me. “Get out, get out, GET OUT or I’ll shoot!”

I totally, utterly believed him, so I left him there screaming and desperately searched the room for something that would serve as a blanket. I saw the attendant’s jacket hanging from the back of his chair, so I snatched it and ran back to Finn.

“It’s the best I could find,” I said, out of breath.

“It’ll do,” he said, covering Beefy and then standing. “Let’s go.”

“Is it safe to leave him?” I asked.

“Do you want to wait for the police?”

“Not really.”

“Then we don’t have any choice. The police and paramedics will likely be here any minute.”

I thought of Basia, Judyta, my mission. “You’re right. Well, thanks again for all your help, but I guess this is where we part ways.”

“Like hell it is,” Finn growled. “You aren’t going to drive anywhere with an injured wrist. You need my help. We go together.”

“No way!”

“Look, we don’t have time to argue. The FBI already has an APB out on the truck you’re driving. Once they’ve confirmed you’re in the area, the state police will haul you in before you can even get out of Pennsylvania. With me, you’ll at the very least have a better chance to get where you are going. No one will know I’m involved unless Harry here regains consciousness and tells them. Given the condition he’s in, I’m betting we’ll have a good head start.”

“Crap,” I said because I knew he was right.

“So we do it my way,” he said, brushing the dirt off his jeans and quickly retrieving his guns. “My car is around back. Get in. Now.”

I wanted to argue but could hear the faint wail of sirens. “Okay,” I said, making an executive decision and grabbing my purse and bag.

We left Beefy where he lay and the Jag peeled out of the gas station. Finn drove a little way and quickly pulled off onto a dirt lane. He drove into the shadows of the trees and then cut the lights. We sat there in the dark until the emergency vehicles passed us by.

“We’re out of here,” Finn said, smoothly thrusting the car into gear and pulling back out. “Where to?”

“North,” I said simply.

“A little more information would be helpful.”

I exhaled a deep breath. I couldn’t see how I had much choice. In my opinion, the plan was still salvageable; it just required a tiny bit of improvisation. Maybe Elvis would overlook the small deviation given the fact that I had just survived a near-death experience.

“Buffalo, New York.”

If Finn was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead he drove without speaking until we reached the interstate. Then he asked, “How’s the wrist?”

“Other than the excruciating pain, it’s fine. At least I’m alive.”

“We’re going to have to stop and get some painkillers or you’re not going to make it far.”

I agreed with him but didn’t say so aloud. I didn’t want to appear weak and needy, even if that was exactly how I felt.

“Are you going to tell me how you found me?” I asked.

“Sheer dumb luck, actually. I was following Harry. I tried to warn you by cell but for some unfathomable reason, you had turned it off.”

“It’s being tapped by the FBI and I didn’t want them to know my every move.”

“The FBI? Are you joking?”

“I wish. How did you know Beefy’s name?”

Finn ran his fingers through his hair. “He works for CGM. You were right. He’s a hired thug.”

“How did you find out?”

“A little sleuthing. Unfortunately he caught me red-handed, snooping around on my boss’s computer. He politely informed me we were on the same side and I needed to keep my nose out of matters that didn’t concern me, or else.”

“Or else what?”

“He’d kill me.”

“He said that? Nice guy. His name is Harry?”

“Harry Jorrell.”

“Even the name sounds beefy.”

“Well, he was once a P.I., but had his license pulled for so-called unorthodox practices.”

“Why am I not surprised? Then I guess the real question is how did Beefy track me here?”

“He’s a pretty good ex-detective, I guess.”

“And you?”

“Okay, so I was playing detective, too,” Finn admitted. “After our little chat in my boss’s office, I decided to check Harry out. I followed him to your place in Jessup. When he didn’t find you there, he drove around the town looking for your car. When he found it, he parked a short distance away and began his surveillance. Then I noticed someone else in a dark-colored sedan was watching you, as well.”

“That would be the FBI.”