Hi, I am the daughter of the author. What am I doing here? I have a place here. In fact two places. What are they? This is a mystery series. You either have to figure it out or wait until it is reveled.
Did you notice my daughter’s picture? Yep, she is here.
Lonnie figured out he needed money, a legal car he could drive, and he needed to get rid of this hot car. Not a problem. A forty-five minute drive to the chop shop and by morning he’d be all set.
He was still thirty minutes away from the chop shop when he saw the red light behind him. He was still in the same heavily wooded area. An area he would have never known existed had he not discovered the safe house used by the CIA. Now he knew the area well. He had been prowling around it since the day he discovered it.
That was when he took stock. That was when he wished he had continued to follow all of the advice Cody had given him.
That was when he wished he had applied it to this day, this trip, this car, if to no other.
Cody told him never to steal a car when he was high, stoned, or even had a drink. Right now Lonnie had enough crap in him to overdose any three people who hadn’t built up a tolerance to it.
Cody told him to never have drugs in a stolen car with him. And to search it as soon as possible. If the car had drugs in it to stash them. Right now Lonnie had enough drugs in the car to be legally called a dealer.
Cody told him never to be in a car longer than it took to get rid of it. An hour at the most. Right now Lonnie had been driving it around for almost eight hours.
Cody told him never to have a weapon of any kind in a stolen car. Not even a pocket knife. Lonnie not only had one in here he had gone back to his house to get it and had promptly forgotten it. Right now it was shoved under the armrest.
Cody told him to never commit any other crime while in a stolen car, unless it was only stolen to get him to the crime scene and away, to protect his identity. Then ditch it as quick as possible.
Did kidnapping count?
At least she wasn’t still in the trunk.
Oh, shit. His mind raced. If they caught him now he was not going to get out on bail any time soon. Oh, shit. She was all tied up like one of those rolled roasts you see in the meat section. Then she was tied to the chair and he did it all over again. Oh, shit. Then he locked her in that damn closet and all but nailed the damn thing shut. Oh, shit, shit.
She was going to die in there.
Oh, shit.
The cop car was catching up. The lights were reflecting inside the roof of the car now. He could hear the siren’s wail.
Unless he told them where she was. He would have to tell on himself. Car theft. Weapons trafficking. Drug dealing. Kidnapping. Oh, shit. Kidnapping a CIA agent. Terrorist activity. He wouldn’t even be entitled to a phone call or an attorney or any American rights.
Oh, shit.
To save her life he would have to tell. If he told he would never see daylight again the rest of his freaking worthless piece of shit life and he couldn’t even get high to ease the pain.
Oh, shit.
How had things gone so wrong so fast?
One thing was sure. He could never tell them about the woman in the closet in the cabin. If he got caught she was on her own. She was going to die in there. Die a slow death of thirst and starvation. That would have to be an awful way to die. Slow and miserable.
He was going to feel badder than hell about that.
The Homewrecker Series (tm) 
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