Free Charmed and Dangerous by Toni McGee Causey Page B

cops were trying to cut through the jammed streets to follow them.

Six
    Not only
no,
but
hell no
! We already had the Alamo. We sure as hell are not taking Bobbie Faye.
    —the governor of Texas to the governor of Louisiana
    In the lead cop car, State Police Detective Cameron Moreau blared his sirens at the idiots in the red truck, relying on his quarterback reflexes to outmaneuver the other cars in his way and watch downfield in case the red truck made a break for an opening. For one second, he had a clear view of the truck and a woman in the passenger seat. When she glanced back, his heart sunk to his size eleven shoes.
    He grabbed his microphone and keyed for dispatch.
    “Jason,” he said, “get me backup. Bobbie Faye’s in that damned truck ripping through the parade.”
    “Our Bobbie Faye?”
    “I sure as hell ain’t claimin’ her.”
    “Shoot, Cam,” Jason said, barely hiding the laughter. “You just been pissed at her since fifth grade, when she sold lemonade she made out of holy water and told the priest it was your idea.”
    Sonofabitch. Why’d he have to live here where everybody knew every damned fart anyone had ever taken in their life? And why in the hell did it have to be Bobbie Faye in thatdamned truck? He could feel Jason laughing without even being in the same room.
    He keyed his mic again. “Just shut the hell up,” he said. “I need me some backup.”
    “You’re gonna need the army, is what you’re gonna need.” This time, Jason didn’t even bother to hide the laughter, and Cam slammed his mic down, breaking the hook. He accelerated, trying to keep the truck in sight without mowing down curious onlookers in the process.
    His radio crackled again; this time Jason sounded more worried than amused.
    “Cam? You still following Bobbie Faye?”
    “No, I thought I’d have a tea party out here. What the hell do you think I’m doing?”
    “Well, she robbed the bank.”
    “You’re kidding me.”
    “No, they got her on surveillance tape. It looks like she’s robbed Moss Point First National, her and some college kids or something.”
    “I didn’t even know Moss Point had graduated to surveillance tape.”
    “I guess they figured Harold was going to sleep through the end of the world, so they might as well. And what makes them think they ought to call the bank ‘First National,’ huh? Doesn’t that seem a little—”
    Cam interrupted him. “Jason. Philosophize later. Just tell me who-all is after her and where they’re coming from.”
    “I’ll get back to you on that.” The radio went silent again.
    Great. Just great. It had to be Bobbie Faye. Sonofabitch.
    Cam shoved all thoughts aside, particularly the ones where he understood he wasn’t even surprised that there was something as bad as a bank robbery involved with Bobbie Faye, or that he knew he’d be happy if she was in cuffs. Instead, he focused on not running down anyone while he zigzagged through the crowd, staying hot behind the truck. He peered up and saw the news helicopter and realized they were tracking the truck as well. He grabbed his microphone again.
    “Jason? Contact Channel Two news and patch me through to their helicopter.”
    “Copy that,” Jason answered, abrupt and official, which told Cam all he needed to know: the Captain and God-knew-who-else were listening in to see exactly what happened next.
Just great.
Given that it was Bobbie Faye they were dealing with, he could kiss his promotion good-bye.
    Bobbie Faye saw the car hang a left ahead. When Trevor didn’t seem to be about to turn, she snapped and pounded her fist on the dash, shouting, “Left! Left! Is it against your religion to turn left or
what
?”
    “Do you want out? Because if you keep hitting my dash, you’re getting out.”
    “What is the deal with you? It’s just a truck.”
    He screeched to a stop, turning to face her full-on.
    “It. Is. Never,” he said, his words measured, “
just
a truck.” He turned back to the steering