Golden Prey by John Sandford

Author:John Sandford [Sandford, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0735215782
Amazon: B01JHQPTWQ
Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons
Published: 2017-04-23T16:00:00+00:00

15

THE COLLEGE-SOUNDING GUY had spotted Lucas flying out of Nashville for Dallas. As they were leaving to follow, by car, Kort stole a couple of pillows from a Holiday Inn linen closet left open by the cleaning crew. Her ass felt like it was on fire, and when she pressed on the wounds with toilet paper, she was getting some nasty-looking fluid.

“Might have an infection,” Soto had said. He sounded like he didn’t care, because he didn’t.

“Hurts like hell,” Kort had groaned. “I’m going to Dallas flat on my stomach. Ten fuckin’ hours.”

“Better get some pillows or something,” Soto had said.

She’d done that and Soto had hauled their suitcases out to the latest rental, a Chevy Tahoe, from National. The thing should cost an arm and a leg, but since they were using a phony credit card and ID, and wouldn’t be returning it, the cost didn’t matter, and Kort could lie mostly flat in the back.

Soto made one last trip inside and came back carrying a bottle of gin, partially wrapped in a towel.

“What’s that for?” Kort asked.

“Give me your hand,” Soto said.

Without thinking, she stuck her hand out, and Soto grabbed it and pulled it toward him. At the same time he lifted the gin bottle, which she now saw had been broken off about halfway down, and jabbed the sharp broken edge into her forearm.

She managed to stifle a scream but threw herself away from him, farther into the folded-down backseat, looked down at her bleeding arm, and cried, “What the fuck?”

“Now you need to go to the emergency room and get sewed up,” Soto said, and he climbed into the driver’s seat. He handed her the towel and said, “Wrap this around it. Don’t get blood all over the car, it’ll start smelling bad.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What happened was, you slammed a motel medicine cabinet door too hard and the mirror broke and cut your arm. Medicine cabinet looked dirty to you, you’re afraid you’re going to be infected . . . that’s why I drove you to the emergency room.”

“Emergency room?”

—

AT THE EMERGENCY ROOM, a nurse practitioner put a half dozen self-dissolving stitches in her arm, took the same credit card they’d used to rent the Tahoe, and sent them on their way with prescriptions for antiseptic cream, penicillin pills, and pain pills. They filled the prescriptions at a Walgreens and headed for Texas.

“Could have thought of a better way to do it,” Kort grumbled from the backseat. The pain pills made her more comfortable and her arm had not hurt that bad to begin with. The penicillin pills, she thought, might even cure her aching ass.

“Don’t bother to say ‘thanks,’” Soto squeaked at her, and she didn’t.

That night, as they crossed the Red River, the College-Sounding Guy called and said, “That Davenport dude spent an hour out in a Dallas neighborhood. He was at a house in northeast Dallas. Actually, there are two houses. I don’t know this for sure, but I think he went into both of them.

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