Desert Ice Daddy by Marton, Dana (best motivational novels .txt) 📗

the money is. You help me get out of this, it’s all yours. Just yours. For one man, it’s enough to disappear and live a pretty fine life for the next seventy years or so.”

The man looked at him at last. “What if you’re lyin’?”

Akeem breathed a little easier. The shark was nibbling the hook. “You know I had the money yesterday. You saw me with the briefcases. I still have it. I can show you where.”

“And if it’s a trick?”

“You’ll still have your gun.” He shrugged as if saying, you could always shoot me then.

The thug seemed to mull that over, but shook his head when he got to the end of his silent reasoning. “The boss would kill me dead.”

“Jake will never find you. When I go back for the woman and the kid, I’ll take care of him, I swear to that.” The bastard could take that to the bank.

But the guy sneered. “Jake ain’t nothin’.”

Akeem paused to digest that. So there was another boss. Someone bigger and more powerful. Which made sense. Someone who had the police in his back pocket.

The whole thing was starting to sound eerily familiar. Like what had happened at the airstrip with that plane that had carried Flint’s horses a couple of months back. They had a powerful enemy whose sole purpose seemed to be to bring them down. Why? And who was it? And how did kidnapping Christopher play into the bastard’s plans?

If the man behind all this was as powerful as Akeem suspected, two million dollars wouldn’t be worth the risk of getting involved in a federal crime.

Not that two million wasn’t a respectable amount. He needed to convince his newfound friend of just that.

“Two million will buy you a hell of a lot of protection. The way I look at it, it’s your best chance to stay alive. Because before all this is said and done, one of your buddies is going to figure he’d be happier if he didn’t have to cut the paycheck quite so many ways. Then there is the chance the boss might decide to eliminate his liabilities. Big men like that, they don’t like to leave witnesses. They have too much to lose.”

And the bastard was going to lose everything, if Akeem had anything to do with it. “Think this over. It could be your last chance. Two million dollars—”

He was cut off when the pickup stopped in the middle of nowhere.

“Shut up.” The man stood and opened the tailgate, took the safety off his gun then kicked Akeem to the ground.

Landing knocked the air out of Akeem’s lungs. He stayed motionless while he waited for the pain in his ribs to abate. If he could get his hands loose, he might stand a chance, but they were tied good and proper, the way you would expect from a couple of ex-cowboys who had more than a passing acquaintance with ropes.

“Get the shovel,” the blond guy who’d been driving said as he got out of the cab.

“What shovel?” the other one asked.

“You didn’t bring the damn shovel?”

His buddy shrugged.

The scene was starting to look like some screwball comedy, but Akeem was grateful for anything that would keep them occupied for now. He wiggled his hands behind his back, trying to stretch the rope enough to slip out of it. At this stage, leaving some skin behind was the least of his worries.

The blond guy swore. “How in hell are we supposed to get rid of him, dumbass?”

A moment of silence came, then, “The bushes?”

“Yeah, genius? And have the coyotes drag him all over creation by morning? Don’t you think there’ll be a search for him sooner or later?”

“So? He’ll be dead.”

The blond guy spit on the rocks at his feet. “No body, no crime.” His hand twitched on his gun. “You want this to come back to you someday, stupid?”

The other guy seemed to consider this, then nodded toward the pickup. “Got a handsaw in the toolbox. But between the wild hogs, the coyotes and the buzzards, I don’t think we got much to worry about.”

Akeem yanked harder on the ropes.

“I’ll get the saw. You take care of him.” The driver set his gun down to jump up in the back.

The guy who’d been keeping Akeem company on the road pointed his gun at Akeem’s head.

This was the end. He had seconds. If he didn’t figure out how to escape, Taylor and Christopher would be defenseless in the bastards’ hands.

“Two million. Best chance you’ll ever have.”

Akeem positioned his legs to swipe the thug’s legs from under him.

But in the end, that wasn’t necessary. The man turned and fired at the driver, point-blank. Clean shot, middle of the forehead. The body tumbled over the side and to the ground. He hadn’t even had time to look surprised.

Then the gun was pointed at Akeem.

“You better know where that money is and it better be close,” the man said, undisguised desperation sitting on his face. He’d made his choice and knew if this didn’t pan out, he was a dead man.

“It’s at the refinery.” Akeem would have told the guy that even if it weren’t the truth. He needed to get back there ASAP.

The man grabbed him by the rope that held his hands and dragged him up.

“Hang on,” Akeem gasped. “I think my ribs are broken. Just give me a second here.” It wouldn’t hurt to appear weak, not that he had to fake the pain. He leaned against the back of the pickup, breathed hard while he swiped the dead guy’s gun and tucked it behind his back. He took a couple of deep breaths. “I can’t get back up here if you don’t untie my hands.”

The guy shoved him away to close the tailgate. “You’re going in the cab.” He nudged him forward and pushed him up.

Akeem lay back in the passenger seat, his head still pounding from the beating he’d gotten, his ribs sore from movement. He got dizzy every time he