Duck and Run Read online

  Duck and Run

  Red River Recovery, Book 1

  T.L. Schaefer

  Contents

  Praise for TL Schaefer’s books!

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Book 2 in the Red River Recovery Series

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Also by T.L. Schaefer…

  Duck and Run

  Red River Recovery, Book 1

  By TL Schaefer

  * * *

  Published by Terri Schaefer

  Copyright 2021

  Cover by Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs

  Editor: Sarah Conerty Jordan

  ASIN: B08NH7P873

  * * *

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold but can be loaned to other people. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected].

  All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. www.tlschaefer.com

  Jenn, Sarah and Cindy – thanks so much for your scrupulous eyeballs, great ideas and constant encouragement – y’all rock!

  And as always, to August… This book has been a long time in coming, and you were always there to listen to my harebrained ideas. Love you!

  Praise for TL Schaefer’s books!

  CASI Series (Romantic Thriller)

  Behind Blue Eyes

  "Taut suspense, deep passion, and memorable characters left me breathless."

  * * *

  Shoot to Thrill

  “If you like Nora Roberts or Linda Howard, you’ll like this series.”

  * * *

  Lunatic Fringe

  "WOW...all I can say is if you really enjoy page turning, heart racing, paranormal romance, then this is the book for you."

  * * *

  MARIPOSA Series (Romantic Mystery)

  The Summerland

  "The characters are believable, the plot fast and furious, and the ending is explosive! Thumbs up!"

  * * *

  The Brotherhood

  "Once I got started with this book I was completely addicted"

  * * *

  The Paladin

  "The twists and turns of this tale will keep you reading long into the night."

  * * *

  STAND ALONE BOOKS

  Something Witchy This Way Comes

  "TL Schaefer creates an imaginative world and populates it with characters that are intriguing and interesting. I really enjoyed it!"

  Cast of Characters

  Nick McLain – Undercover when he really shouldn’t be, Nick must use all his skills as a prior Marine and a current Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation agent to crack a fraud ring spanning three states. But when he falls for Cris, will his old wounds help her or throw them deeper into danger?

  * * *

  Cris O’Connor Eagen – In hiding from a past that was splashed over every tabloid in the country, Cris just wants a quiet life where she makes an honest living repossessing luxury cars. When Nick barges into her life, she’s immediately attracted to the former Marine and fascinated by his case. But there’s a threat lurking that will blindside them both.

  * * *

  Rob Hude – Former professional wrestler Rob turned his fame into a thriving repossession business where he recovers toys the rich just won’t bother to make payments on. His loyal, exceptionally talented crew of Cris, Ethan and Karla have made him a rich man, but one still wary of outside threats.

  * * *

  Scott “Linc” Lincoln – Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation Agent in Charge (Oklahoma City office) and Cris’ mentor. He’s seen Cris through hell and will be damned if she has to go through it again.

  * * *

  Lori Wright – Lori and Cris have a past, one she’s looking forward to revisiting.

  * * *

  Ethan Masters – Cris’ partner and Red River Recover’ pilot. Quiet and competent, he keeps to himself.

  Chapter 1

  There were better ways to end the week, Cristine O’Connor Eagen was sure of it. She slouched in the leather bucket seat of her SUV, slightly hung over, loathing the muggy air that hung like a curtain, even this early in the morning. Cranky or not, she had a job to do, so instead of brooding, she focused her sunglass-shaded eyes on the Corvette parked nose-out in the driveway.

  The stark contrast between the flashy sports car next on her list to recover and the seedy Oklahoma City neighborhood around her was vivid.

  Rusted cars leaned drunkenly on jacks, missing tires, doors and the occasional hood. A few dirt-dappled refrigerators towered above a scattering of grimy Big Wheels slowly disappearing into an explosion of springtime weeds. And behind it all, dilapidated clapboard bungalows squatted, broken venetian blinds in cracked windows giving a sly wink.

  Two houses down, someone had planted flowers, mowed their yard. They actually gave a damn about their property and it made the blight seem even worse.

  It was all perfectly normal, depressing as that might be.

  Cris snorted at her own sense of melodrama. She was having a bad morning. Then again, it was Sunday, a day better spent sleeping in than sitting in gangville at the butt-crack of dawn. Okay, maybe not the crack of dawn, but still obscenely early for a Sunday.

  Gusting wind brought the scent and taste of rain colored by the burn of ozone through the open window...the fresh air was welcome, but also a sure sign of coming lightning and maybe more. It wasn’t the weather making her grouchy, but it sure didn’t help. She’d lived in Oklahoma long enough to know what could be developing in the marshmallowy cumulous clouds above her head.

  But there was no way she was letting this job go, even if a tornado dropped out of the sky. Normally, her partner Ethan would be here to back her up, but he’d texted her not five minutes ago, claiming to be sick.

  Damn flyboy. He was usually a better partner than that, but lately he’d seemed more quiet than usual, which was saying something. As the agency’s pilot, he was more comfortable flying rotors than fixed-wing aircraft, but could do either in a pinch, and could drive a sports car like there was no tomorrow. As partners went, he was pretty solid.

  Until this morning. She suspected his absence had more to do with their late-night pool hall session than with an actual illness, especially considering he hadn’t touched a drop, claiming he needed to be her designated driver. They’d called it a night at the same time, but she’d managed to pull herself out of bed just fine. Sort of. But now that she thought about it, she’d never seen Ethan take a drink before.

  Sure he’d hung out with her from time to time, but they weren’t best friends by any stretch.

  Regardless of what was going on--or not--with Ethan, she had a situation right here, right now. Without the tow truck Ethan was supposed to bring while she scoped out the car, and without backup, she was pretty much screwed when it came to this recovery.

  If she followed her boss’s protocols. If.

  If she didn’t go against Rob’s explicit policy of not repossessing cars by yourself, about using the keyless codes none of them were supposed to have, but did, odds were the awesome ‘Vette sitting sixty feet away would b
e gone within hours, right along with their recovery fee. And the props for getting it done within hours of the car hitting the recovery list.

  “Ah, to hell with it.” Rob was always yelling anyway, she might as well give him a reason this time. She moved the SUV back six blocks into a neighborhood that was marginally better, rolled up the window, snagged the remote control to the yard’s garage from the visor, and pushed open the door of the Expedition. Thumbing the electronic lock, she strode down the street, the heels of her tactical McRaes thumping solidly against the cracked pavement, like she had every right in being there.

  As she walked, she slid her smart phone out of her pocket and selected the totally illegal app that unlocked the doors quickly and quietly. She slid into the butter-soft leather seat, still warm from the body heat of the previous driver, and closed the door quietly, then hunched below the headrest and hit the keyless start.

  The ‘Vette started with an almost-soundless purr. She loved it when research paid off, even if said research was in a very gray area. She’d learned more things on the street than she ever had as a psychologist with the Texas Rangers. Which made boosting this, or any car, that much more amusing to her.

  The sports car slipped smoothly down the street and a surge of adrenaline zipped through her, like it always did. There was nothing better than this, not even watching a baddie who deserved it go down hard.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as the sign for the interstate flashed past and veered up the onramp.

  I made it, one more time.

  Dialing in the classic country station, she settled in for the ten-minute drive to the yard. She didn’t question why a car worth over a hundred grand had been parked in one of the worst neighborhoods in Oklahoma City, because she’d pulled other cars out of this neighborhood worth more. It was her assignment, and dammit, she was good at what she did.

  She should be, since it was all she had left.

  Her recovery rate was based on skill, and Red River Recover had the rep of being a top-flight organization. One that specialized in high-value, high-risk recoveries. They didn’t go after a single mom’s Tercel or a working man’s truck. It was a pride point with Red River. With Rob Hude, their leader.

  Cris sang along with Merle Haggard and eyed the storm clouds looming ominously overhead. She might have enough time to get back to her truck before the leading edge of the front hit, though it sucked she’d have to call Uber to get back to her SUV.

  Maybe she’d drag Ethan’s lame butt out of bed and make him take her. With any kind of luck, she could have her Expedition garaged before any serious weather, namely hail, struck.

  Traffic was light, as one would expect on a muggy Sunday morning. The freeway climbed toward the interchange, lifting drivers twenty-five feet above the hard-packed earth below.

  Rolling her shoulders, she let her thoughts flow aimlessly as the road unfurled beneath her. Tomorrow was a blessed day off. She had all day to demo the bathroom. If the stuff from the chromers showed up, she might even do a little work on the last bits of the Mustang as well. Those thoughts, that normalcy, soothed something deep within. Using her hands, her muscles, her reflexes, instead of worrying something to death.

  This life was a good one. Steady. No frills, little excitement, except when a skip got snippy. Or she bent Rob’s rules.

  No grumbly man at home, telling her what to do and when to do it. Yeah, it was all good. Quiet. Steady.

  Crap. She’d repeated herself. So much for her morning testimonial. But despite her mental repetition, she had to agree with herself. This life was good. Maybe a little boring, a little predictable, a little lonely, but she paid her bills on time and no one was shooting at her, at least not today.

  The first whiplash slam of impact shocked her into silence mid-thought, almost stopped her heart, freezing her hands on the steering wheel, and sending shudders through the frame of the car. The second flung the ‘Vette helplessly into the guardrail and snapped her out of her frozen moment. She shot a panicked glance to her right, taking in the big black Lincoln pacing her, noting the tinted windows obscuring the driver as the monstrous car continued to grind her into the guardrail.

  In that instant she was thrust back eighteen months in time. The screech of tearing metal shivered down her spine, harsh as fingernails on a chalkboard. The vibration of the pavement markers thump, thump, thumping beneath the tires. The copper taste of terror in her mouth.

  They were just as real in her memory as the car trying to kill her now.

  Nausea churned in her stomach and her brain started a white-noise buzz as panic threatened to swamp her. The seatbelt cut across her breasts, and the sensation silenced the noise, brought her back. She gulped in a huge breath of air, desperately clawing through the shock.

  This wasn’t eighteen months ago. Wasn’t Austin.

  It was today, Oklahoma City, and she’d better get herself together, otherwise this idiot was going to finish the job Lori Wright had started.

  Pure instinct ruled her mind, her actions, as she fought against the steering wheel, pulling hard to the left, and gunned the accelerator, sliding in front of the sedan. She took the off ramp onto the interstate at eighty, almost airborne as she hit the soft corner clearly marked forty-five miles per hour.

  Executing the merge seamlessly, she glanced in the rearview mirror, not terribly surprised to see the chromed grill of the behemoth filling it.

  Now that she’d had a few precious seconds to process the scenario, she knew what this was, and a long-forgotten spurt of anger rolled through her. The driver behind her wanted his car back and didn’t particularly care in what condition. She’d known picking up this skip was too easy, and now she had more than one problem.

  She could make the yard safely now that she had control of herself again. Her years as a Ranger had taught her a thing or two about defensive and offensive driving, but it was the damage to the ‘Vette that worried her the most.

  Rob was going to have an awe-inspiring conniption over the trashed car. Didn’t matter that the bank would end up eating the loss. He wouldn’t like it on principle. Never mind the means she’d used to recover it. The combination of the two would make his head pop off.

  She wove in and out of traffic, staying ahead of the Lincoln until she was almost abreast of her exit. Shooting across all four lanes, she took the off ramp at sixty and barreled through the yield sign at the bottom of the hill.

  Where was a cop when you needed one?

  The chain-link fence of the yard, topped with wicked strands of razor wire, loomed ahead. Slamming on the brakes, she fishtailed into the parking lot, spitting up gravel, and hit the remote.

  She slid under the rising metal with inches to spare, and then punched the remote again, breathing a sigh of relief as the door began its downward descent, settling into its steel-reinforced tracks with an authoritative thump, shielding her from her pursuers.

  Cris thanked the heavens that Rob was paranoid enough to spare no expense when it came to safeguarding his recoveries. It had saved her bacon once again. There was no way anyone was getting into the garage unless they knew the combination to the cipher-locked side door or had a remote.

  She sat in the ‘Vette for a few long moments, letting the shakes overtake her. Sweat soaked her tee shirt and pearled on her forehead, sliding down her face. She pulled off her Oklahoma State ball cap, running trembling fingers through soaked bangs.

  Adrenaline spiked through her system, and with it came the vivid taste of terror. Again. Dammit, she’d left that behind in Austin, or thought she had. The vulnerability pissed her off. She was, or had been, a Ranger, for God’s sake. She should be able to shake this off.

  Squaring her shoulders, she breathed in, exhaled slowly, and felt the tension leave her body. It chapped her that she had to use the psychology tricks she’d practiced for so many years on herself. It was a weakness she couldn’t afford. Not anymore.

  Good. Now she could get back to business. Get back to living in tod
ay’s world, not yesterday’s. Because yesterday’s sucked, and she was tired of going there, even if it did happen less and less frequently now.

  She pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed the dispatcher’s office. Karla, their seen-it-all and done-it-twice dispatcher, needed to know about her close call and the idiots who’d tailed her. You never knew when a skip might get pushy, or even worse, violent. Especially with the dollar value of the things they recovered.

  Once again, Rob’s faith, or lack of it, in his fellow man had served them well. The dispatcher’s office was locked, protected by bulletproof glass. Just like the garage, the only way to access the cage was if someone let you in, or you knew the combination to the cipher lock.

  Those precautions had seemed over the top when Cris first started skip tracing for Rob, regardless of the monetary value of the recoveries stored here, but her rose-colored glasses had been ripped off within a few days. And now, today? She was seriously happy with the Fort Knox routine.

  Karla’s phone rang, and then rang again, with no answer.

  Concerned, Cris opened the car door and stood on shaky legs. She walked across the cavernous bay, dotted with only a few repossessions awaiting transfer, to the ‘people door’ and looked out the mesh-reinforced glass.