Time to Live

Book 5: Nick of Time

by John Gilstrap

Genres: Action & Adventure; Crime Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

Part Three of the Suspenseful Five-Part E-Serial Novel! DANGER—CURVES AHEAD In the third pulse-pounding installment of John Gilstrap’s five-part novel, a nationwide manhunt for two young lovers spins out of control—and where it stops, nobody knows . . . Nicki Janssen knows she can’t cheat death. But she can live out her last days in the arms of her beloved Brad—at least until the police catch up with them . . . Brad Ward knows the road ahead will be filled with twists and turns. But if he hopes to beat a murder rap, he’s got to outrun the cops—with Nicki by his side . . . They’ve stolen a car. Witnessed an armed robbery. And crossed state lines from Virginia to North Carolina. But prosecuting attorney Carter Janssen knows that his daughter is about to hit one major roadblock. Nicki needs medicine to stay alive—and every minute without it brings her closer to a dead end . . . “Gilstrap is one of the finest thriller writers on the planet.”—Tess Gerritsen “When you pick up a Gilstrap novel, one thing is always true—you are going to be entertained at a high rate of speed.”— Suspense Magazine “Gilstrap pushes every thriller button.”— San Francisco Chronicle Includes a preview chapter from John Gilstrap’s next thriller, Friendly Fire

Release date: May 24, 2016

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 108

Sample

Peter Banks protested bitterly about being treated like a prisoner, cursing Darla Sweet and her entire family tree. Darla tried shutting him up by telling him that his belligerence was only hurting his own case, and Carter told him that he was a fool to say anything from now on without his lawyer being present. Neither approach worked, so by the time Carter was dropped back at his car, he was relieved to be free of them both.

Something about Darla’s conclusions vis-à-vis Peter didn’t sit right with him. First of all, Carter had a hard time seeing that kid in the role of a murderer—even an accidental one. His shock at being accused seemed too genuine, as did his calm demeanor when they arrived at the pool hall. Guilty people ran away, or at least tried to.

Just as Nicki and Brad had.

This Banks kid never seemed even close to bolting. His eyes didn’t shift, he didn’t seem to calculate distances to the exits. Instead, he played a damn fine game of pool. Perhaps Deputy Sweet was not an aficionado of the game, but Carter knew from personal experience that when nerves got edgy, pool shots paid the price. Peter Banks was threading needles with the cue ball.

But if Peter wasn’t their man, Carter was no closer to saving Nicki than he was when he spoke to her on the phone three hours ago.

He had to find that tape. There’d be no arguing with a video. Standing there in the parking lot with his key poised at the lock, he cast his gaze back at the façade of the Quik Mart. Crime scene tape sealed the opening of the doors, but all of the investigating personnel had left. In their minds, he supposed, the case was closed.

Wiping the mask of rainwater from his face, Carter ran his options through his mind. The one that made the most sense involved calling the state police and playing out his new theory to the powers that be. To do that, though—to accuse the senior cop in any community of this level of malfeasance—a person had better have his shit together in a watertight bag. Circumstantial evidence wouldn’t be enough. Which meant that Carter didn’t yet have what he needed.

It all came back to the damn videotape. That was the single piece of evidence that would get everybody off of Nicki’s case.

Suppose the tape was still in the store. That was possible, wasn’t it? If Hines couldn’t have smuggled the tape out under his shirt, and the place had been crawling with investigators ever since, then maybe he’d hidden it somewhere in a back room. Surely not. Maybe. Carter considered prying open a door and combing through the Quik Mart himself, but he dismissed the thought. He wouldn’t know where to look, and it would hardly help Nicki’s case for him to be arrested on a burglary rap.

The more he thought about it, the more he fumed. How could one father put another through this kind of anguish? What would drive Hines to do such a thing? Surely, the sheriff’s own instincts as a parent should have triggered some measure of mercy.

It just didn’t add up. At a visceral level, Carter couldn’t buy the motivation inherent to Darla Sweet’s theory of the cover-up. It would take a beast with no heart to inflict this kind of distress and pain on innocent people merely for the sake of protecting one’s career, or even a son’s future as a professional athlete. The motivation just seemed too light. Add to that the apparent innocence of Darla’s prime suspect, and that left one huge mystery.

Not only would the sheriff have had to stash the video, but he also would have had to wipe the murder weapon free of fingerprints. Surely, the killer didn’t stick around to do that, and for Hines to go to those ends to protect the son of a bitch—

“Oh, my God,” Carter breathed. The answer flashed into his head with such brilliance and clarity that it had to be the right one. Sheriff Hines was covering for his son, Jeremy. That explained everything. It never did make sense for Sheriff Hines to go through all of this for the sake of a ne’er-do-well dropout, but it was the least he could do to protect his own flesh and blood.

Carter thought about the look on Gisela Hines’s face when they’d first arrived, and about that huge bruise on Jeremy’s eye. Darla had been quick to conclude that the bruise came from a beating from his father, and maybe some of it was, but it was equally feasible—even more feasible in Carter’s mind—that Jeremy Hines’s black eye was the result on one hell of a punch delivered by someone trying to foil a robbery.

He thought back to his telephone conversation with Nicki. She’d told him that Brad had tackled the robber from behind and hit him hard in the face.

But why would Jeremy Hines rob a store? What could he possibly hope to gain by sticking a gun in a store clerk’s face? Surely, in a town this size he didn’t think that he could get away with it.

As he felt himself running away with this new take on events, Carter forced himself to put on the breaks. To convince anyone—even himself—that this theory had merit, he needed means, motive, and opportunity. Right now all he had was a wild hare of an idea.

And a bruised eye.

And a gun wiped clean.

And a million questions.

It was time to pay another visit to the Hines residence.

Scotty had never bled like this before. About the worst was a gash in his knee when he’d slipped at the swimming pool. Back then, he could see the flash of white bone smiling back at him from behind the torn skin. That had hurt like crazy.

This thing on his head didn’t hurt all that much, but it bled like he was in a horror movie. The rain probably made it look worse than it was, but the blood had turned his T-shirt crimson. He could even see little red rivers flowing down his legs. He wondered if maybe his brains were hanging out. That was the fear that kept him from touching the wound. The very thought of brain tissue under his fingernails made him feel queasy.

He picked up the pace and ran again. He had to get to the Mellings’. From there he could call the cops and then they could rescue Gramma.

Did you see the way she swung into action to fight Brad? She was like an animal, flying through the air and nailing the son of a bitch like a linebacker. Who’d’ve thought? She saved Scotty’s life. He never in a million years thought anyone would risk their own life for his. With Mama, it had been just the opposite. In Scotty’s world, people existed for themselves.

After all, Gramma barely even knew him. That was because she’d thrown Mama out of the house for getting knocked up with him, and they never talked to each other. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Scotty, none of the bad shit that tracked his mama through life would have happened.

No surprise there. Scotty knew he was a pain in the ass. It was his mouth that got him into trouble. He didn’t have that little switch inside that other people had to cut off thoughts before they could become words. Sometimes, he found himself saying shit that he hadn’t even known he’d been thinking.

It was only natural that Gramma got so pissed off at him. Everybody got pissed at him. Just last week, he’d promised Gramma that he’d move out the instant he turned sixteen—as soon that he could get the e-constipation paper signed. E-constipation was the process by which kids could be treated as adults under the law. Kathy Melling had told him all about it.

Gramma laughed when he told her the plan; he’d never heard her laugh so hard. “Honey,” she’d said, “I would. . .