Randy barely even flinched. He didn't even bother to turn around, just spoke over his shoulder. "Mind your own damn business. This is between me and the little lady."
"The hell it is."
A sudden wrench as Randy's shoulder was grabbed and pulled in the direction of the newcomer. I twisted and squirmed even harder than before, managing to raise a foot against the car and kick backward. Randy stumbled back, but didn't loosen his grip, keeping me pinned with my arms at my sides. Frantically, I flailed my legs, feeling my heels connect against his feet and ankles.
Damn cowboy boots.
Desperate, I jerked my head backward, hearing Randy's grunt of pain as my skull connected with his chin. Despite the sudden flare of stars, it was worth it to know I'd hurt him.
Then I felt myself ripped from Randy's painful embrace, and pushed away. Shaken and unsteady, I fell to the ground a few feet away.
"You okay, babe?" A little distance and some moonlight showed my rescuer clearly. His face looked like thunder, and his eyes were trained on Randy.
"Joe," I whimpered, hating how shaky I sounded. Thank God.
Further conversation was impossible as Randy launched himself at Joe, tackling him to the ground. I rose to my feet, heart racing, as the two men rolled and grappled in the dirt of the parking lot. One second Randy was on top, then Joe would get the upper hand. I wanted to cheer when Joe's fist connected with Randy's ribs, and cry when Randy's return blow drew a grunt of pain from Joe. Then Joe kicked himself free of Randy's grip and gained his feet, cracking Randy a good one on the chin on his way up.
Randy fell backward, momentarily stunned. Between the liquor he'd obviously consumed and the blows he'd taken, his head had to be spinning.
"You sorry bastard," Joe said, breathing hard. "Attacking defenseless women in dark parking lots. Is that the only way you can get a date?"
"Defenseless, my ass," I said. To prove it, I snatched up the discarded whisky bottle at my feet and wielded it like a club. I was shaking with fear and rage, but the fear had definitely lessened since Joe showed up. "He just caught me off guard."
"I'm gonna kick yore ass," Randy moaned, twisting to the side to push himself up.
"Bring it on, Cornpone," Joe taunted, clearly furious and ready to go another round.
I'd never seen Joe like this—his job was to heal people, not hurt them—but he obviously had no trouble inflicting pain when he needed to.
A teeny part of me was thrilled. Okay, a big part of me was thrilled. If anybody needed some pain inflicted, it was Randy.
My gloating was short-lived. Randy had gained his feet, swaying slightly. Moonlight glinted on something he held in his hand, and with a sinking heart, I shouted, "He's got a knife!"
Joe didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, grabbing Randy's wrist with one hand, his shoulder with the other. Another brief struggle, until Joe's knee came up and caught Randy right where it hurt.
Randy froze, eyes bugging, his agonized wheeze bringing joy to my heart. Joe was still moving, twisting Randy's arm behind his back before giving him a hard shove. Randy went down face-first, and Joe stood there alone, holding the knife.
Randy curled into a ball, drawing his knees up tight. The next sound we heard was retching as he emptied his stomach in the dirt.
I hoped he'd choke on his own vomit.
Joe threw the knife into the bushes that ringed the parking lot and came over to gather me in his arms. "You okay? Did he hurt you?"
Not taking my eyes from Randy, I held on to Joe for all I was worth. I was still clutching the empty whisky bottle, not ready to let it go yet. "I'm okay." I was shaking like a leaf, dammit. "Where'd you come from? How'd you find me?" Not that it mattered—Joe was here, warm and solid, breathing hard but thankfully breathing.
"Google Maps," he muttered into my hair. "You told me the name of the bar, and I had a bad feeling." He turned us a little so he could keep an eye on Randy, too. "Beer, rednecks, and my gorgeous, fiesty girlfriend; not a good mix."
I couldn't help but laugh a little. "You know me too well."
"Not nearly well enough," Joe said softly, letting me bury my face against his neck. "But I'm working on it."
Randy moaned, drawing our attention. He dragged himself to his knees, then pushed himself to his feet, stifling another groan. Without another word, he staggered toward his pickup truck, bent over and holding his belly.
Joe started after him, but I tightened my fingers in his shirt. "Let him go," I said. "Let him crawl back into his hole."
"Nicki," Joe clearly didn't like that idea. "He pulled a knife on me; who knows what he would've done to you if I hadn't shown up."
"Oh, I know what he would've done." I couldn't help the involuntary shudder that rippled through me, and remembered what my mom always called that particular feeling: somebody just walked over my grave.
"I'm calling the cops," Joe said grimly.
The truck's engine roared to life.
"Not yet."
Clearly frustrated, Joe looked from the truck to me. "Why not?"
Another shadow moved in the parking lot, one I'd known had been there all along. Michelle stepped into the ring of light beneath the single lamppost, staring at me silently.
"Because we have to follow him," I said.
Chapter 5
The One-Stop Body Shop was a dump, but it was a dump that sent a chill down my spine, and not just because of the name.
It was a garage like many other garages, a run-down building with three big dented and rusty steel doors closed and padlocked against thieves, a small office with glass windows overlooking a dirt parking lot that held four cars and one pickup truck.
Randy's pickup truck.
What sent a chill down my spine was the big retention pond in the field beside it, and the way the moonlight glistened on the slick, oily surface of the water. Once there'd been a chain-link fence surrounding the pond—now there were just a few sections left, sagging and covered with kudzu vines.
It hadn't been hard to follow Randy here. We'd had a guide, after all. Now that Michelle's spirit knew and remembered what had happened to her, she had no trouble directing us down the main roads to the One-Stop.
I was worried about her, though. Other than a few sparse words telling me when to turn and where, which I'd relay to Joe, she said nothing. Her eyes looked haunted, which was weird, considering she was the one doing the haunting.
"This is it," Michelle said, as we drove slowly past. "He has a room in the back."
I looked at Joe, nodding, and he pulled over to the side of the road beneath some trees a few hundred yards away.
"This is a really bad idea, Nicki." Joe put the car in park a little harder than he needed to. He glanced in the back seat, which to him must've appeared empty. "I mean, what are we gonna do, go in and make a citizen's arrest or something? We have no proof this guy did anything except assault you in the parking lot; no proof he murdered anybody." He checked the back seat again, a little self-consciously. "I mean, I'm sorry for your friend Michelle, but we're out of our league here."
"If we find Michelle's body, that's all the proof we'll need," I argued.
"You won't find me," Michelle said hollowly. "Not without scuba gear."
I was trying hard not to look at Michelle any more than I needed to—ever since she'd seen Randy at the bar she looked more and more like a corpse, and less like the college girl she'd once been. Her dark hair hung in damp rat-tails, and her skin had taken on a greenish tint.
"She's in the pond," I said to Joe. "Maybe we can find her car or something, get the police to come out and investigate."
Michelle spoke up again, sounding more despondent by the minute. "The car's in the pond, too. Everything's down there." She was staring out the window, toward the garage.