The Whole Truth (The Supercharged Files Book 1) by Jody Wallace Page B

embankment.
    My teeth chattered in my head
like a manual typewriter. I pointed at the other car, a large black sedan.
“What’s up with that asshole?”
    John stopped the car half on,
half off the gravel shoulder. We were about twenty feet behind the sedan.
    “Are you all right?” He whipped
off his seatbelt and leaned across the cab.
    “I think so.” The rush of
adrenalin gave me swimmy-head. I took off my seatbelt, too. When he patted me
down, I let him.
    His palm was warm. Not tingly,
like Roxanne Spivey, but nice. Normal. He gently probed my shoulder where the
seatbelt had lain across me. “Bruises? Sore neck?”
    He lingered on the skin of my
neck, a fingertip rubbing my collarbone. He was close enough to kiss, to taste
that magical tongue, and I was already halfway in his arms.
    God, he was appealing. There was
just something about him, something earnest and sexy at the same time.
    Heat rose in my face when I
realized his touch was turning me on. “I’m just startled,” I claimed. If he
didn’t want to be mauled by a sex-starved woman who hadn’t gotten any skin in
months, he’d better keep his hands to himself.
    “You’re sure?”
    I brushed him away. “Let’s go
check on the asshole and see if he had a heart attack.” I’d feel bad for
calling him an asshole if that were the case.
    “Stay here.” John popped on the
emergency brake and shut the motor off. He got out of the cab and walked around
to check his tailgate.
    I’d have been more worried about
why somebody careened to a stop in the middle of a highway than the damage to
my vehicle. The other guy was blocking the road, which meant this could turn
into a bigger wreck. I peered into the distance. No cars ahead, one approaching
from behind but far off. The closest house was several cow fields away.
    Ignoring the fact John had told
me to stay put, I unlocked my door and jumped out of the truck.
    And promptly sank to my knees,
more wobbly after our near-crash than I’d expected.
    A hand caught me before I bit gravel.
“Cleo, I asked you to stay inside.”
    “We need to see if the other
driver is all right.” Nobody had clambered out of the black sedan, a bad sign.
“He could be sick. We should call 9-1-1.”
    I leaned into the cab and
scrambled for my purse. In the commotion, it had wedged itself under the seat.
    “Let me check it out first.” When
John stepped toward the other vehicle, all the doors opened and four people
stepped out in unison.
    “They had to have practiced
that.” When I realized they were all wearing ball caps, sunglasses, and black
track suits, I added, “Should I call 9-1-1 now?” This had all the signs of a
carjacking.
    That’s when the car behind us
closed the distance, executed half of a three point turn, and parked next to
our tail end.
    “John, look out!” After the
warning he probably didn’t need, I leapt into the cab and slammed my door.
Since John wasn’t in the truck, I didn’t shut his door, but I did whip out my
phone.
    “Arlin,” one of the men said to
John. “We’d like a word.”
    I quit dialing. This made the
second time I’d come within a digit of invoking the cops when John was
involved.
    With one snap of John’s spine,
his posture changed to stiff and angry. “I don’t have anything to say to you and
neither does she.”
    Wait a minute, she? I was she.
    “She’s not registered yet,
friend. As I believe she informed one of our compatriots last night, it’s a
free country.”
    “She’s our guest.”
    “You hid her away, Arlin. You
prevented open access. Bad form.”
    More Psytech assholes. Though
they were older than Alex, they had that look about them, glossy and confident,
including the woman. What would John do if they wanted to kidnap me? Punch a
senior citizen?
    I wasn’t going to be dragged off
by four oldsters who were nowhere near as well-dressed as John, Samantha and
Alfonso. Matching track suits—really? They looked like the early bird buffet
eating team.
    I