Calling the Play Read Free Page A

killed,” Johnny told her, speaking very slowly. “Do you understand? Pull over right now. Uniforms can take over. Do not get on the highway.” He spoke away from the phone. It sounded like he was asking where the nearest uniforms were.
    “What are you talking about?” Randi asked, confused. “Who’s going to get killed?”
    “You, when I see you,” Johnny told her. “A high-speed chase through Birmingham is bad press. You’ve got no blue lights, no identification on that car. And a civilian passenger.”
    “Somehow you make that sound like a bad thing,” Randi told him.
    “Don’t listen to him,” Ty told her. “We can catch this asshole. I don’t like how he treated you.”
    “Do not listen to the quarterback!” Johnny yelled into the phone.
    Randi could hear the sound of approaching sirens. “I hear the backup,” she told Johnny, hoping to shut him up.
    “When they get on scene, you back off and let them take over the chase. You hear me, Randi?”
    “Yes, Daddy,” she said, as sassy as she could.
    Suddenly the Mustang hung a U-turn and raced back at them. They must have seen the backup, too. This time the shots hit the Porsche and Randi spun it around full throttle, her side of the car facing the oncoming Mustang and the flying bullets. Johnny was right, she couldn’t get Ty killed. He might be stupid, but he was fun and really cute.
    The window next to her shattered and she felt a stinging pain in her upper arm. “Shit!” she yelled. The car stopped spinning and came to a shuddering halt on the shoulder of the road as the Mustang flew past them, followed by two cop cars in full pursuit, lights flashing.
    “Is Oakes dead?” Johnny yelled over the phone, his voice distraught.
    “Nice,” she said. “You don’t even ask about your sister?”
    “I don’t give a shit, since your life expectancy is going to be pretty damn short once I get my hands on you,” Johnny said.
    “You know, I think it’s unfair that even though you’re my brother, because you’re my superior officer I can’t respond to that accordingly,” Randi huffed in annoyance.
    “Boo-hoo,” Johnny said. “I meant it. And if you fucking got the Rebels’ quarterback killed, I will never forgive you even if you’re dead. I think they have a shot at the play-offs this year.”
    “Hey, thanks, man,” Ty said into the phone, humble and sincere. “But I think your sister just got shot, so you should send an ambulance.”
    Randi just shook her head. This was possibly the most bizarre bust she’d ever made.
    —
    “Shouldn’t you be in the hospital or something?” Ty asked her several hours later.
    They were standing outside the police station drinking some coffee. His bullet-riddled Porsche was parked on the side street to their left. The police were impounding it as evidence—Johnny’s idea of teaching Ty not to jump into cars with cops on high-speed chases. She’d dragged Ty out here after about five off-duty cops who looked like they’d just rolled out of bed showed up and asked him for autographs. It was embarrassing. Assholes had no pride in the badge. Ty hadn’t seemed to mind, signing shit for them and posing for selfies.
Fucking selfies
. She snorted in disgust.
    It was three a.m. and Ty still looked gorgeous. He reminded her of that actor in the
Fast & Furious
movies, the blond one. She figured she looked like hell. Hadn’t stopped her from getting some action in the past, though. Guys were funny that way. Fuck anything, but only feed the skinny, pretty girls.
    Randi looked down at her bandaged arm. “Naw. It was just a graze. If I make a big deal out of it they’ll laugh at me.”
    “I’m not laughing,” Ty said with a solemn expression. “I know you got shot for me.”
    “You’re too cute to get killed,” she admitted. “Anyway, I think the broken glass did more damage than the bullet. I can feel some of it in my hair, still.”
    She had changed clothes and was wearing her usual T-shirt, jeans,