Forsaken (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #3)(33)

He hesitates. “Counting money in front of my wife is a negative for me. I need to get rid of her. I’ll be fast.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, heading for the door, but not before he snatches the damn keys. Cursing the delay, I walk to the bathroom door and knock. “Gia, we’re leaving.” She doesn’t respond immediately and unease rolls through me. “Gia—”

The door swings open. “Sorry,” she says, swiping hair behind her ear, her eyes bloodshot, skin pale. “I’m not feeling grand. Are we ready to go?”

Whatever is going on with her, I don’t like it, but this isn’t the time to figure it out. I grab her hand and lead her back into the front office, and scan for Jeff, who isn’t anywhere to be found. Neither is his wife’s car. A frisson of unease goes down my spine.

“Where’s the salesman?” Gia asks.

“Good damn question,” I murmur, walking behind the desk and opening drawers. “Bingo,” I murmur, grabbing keys with a tag that reads “Blue Dodge.” Walking to the window, I scan the cars and find no signs of life. I do find the Dodge, and it’s sitting in the center of the lot, blocked in. “Fuck.”

“What’s happening?” Gia asks, moving to my side.

“Nothing good,” I assure her, offering nothing more. Focused not on her, but on getting us out of here alive. The back door gives me no visual. The front makes us targets, but the cars are lined up close to the exit, offering good coverage.

“They found us, didn’t they?” she asks from beside me.

I reach down and remove my gun from the ankle holster, barely glancing at her as I instruct, “We’re going out the front door and between the two cars to our right.” I turn to face her. “You go first so I can cover you. Get down low and stay that way.”

“Low,” she agrees. “Happily.”

“Now,” I say, opening the door without giving her time to develop a case of nerves, or us time to end up trapped, if we aren’t already.

She goes down low and darts forward, and I follow, unzipping my bag and holding my hand with the weapon inside, where it won’t be seen, as I do. In what feels like about a hundred heartbeats, though it’s more like ten, we are between the two cars.

“Keep going,” I encourage, urging her to the next row of cars, and toward the rope that divides the lot from a McDonald’s. If we were seen, it’s the predictable way to go, which means we can’t hesitate or we’ll be toast.

Gia seems to understand as well, driving forward and under the rope. I follow and in unison, no words needed, we head to the row of parked cars and kneel between the first two. I check the locks on some sort of Jeep. She checks the doors on a pickup.

“Here,” I say when mine opens, and wasting no time, she climbs inside the side door and scoots over, going low. Again I follow her, settling the bag between us, my gun at easy grip range. Praying the owner doesn’t show up when we’re in the car, I quickly yank the dash panel off and connect wires, bringing the engine to a start.

“Chad,” Gia says urgently, and I glance up to find that two men wearing gloves, both Mexican, I think, with the hard edge of hired professionals, have just cleared the rope.

I put us in gear, back up, and hit the accelerator.





EIGHT



NEVER LOOKING BACK, I force myself to keep a steady foot on the Jeep’s gas pedal rather than gunning the engine, trying not to stand out, my mind already processing the magnitude of target a stolen vehicle makes us in a fairly small city. Driving around the other side of the building, I exit onto the main road, and then my foot goes heavy as I pull away from the restaurant and weave in and out among several vehicles to gain some much needed coverage.

“What just happened?” Gia asks. “I went to the bathroom and—”

“Don’t talk,” I snap, trying to put this all together. Either Jeff screwed me or Gia screwed me, and Gia was in that bathroom a long damn time.

“Chad—”

“Don’t f*cking talk, Gia,” I growl, pissed at the idea I’ve been stupid with her all over again. She must get that I’m serious, because she doesn’t push. But I plan to, and soon. She can count on it. Detouring to the highway to get out of the immediate view of any cops looking for the Jeep, but knowing it’s still a sore thumb, I have a destination I can’t bypass. I also can’t trust Gia with the location.

“Get down on the floorboard,” I order.

“What? Why? Are we—”

“Just do it, Gia.”

She inhales and does as I order, wisely keeping her mouth shut. I focus on the road, and ten miles later, I exit in an area that is heavily residential and take several turns to bring us smack into middle-class Lubbock, rows of basic houses side by side. Pulling up to a redbrick residence, I park at the curb.

“Don’t ask,” I say, sensing Gia is about to speak. I grab the duffel. “Let’s go.” I climb out of the Jeep and keep my hand in my bag, over my gun. Juan Carlos has reasons to be loyal to me, but that doesn’t mean he’s alone. I round the Jeep and meet her at her door, where she is looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

“What are we doing?” she asks.

“Calling in a favor,” I say, closing my hand around her arm as I start walking.