Lies(22)

Above us, the ground shakes. Dust sprinkling down on us. I don’t even want to imagine what caused that mini-quake.

“It’s all right,” says Thom, slipping the gun into the back waistband of his jeans. If he accidentally shoots a butt cheek, he’s going to be sorry. Though he does seem to know what he’s doing. One of his front pockets bulges with extra ammunition. “Someone just stepped on one of Henry’s traps. But they should be nowhere near us. I’ll go up first and you follow straight behind me, okay?”

I nod.

“Soon as we’re up top, you make for the passenger side of the vehicle. Get in and get your seat belt on. I’ll do the rest.” His gaze slides over my face, taking in my bitten lip and fear-filled eyes, no doubt. “Babe, I’ve got this. Just follow behind me and do as I say. You’re going to be fine.”

Another nod. I don’t quite feel up to speaking for some reason. Shaking in my boots? Yes. Forming sentences? That’s a hard no.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“Wait. I want a gun.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve spent about five minutes in your entire life with a gun in your hand. Shooting at a fixed target from a safe, stationary position.”

“True. But I still want a gun. You said it yourself: anything could be waiting for us up there.”

“It should be clear, at least until we’re in the car, and then you’ll need to keep your head down.”

“The safe house should have been clear,” I snapped. “Henry’s should have been clear. They’ve—whoever they are—have been right on our tail at every turn. For all we know they’re waiting for us right where that ladder comes out.”

He glares at me. Then he reaches under his armpit to a holster. It’s dark and compact, so I hadn’t even noticed it. He hands me a small, snub-nosed piece. “When you’re holding on to it, keep your finger away from the trigger and point it at the floor. You don’t use it until you hear me say ‘shoot.’”

“Understood.”

“I mean it. Otherwise you’re more likely to accidentally kill us both.”

I nod and stuff the gun into the back of my pants, just like Thom did. Except of course my pants aren’t combat ready like his. This is my life now, unicorns and rainbows and guns. Still, the elastic around the waist is strong enough to bear the weapon’s weight without too much wobbling.

Thom moves swiftly up the rungs while I follow, my innate lack of physical prowess slowing me down some. At the top of the ladder, he punches numbers into a security panel. The lock on the round metal door above us clicks and he pushes it open. Up above, the light is equally dim and the air smells musty and earthy. Of course he climbs out all grace and athletic-like. I, on the other hand, clamber and stumble. Not that it matters at a time like this.

We’re in a small, rickety barn, moonlight shining through the slats overhead. There are more woodpiles, a few bales of hay, and some tools. Along with an old, rusted Dodge Charger. I guess our SUV and the muscle car Thom mentioned are housed elsewhere.

Another explosion shakes the mountain, though this one sounds farther away. Henry is not playing around.

“Not the Cobra?” I whisper.

“Not the Cobra. Sorry. And not the SUV either, just to be safe.”

Outside, a small light flickers in the distance. Then there’s a sound. The rustling of dried leaves.

Thom immediately pushes me in the direction of the vehicle. His gun is back in his other hand. “Go.”

We both dash for the car, Thom all but sliding on his ass across the hood à la a totally cool and smooth move. The passenger door might have been closer, but he still beats me into the car by a long shot.

“Seat belt,” he says.

“Getting there.” I wince at the louder-than-I-intended sound of my car door closing. “Sorry.”

“Head down. I need you to stay out of sight as best you can. Make yourself as small a target as possible. And hold on to this for me.” He hands me another gun from out of his ankle holster. The man’s a walking armory. “Don’t use it. Just hand it to me when I ask for it.”

“Okay, okay.”

Thom rolls his window almost all the way down, and reaches for the ignition. He glances at me. For a moment, he looks like I feel, rattled with more than a touch of afraid. Then his jaw sets and his eyes go hard. “Get down farther, as far as you can.”

He starts the engine, the car roaring to life. All pretense of quietly escaping the mountain disappears as he throws the car into gear, and we rush out of the barn in a cloud of dust.

Bullets ping off the side of the vehicle, freaking me right the fuck out. Thom, however, returns fire while singlehandedly driving the car along the bumpy dirt road. No idea how he can actually aim the gun to hit anything. Also, the noise of the gun firing is deafening.

What with my head down, I have no real idea what’s going on. We’re going fast, however. Damn fast. The motion of the car throwing me this way and that, with the seat belt digging into my middle. I’m leaning so far down that the top part of the belt can’t grip me properly at all. I can only trust Thom knows what he’s doing.

Something breaks above my head. I look up to see a small hole in the windscreen, glass splintering into a myriad of spider-web patterns. Any farther over and the bullet might have hit Thom’s head. Cold air whistles through the bullet hole in a freaky fashion.