Wolfhunter River (Stillhouse Lake #3)(73)

There’s a second of silence, and I feel a sick drop of horror, but then Connor says, from somewhere near the floorboard in the back, “I’m okay, Mom.”

“I’m okay,” Lanny says. She’s in the footwell of the passenger side, curled up in a protective ball, but she looks up at me with a clear question on her face. Why is this happening to us?

I honestly don’t know, and I try to swallow my fear, but my mouth is as dry as Death Valley. I try to focus completely on the road ahead, the truck behind. My kids are all right, we’re going to be all right, we have to be all right.

I see the curve coming. It’s not as sharp as the others. It’s perfect.

“Hold on,” I tell Fairweather, who’s trying to talk to me. “I have to try something.” I drop the phone on the seat next to me.

Then I swerve wide, and the truck follows me over the double yellow line. The firing had paused for reloading, but now it resumes, a staccato pop-pop-pop as fast as the man can pull the trigger. I ease off the gas and let the truck roar up fast.

Then I floor it and veer off sharply around the curve.

They don’t see it coming. The driver is fixated on me, and he’s accelerating too hard to easily change course, and as I pull away to the side, he finds he’s headed straight for the ditch. When he tries to correct, his back tires lose traction. I see the whole vehicle shimmy violently, and then the spin begins as the lighter truck bed torques and flings the cab sideways.

The man in the back is thrown clear, and I see him flying through the air in the sweep of the truck’s headlights as it spins before I hear a short, panicked cry. He vanishes from view. I hear him land; it sounds unforgiving. I keep driving, gaze riveted on the rearview mirror and the truck that has ended up stopped in the wrong lane, facing the wrong way. After a long second or two, the truck suddenly accelerates, straightens into the correct lane, and screeches off in the opposite direction. Back toward Wolfhunter.

They don’t stop for their friend.

I look ahead, but I still don’t see flashing lights or hear the reassuring sound of sirens. The truck could turn around. They could come back. I don’t think they will, though. They’ve lost a rifle, a handgun, and at least one of their buddies on this road, and they can’t know if they’ve wounded one of us, but they do know we can keep on running.

I ease off the gas, alert for any sign of headlights coming for us from behind. Nothing. The darkness here is breathless. Oppressive. And I know I should keep moving. The asshole who was shooting at me is back there. He might even still have his gun.

But he also might be bleeding out on the road, praying for help. I’m a paranoid asshole when it comes to the survival of my family, but I’m also human. I don’t want to leave someone to die alone. Not even someone who tried to kill us.

Especially not if he can answer questions about why.

“Mom?”

I look down at my daughter.

“Are they gone?” She sounds tough and calm. I see tear tracks on her face gleaming in the dashboard light.

“Yeah, baby, they ran away. It’s okay. Connor? Sweetie? Are you all right?”

He’s already scrambling up in the backseat and staring out the cracked back window. I’m looking at the side mirror. I see no movement at all. “Yeah,” he says. Nothing else. I think it’s so I don’t hear how frightened he really is. My son’s already been shot at once today. My temporary wave of empathy recedes, and I want to kill these assholes, including the one lying in the road.

“Both of you, strap in.” I check the speed. We’re still doing half again the posted rate, but I don’t give a shit. I want the police. And finally I see the red-and-blue flashers bleeding through gaps in the trees. The road must curve again up ahead.

I finally remember Fairweather was on the phone, but when I look for the device, it’s gone. Thrown into the well between the passenger door and seat, most likely, but definitely out of reach.

I slow down and pull over. I have to wait for a few seconds after I switch off the engine to try to get control of myself. My hands are shaking so badly I almost drop the keys when I hand them to Lanny. “Find my phone; it should be somewhere over on your side. Detective Fairweather’s on the line, hopefully; if not, call him back. Tell him what happened and is happening. Lock these doors and stay alert. If I get arrested or something happens to me, you get Connor out of here immediately; just drive. Understand? Call Javier and Kez for help, and get somewhere safe. Do not stop unless you think you’re safe, I don’t care what else happens.”

She nods. I’m asking a lot of her, but I know Lanny. I know she can do it, and will.

“Mom?” she says as I start to close the door. Our eyes meet and hold. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Both of you, so much. Connor, please listen to your sister until I get back.”

“I will,” he says, which is rare. “I love you, too, Mom.”

I shut the door. I feel the locks engage as I lean against the SUV and hold up both hands. The county sheriff’s cruiser comes hard around the corner and immediately slows, pulls over, and brakes. There’s a short delay—reporting their position and my license plate, I assume—and then the lone deputy gets out and slowly comes toward me, taking in the SUV, the two kids in the car, and that my hands are up. He has his hand on his gun. “What’s your name, ma’am?” he asks. Not “Are you the one who called for assistance?” That’s actually smart.