The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(23)

His personal dragon slayer? He liked the sound of that. He thought again of Lake Trasimeno, her near drowning, and swallowed.

Mike fastened her seat belt. “Your mom could give my mom a run for her money. Did I tell you the Gorgeous Rebecca acted at university?” She paused. “Wow, I said it like a Brit. Okay, she once played Petruchio’s Kate. I don’t know if it was her talent that made her so amazing or the fact that one look at her and every man in the vicinity fell to his knees. I told you my dad’s been in love with your mom since her TV show? Well, turns out the Gorgeous Rebecca loves her, too, says she wants to have high tea with her at Browns in London.”

He laughed. Nicholas had yet to meet the Gorgeous Rebecca, but he’d seen photos of her. She was a heart-stopper, no question about that. His own mother’s beauty was different, more whimsical, perhaps, he wasn’t certain.

Nicholas navigated the Beemer through the small town of Farrow-on-Gray and turned south onto the highway.

Once they were on the A14, Mike said, “I like to watch you drive, especially on the wrong side of the car and the wrong side of the road.”

He shot her a grin. “Do you now?”

“Yes. Very capable, very steady at the helm.” She gave him a wicked grin. “All in all, you handle most things quite well.”

A black brow went up. “Only ‘quite well,’ not, say, perfectly?”

“Well, there does seem to be a small tendency to get us nearly killed. But hey, usually not more than once a week. I can deal with once a week.”

“Ah. Well, Agent Caine, I will do my best not to get us dead on the drive to Westminster.”

“Hey, be super careful. It’s been longer than a week.” And oddly, she suddenly felt a chill and fiddled with the air conditioner, turned it down a notch. “Nicholas, do you really think MI5 and MI6 were hacked? And if they were, the idea someone might be using that information to find targets, even to assassinate them, feels out of control to me.”

“I agree. I do think they’ve been compromised, yes. Whether from inside or out, someone is accessing information they shouldn’t have. But don’t worry, we’ll—”

There was a heavy thud against the side of the car, and Mike’s window exploded, spraying glass all over her.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


Nicholas could see there was an exit ahead in a few hundred feet. He floored the car, whipped off onto a tree-lined country road, shouting, “Get down, get down! Don’t you dare get shot!”

Mike had already flattened herself against the seat. “I’m okay, lots of glass shards, but only pricks, nothing major, no blood, no pain, no bullet wounds.”

The road was thankfully empty of traffic. Mike came back up on the seat and looked back. All she saw was country road.

“Did you see the shooter?”

“No, they must have been on the A14, and there’s no one behind us.”

Nicholas checked in the rearview mirror. Nothing. “We must have kicked the hornet’s nest. Mike, there’s a gun in the glove box. Wherever the shooter is, you know he’s coming back. When he does, take him out.”

They were hit with another barrage of bullets.

“More bloody hornets! Hold on, Mike.” He wrenched the wheel to the right, and the car started to spin. He looked grim, hard, but there was no panic. More bullets, but none struck the car, it was weaving around too fast.

Mike grabbed the Glock out of the glove box and twisted in her seat, aiming out the shattered window with her right hand, her left holding her steady. She looked behind them, to the sides, didn’t see anything. “I don’t understand. Nicholas, there’s no one here,” and then she looked up and saw it—a drone flying above them.

“Crap, it’s a drone. Hold the car steady, hold it steady.”

He slowly brought the car around until they were once again straight on the road.

Immediately, more shots. Nicholas gunned the gas again, and the Beemer leaped forward. The shots kept on coming, ripping into the side panels.

There was a moment’s pause in the gunfire. Mike ignored the shards of glass and pushed herself up on the edge of the window, leaned out. She sighted the Glock, and her father’s words came clear in her mind. Trace the path, pull the trigger, once, twice. It was tough to site, the drone was only about two feet in length, but she did it. She missed. There was a flash of gunfire from the drone, and she ducked back into the car, a bullet pinging not two inches from her head. Nicholas yanked the wheel to the right, and she tumbled, hit her shoulder hard against the gearshift, and yipped. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” The moment the bullets stopped, she was hanging out the window again, tracing the path, tracing the path, shooting upward. This time, with the third bullet, she hit the drone. She saw a trail of black smoke and watched the drone swallowtail out of the sky.

She pumped her fist. “Yes! Nicholas, I got it!”

Nicholas slowed. They heard the drone slam into the ground some twenty feet off to their left.

When Nicholas had backed up and they were out of the car, Mike said, “I was expecting a small fireball, maybe some burning bushes or grass, but there’s nothing.”

“No,” he said, “nothing, only a dead death machine. Great shooting, my girl.” He cursed. “You’re bleeding.” His fingers wiped away a trickle of blood making its way down her neck, seeping onto her white shirt.