Lola was taking all this in stride, so far, but then she was proving herself to be fairly unflappable. "Can he? Take on Harris and win, I mean."
I laughed, hard. "Sweetheart, Harris makes both Rambo and Chuck Norris look like pussies. Put them together, and they're still pussies compared to Harris. Cain doesn't stand a chance. And now that he's gone after me? Shit, the motherfucker's signed his death warrant, and I ain't even pissed off yet."
"Just out of curiosity...what would happen if you got pissed off?"
I thought for a second, trying to figure out how to answer that. "I've only lost my temper once in my life. I've always been bigger than everyone, and my old man, sadistic fuck though he may have been, made sure I knew I had to keep a lid on my shit. He drilled self-control into me from a very young age. So...I don't get pissed off too easily."
Lola frowned. "It happened once, though?"
I sighed. "Yeah. But that's...not something I like to talk about. It was a bad time."
Lola turned back in her seat to face the front. "I see. Well, I'm sorry it happened, whatever it was."
"So. This plan of yours, to disappear into the swamp..."
"First, it's not really a swamp, it's a wetland forest. It's a very complicated and very special place."
I rolled my hand in a keep-going gesture. "Okay, so how do we get into this very complicated and special wetland forest of yours?"
She sighed. "It's actually one of only three locations in the world to be declared--"
I cut her off. "Tell me when we're in there, babe. Let's get to the part of the explanation where I can plan how to lose these two assholes behind us without getting you killed."
"Or you. We don't want you killed."
I guffawed. "Sweetheart, there's only two of them. They couldn't kill me if they had a goddamn bazooka. Pretty sure I can handle two little Euro wanna-be thug fucks."
Lola rolled her eyes at me. "Okay, tough guy. Point is, you're my protection, so I need you in one piece." She eyed my cast-wrapped, sling-bound arm. "Or, at least, in the number of pieces you're already in."
"I'd like that too. Despite what you may believe, getting shot ain't fun, so I'd like to avoid it if I can."
"So the plan is to use Dad's extra boat."
I gaped at her. "Extra boat? Why didn't you say so?"
"Because you distracted me with your I politely stole a Jeep nonsense."
"You started that, honeybuns."
"Honeybuns? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"It means tell me where this fucking boat is so we can go get it."
She hesitated. "Well, the thing is, getting to it is the easy part. Actually getting into the boat and on the water? A little more difficult." She gestured behind us. "Especially since I'm relatively certain they'll try to stop us."
"Relatively certain," I echoed. "Yeah, I'd agree with that."
She tapped at the GPS, inputting an address on Plantation Island, wherever that was--whatever that was. "First stop, Uncle Filipo's."
"What's at Uncle Filipo's?"
"The boat."
"I'm confused."
She rolled her eyes at me. Seemed like she did that a lot. "I know, it's complicated. Further complication is that Uncle Filipo isn't really my uncle. He's the friend of my dad's who brings him supplies. He has a boat--well, actually it's Dad's boat if you want to be technical about it, but he's letting Uncle Filipo borrow it more or less permanently, so Filipo can bring Dad food and propane and whatever else."
I frowned. "So it's Filipo's boat?"
She shook her head. "Filipo is very particular on this point. It's not his boat, he's just using it."
"And what does this have to do with our plan to borrow the boat?"
"Well, it's next to Filipo's trailer." She did that hesitation again, the one that meant I wouldn't like what she was about to say. "It's on a trailer, and we have to tow it to the water."
"Which means we have to lose the dudes behind us."
"That would make it easier, yes."
"This place of your dad's...is it listed? Like, is he on the grid?"
"On the grid?"
"Searchable. Utilities, address, cell phone records, credit cards?"
"Oh. No, he's off the grid, then. No electricity or running water, no cell phone, obviously. He has a bank account with his savings in it, but he doesn't use it. He'd have to leave the mangroves, and that's not happening. I can't think of anything that would lead to him. To the world at large, after Mom died, he just disappeared. I even changed my last name to Mom's maiden name after she died, so it's not easy to tie me to Dad that way. Only Filipo and I know how to find him, or that he's even still alive."
I nodded. "That's good. You might be able to hide out there until I can get you off Cain's radar."
"How are you going to do that?"
"By being charming and persuasive, of course." I said it with a grin, hoping she got my meaning without having to have it spelled out.
She shook her head with an amused sigh. "I see." She held up her fists, shook the left, "Charm...", then the right, "...and Persuasion?"
I laughed. "Exactly. You get me, Doc."
She twisted in her seat to look back at the Range Rover, still following two car lengths behind. "Any ideas how to take care of them?"
I drove with my knee, pulled my Sig out, and laid it on my lap. "Yeah--shoot 'em."
She glanced out the windows at the freeway. "What, here? Now?"
I shrugged. "Now that we're out in the country and away from traffic, we'll switch seats, and I'll take care of the assholes behind us."
"That easy, huh?"
I bobbled my head side to side. "Easy? I wouldn't say easy, exactly. I'd say it's simple. Which ain't the same as easy."
She sighed. "I have a feeling this is going to get interesting."
I grinned. "Lola, babe, when you're with me, everything is interesting."
Yet again, she rolled her eyes at me. "So I'm discovering. Funny thing is, I was perfectly content with my boredom."
To prove a point, I used my knee on the steering wheel, reached out, traced my fingertip over her knee, down to the inside of her thigh, then dragged my finger slowly up the length of her thigh, slowing as I neared the juncture of her thighs. "Lola, sweetheart. You suck at lying."
"I--I...I'm not lying," she stammered as I drew my touch to within an inch of her pussy, and then backed away. "What would I lie about?"
"You were so not content with your boredom." I teased closer again, and her breath caught. "You were dying for someone to force you out of your rut."
"I wasn't in a rut."
"Were too." I moved my finger to the other thigh, teased up the inside from knee to pussy and back.
"Well if I was in a rut, there was a reason for it." She was trying to act casual, as if she was unaffected.
She wasn't, though. She was squirming. Fighting to keep breathing normally, to stay in her seat.
"Oh? What reason would that be?" I trailed my hand over her core, a light, teasing touch.
"Stop that." She grabbed my wrist, but didn't apply any pressure to stop me as I cupped my hand over her, rubbing the heel of my palm against where her clit would be, beneath the yoga pants and the underwear.
"Stop?" I kept rubbing, a little harder now, in slow circles, and her hips began to mirror the movement. "You sure you want me to stop?"
"Yes..." she said, but her hand told a different story, doing more to guide my motions than halt them. "God...you're an asshole...you have to stop--"
I pulled my hand away, then. "If you insist."
She moaned, writhing in the bucket seat. "Damn it, Thresh."
"What?" I cupped her again. "Maybe you'd like to revise your request that I stop?"
I rubbed against her clit in slow deliberate grinding circles, just enough to get her going, to hint at what I could do.
She leaned her head back against the seat rest, flexing her hips in time with my movements. "I hate you."
<
br /> "Do not."
"Do too."
"Why?" I moved a little faster, now. "Why do you hate me, Lola? Is it because you like the way I'm touching you, but you don't want to like it?"
"What are you doing, Thresh?" She gasped as my touch sped up. "God, what are you doing to me?"
Fuck, she was so goddamned responsive. I was barely touching her, not even touching bare flesh. She was moments away from coming and I'd only touched her over her clothes. Jesus, the things I could do to this woman if I had her naked and the time to do them all. I found myself wondering if she was a screamer. If she'd rake her nails down my back. What kind of a gag reflex she had.
I realized that we had little or no traffic behind us. The Rover was right behind us now, but still staying fifty or so yards back. Now was the time, if I was going to make a move.
Problem was, now I had Lola all worked up.
What's a guy to do?
I glanced at Lola. "Take the wheel, babe. We're switching spots."
"NOW? You do this now?" She released her seat belt and grabbed the steering wheel, even as she shouted at me.
I grinned at her. "What?"
"You know damn well what! You can't leave me like this!"
"Like what?"
"All...you know. Worked up." She seemed sheepish, for some stupid reason. Embarrassed. Which was weird, considering how shamelessly she was into it only moments ago.
"You gotta trust me, Doc. I'll take care of you, don't you worry." I levered the seat back as far as it would go, set the cruise control, and then worked my bulk across the console, behind Lola, and into the passenger seat. Which makes it sound a lot easier than it actually was. "I'll take such good care of you, you'll be begging for more. Now...drive. Keep it floored, and hold it steady."
I hung out the window, the stolen Glock in my good hand, angling backward, drew a bead on the driver, squeezed the trigger twice--BANG-BANG!--the windshield spiderwebbed as my bullets smashed through, but the Rover kept on after us--I'd missed. I sent two more rounds at the windshield, aiming for where the passenger would be, if he was idiot enough to still be sitting there. I didn't think he was an idiot, necessarily, but it never hurt to try.
There was return fire then, a hand gripping a pistol appearing out the passenger window, bucking, gunshots echoing, and the Jeep shuddered as bullets thunked into the rear bumper; they were trying for our tires, I realized.
Hell no.
I drew a bead on the hood this time, and squeezed a few more shots off. Smoke billowed from under the hood, the Rover swerved, skidded, slewed sideways, and then juddered to a halt.
"Pull over," I told Lola, and she obeyed immediately.
As soon as we were stopped, I shoved open the door and leapt out, leveling my gun at the Rover. A gun barked from the driver's side, and I returned fire, sending the round at the windshield, which shattered completely, then. The driver was slumped over, still alive but bleeding, and the passenger was nowhere to be seen.
I moved forward in a low crouch, reached the hood, circled around to the passenger side, crouching low automatically, keeping my barrel trained on the passenger window. I inched closer, lifting up to peer over the lip and in, intending to plug him sudden-like.
A shot blasted at me and the round buzzed past my ear, missing me by a matter of centimeters, if that. When a bullet goes snap past your head, you'd better duck; if a round goes buzzzzzz like an angry bee, you'd better thank sweet baby Jesus, 'cause that one almost had your name on it.
I cursed under my breath, took a second to slow my heartbeat, and then crouched, inched forward, peered around the side of the Rover. Squatting, I put my back to the Rover, waited another couple seconds...raised up a few inches to peer into the windows, caught a glimpse of him in the rear of the Rover, trying to flank me via the trunk. I ducked back down, waited for the sound of the hatch opening. Waited for the sound of feet on concrete. He appeared from around the rear; I pulled a bead on his chest, and squeezed off a round.
He took the round dead center mass, red blooming on his shirt. He stumbled backward, his grip on his pistol going slack, and then he sat down hard, clutching his chest in confusion. I waited until I was relatively certain he was past the point of being dangerous, and then moved out from beside the Rover. I kicked his gun away and kept mine trained on him as he toppled to his back, clutching his chest with one hand, gasping, blinking.
He had a cell phone in his hand. He was fading fast, beyond talking already. His hand unfurled, showing the screen of the smartphone. The name at the top read "Cain", and listed the duration of the call as being just over five minutes...and counting.
Cain was still on the line.
I crouched, tucking my pistol away, and caught up the phone. "Cain."
"Ah, Thresh, I assume?" His voice was smooth as silk, lightly accented, venomously cold. "My men are dead, then?"
"What do you want?"
"We are beyond that, which I think you know." There was a moment of silence. "You may keep running. I will find you. Your friend Mr. Winter is not the only one with skills of a certain technological type, you know. Nor is Anselm the only one adept at the finding of people. Have fun with Dr. Reed, Thresh."
The line went dead, then.
Shit, shit, shit.
Did he know where we were going? How could he, though? I didn't even know exactly where we were going.
Not good, not good, not good. I dropped the phone on the ground and crushed it under my heel, just for good measure. I wasn't sure how Cain intended to find us, which meant my only real option was to continue with the plan and hope either Cain wasn't as good as he seemed to think, or that I'd be able to handle whatever he sent our way.
Didn't like our odds either way, but hey...you do what you gotta do.
When I turned around, Lola was staring at me, at the two dead men. Pale, trembling, hand over her mouth.
Then she bent over double and vomited, collapsed to her knees, and started sobbing.
6: FOUR-WORD WRECK
Without the banter Thresh had kept up--intentionally, I surmised, to occupy my mind--it all just kind of crashed down on me. The guy in the car, knocked out. The guy I'd watched Thresh kill with a knife in one move, as easily as I'd administer an injection. Then these two guys...the danger became all the more real when guns started going off and bullets hit the Jeep. Thresh had handled it calmly enough, which was freaky in itself.
Top that with the fact that I was running for my life with a man I knew nothing about, someone who was clearly, utterly capable of bloodshed without even flinching.
And only minutes ago, he'd been touching me...touching me in ways I'd not been touched, even by myself, in years. Making me feel things I hadn't felt in years. I'd nearly had an orgasm, and he hadn't even been touching my flesh.
And then he just stopped, leaving me on the edge...to kill people.
I don't know why I vomited, honestly. I don't have a weak stomach. I've seen some ugly shit in my career. I think it was the shock of it, really. It was just so sudden. The noise, the abrupt mess.
And then the tears? God, I hate crying. Hate it. HATEHATEHATE. I don't cry. Haven't since...since everything that happened. I swore I wouldn't cry, after all that, and I hadn't.
And now, in front of Thresh, I was sobbing, and I couldn't seem to stop. I felt Thresh come up beside me, more hesitantly than usual. Worried I was going to be afraid of him, I guess. And I should have been, shouldn't I? He could kill without compunction. But, I felt no fear of him. I expected it, was prepared for it, but it never came. I just knew, deep down, that he wouldn't ever hurt me. Maybe I was being naive, or stupid, or maybe my ability to judge people was just broken--god knows that wouldn't be a shock--but the fact was, I trusted Thresh.
It seemed stupid to trust him, though. Wasn't it? Who would trust a killer? Stupid-ass Lola Reed, M.D., clearly.
Hormonal, emotionally unstable, sexually fucked up on an epic scale, and stuck in the middle of nowhere with a giant, terrifyi
ng, deadly brute of a human being...one who also was stupid sexy. He just...did things to my head, to my hormones, to my body. I just...reacted to him. I had no control over it. He got close to me, touched me, spoke in my ear in that throbbing bass rumble of his, and I just...went to pieces. Everything I thought I knew, everything I thought I wanted and didn't want went out the window.
Even now, as his arm slid around my waist and pulled me against him, I reacted. The sobs quieted, and my breathing evened out, and...he was just...there. Huge and solid and reassuringly powerful. Just holding me.
He looked down at me and asked, "Can you make it back to the Jeep?"
All I could do was nod.
He turned me toward the Jeep, opened the passenger door, waited till I was in, and then closed it behind me. He got in the driver's side, turned over the engine, looked at me and said, "Let's get the fuck outta here."
We continued on our way south and west toward Plantation Island, neither of us speaking for several miles.
"You all right, Lola?" he asked, eventually.
I shrugged. "I don't know."
"I didn't want you to see that."
"The shooting stopped, so I thought..." I paused to take a deep breath, and to wipe my eyes.
He touched my chin, lifted my face so I was looking up into his pale blue eyes. "Remember what I told you, back at your condo?"
I nodded. "I remember. It just doesn't make it any easier watching you do those things. Even if I can recognize that you're only doing it to protect us, it's...ugh. Horrible."
"It's not pretty, no. But it's what I do. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I got you into this."
I shrugged. "Who was on the phone?"
A growl of unhappiness. "Cain. He hinted that he'd be able to find us as easily as Lear or Anselm can."
"Who are they?"
"Lear is a hacker. Works for Alpha One with me. He's the one who got your address for me. And, by the way, that's the only piece of information about you I let him give me."
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