Page 22 of Not Our Daughter

“We’ll be fine,” Lisa said. “We have two beanbags. Come on.”

She climbed inside, followed by Jade. Two fluffy pink beanbags had been inside the vehicle for nearly a decade. Lisa dropped into one of them.

“This is crazy,” Jade objected. “What about seatbelts?”

“Your dad is an excellent driver,” Lisa said. “Sit down.”

Jade hesitantly sat in the second beanbag. Cole moved into the driver’s seat. He took a quick peek at himself in the rearview mirror. What he saw staring back was almost shocking. The last time he’d seen this guy was back in high school, when the whole soccer team had decided to shave their heads during the playoffs. But he looked nothing like the man the FBI and the police had just tried to chase down in the park.

He started the van again, put it into drive, began to pull out.

“Can I at least ask where we are going?” Jade said.

Cole adjusted his rearview mirror to see his daughter. “You like the beach, don’t you?”

“Yes, but we’ve only been like twice. And it’s been forever.”

“Then I guess we’re due a beach trip.”

Jade glanced over at her mom. “Are we seriously going to the beach right now?”

“If we can get away from here.” Lisa sighed.

“Where? What beach?”

Cole said, “A beautiful little town on the Pacific coast called Sayulita.”

“Is that in California?”

“No, we’re going to Mexico.”

Fifteen

Brock Gunner pulled a gray Ford Bronco onto a neighborhood street and parked with a distant view of Cole and Lisa Shipley’s house around the corner. There were cops and FBI agents damn near everywhere. Just like there were cops and FBI agents everywhere at the city park he’d just left. It was chaos back there, which had at least made it easy for him to get out without any extra trouble. Brock couldn’t stop cursing himself. He’d been a split second away from taking care of his first and probably most important target, and he didn’t squeeze the damn trigger in time. He’d failed. He’d completely underestimated Cole Shipley. The man’s swift and surprisingly powerful kick had come out of nowhere. In hindsight, he should’ve shot Shipley first before putting a second bullet into the cop. He kept replaying this tactical error in his head and getting more pissed off. Plus, he didn’t like killing cops. Brock would’ve had no problem taking out an FBI agent. The Feds were liars and bullies, and the family had endured several unfair government battles over the years. But cops were different. Brock had several friends back in Texas who were police officers, including one of his own cousins.

Brock picked up his cell phone, texted:Things didn’t go as planned.

Again, an immediate response:I heard. What the hell happened? You kill that cop?

Had no choice. He was about to arrest Shipley.

Then how the hell did Shipley get away from you?

Brock didn’t feel like explaining it. It made him look weak.

He texted:He got lucky.

That’s the second time he’s gotten lucky with you.

Brock didn’t respond. It was the brutal truth.

The man texted again:You have no clue where Shipley went?

No. But I’m parked down the street from his house right now.

Don’t bother. None of our targets are there.

All of them are gone?

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