Page 91 of Say You Will

He gets out, and I sit in the car as he speaks to someone who must be a member of his security team, then he’s opening my door and ushering me into a different vehicle.

He reaches past me for the blanket. “Don’t forget your knee warmer.”

The new SUV looks similar to the last one, but is white, rather than gray. Then Henry and I get back on a twisting country road until we reach a gravel lane flanked by forest on both sides, and Henry drives us deep into the shady woods.

I shift stiffly and wince. He reaches to click the seat warmer. “Is your blanket turned on?”

I glance down at the floor. “I forgot to plug it in. I was distracted by the fact that someone was shooting at us.” If my voice sounds a wee bit hysterical, I believe I may be excused.

“Everything is under control. You handled that well, Franki.”

“If it’s under control, why do you still have your gun in your hand?”

“That’s what I’m using to keep it under control,” he quips. “Go ahead and put the blanket on. It will help if you’re experiencing symptoms of shock.”

I pull the blanket onto my lap. “You’re lucky I’m not peeing my pants.”

“You’ve never struck me as a submissive pee-er. If you can manage not to soil the leather, that would be ideal.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“You’re doing great. You’re going to hold on for me just a little longer, love.”

I take a shuddering breath as Henry continues to drive down the bumpy road. He doesn’t hesitate to turn at what, to me, looks like a nearly invisible one-lane muddy path.

No longer gravel, it’s more of a long weed-choked driveway that slowly works its way up a mountainside in a winding trail.

This is way more “country” than I’m used to. It feels as though we’re in the middle of a horror movie set, with tree trunks crowding the road. There are no houses. No sign of anyone else at all. Sometimes the trees give way on one side because the road is cut into a hillside with a ravine looming feet from my car door. If another vehicle approached us head-on, we’d both be in trouble. One of us would be backing up for miles before there was any place for traffic to cross.

Henry knows exactly where he’s going. He anticipates potholes and ruts even when they’re hidden by a curve in theroad. At one point, we come to a standstill to wait for two deer to meander their way out of our path.

Henry pops an earpiece into his ear, and I can no longer hear anything but his side of a conversation that involves phrases like “how they made us” and “bogeys.” Henry’s also talking about an asset, which sounds hopeful and encouraging, until I realize he’s talking about a person and calling him “the asset” not “an asset.” I don’t know what the difference is, but I have a feeling it’s important.

The vehicle in pursuit managed to run our backup off the road before shooting at us. When Henry’s people arrived at the scene, the car Henry shot at was already abandoned, its occupants long gone. A search on the plates revealed it had been stolen two days earlier.

We’ve driven miles and miles without any sign of habitation beyond the rutted mess that Henry seems to think is a road. Finally, we emerge into a clearing. The ruts smooth out. I make out a hulking metal building in the near distance and what I think may be an airstrip. We pass a helicopter pad. Then an open field.

Finally, we pull up in front of an adorable wooden cabin with a cute porch and swing. Henry slides the shifter into Park as a man wearing a flannel shirt, his bearded face shadowed by the brim of a ball cap, emerges through the front door with a shotgun resting on his shoulder.

“Stay here.” Henry pops open the glove box, retrieves a Glock, racks it, and places it on the dashboard. “Do you remember how to use one of these from when Dad took you and Bronwyn to the range when you were kids?”

“Vaguely.”

“I’m leaving it on the dashboard for you. I’m 99 percent sure we lost our tail, but, if you need it, don’t hesitate to use it.Remember the glass is bulletproof. Don’t try to shoot through it from the inside.”

“Got it. Won’t try to shoot through the glass.” I nod. Over and over and over.

“When I get out, move into the driver’s seat, then keep down. You have the keys if you need to drive. Doors stay locked. Open them for no one but me or someone with the code word.”

“Where are you going?”

“Making arrangements.”

Then he’s gone.

I sit and listen to my own wheezing breaths and the wind rustling through the creepy woods that less than an hour ago I would have said were peaceful and beautiful. He returns what feels like hours later but is probably only a few minutes. When he knocks on the window, I shriek and do almost pee my pants, but Henry’s gun is back in its holster.

I open the car door, and he gives me his hand to assist me from the car, as if we’re at some red-carpet event. All of me is stiff and aching. My knees barely keep me upright, and I gratefully accept his support.

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