Page 60 of Bad Rio

In a frenzied rush, she rolled down the passenger window. “Get in the car!” she screamed.

He was looking down, his hand pressed to his side.

She leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door. “Get in,” she shouted again. A hail of bullets struck the car’s front right fender.

Peeking around the corner, Rio lifted his gun and sprayed rounds. Bent over, one hand on the ground to steady himself, he half-crawled to the car. Awkwardly he climbed inside and slammed the door. “Go,” he told her. Holding his gun out the window, he aimed his weapon and fired off rounds.

They flew around the corner. When Rio told her to turn, she did. When he wanted her to double back, she did. They drove through the city in zigzags until finally he decided they weren’t being followed. Becca noticed his breathing was heavy.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, and felt a pang of fear.

Hunting around her car until he found her old college sweatshirt, he didn’t answer right away. Pressing the fabric to his side, he said, “Guess it’s my turn. You got it in the leg. Now I got it in the side.”

She gasped. “You’re hit! We have to get you to a hospital.”

Lifting his shirt, he examined the area with gritted teeth. “No hospital,” he said. “Physicians are mandated by law to report gunshot wounds to law enforcement. Can’t have that.”

When Becca saw the open gash and seeping blood, she felt faint. With both hands she clutched the steering wheel. “Rio,” she said, “you need medical care. We don’t have any choice. I’m taking you to the hospital right now.”

“Lucky for me, the bullet went clean through the fleshy part of my skin,” he said. “No hospital.”

Becca wondered if he was thinking straight. After all, he’d been struck by a bullet! “I know you’re lucky,” she said with all the calmness she could muster. She spoke slowly, in case he wasn’t in his right mind. She took her eyes off the road long enough to muster a reassuring smile. She had to get him on the right track. “You’re Lucky Rio, right?”

“No, I’m bad. I’m Bad Rio.”

“Huh?” With no time to sort out his meaning, she said, “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll take you to a walk-in emergency medical clinic, not a big hospital, okay? We’ll get you fixed up.”

Rio leaned toward her, grimacing. “No. There’ll be too many questions, long interviews, and nosy investigators. We can’t afford that. Not now. Take me to Mexico. To Nuevo Laredo.”

“What?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly.

“Just drive. We’re American citizens. You have your I.D., don’t you? We can go to Mexico legally. Just drive me there, Becca. Remember where my friends live? Across the border? The ones who gave us a room that last night?”

“Of course I remember—”

“Take me there. They’ll get me a doctor who won’t blab. I need antibiotics and a few stitches, that’s all.”

“Are you insane? It’s a three-hour drive!”

“I’ll make it. The bleeding’s already slowing.”

“Rio.” She had to take this situation in hand. “I’m not driving you hours into a foreign country. You could die along the way. From blood loss. Or ... or lead poisoning. Or, I don’t know, shock.”

“Hurts like hell,” he said. “But I won’t die from shock.” He fumbled on his back for his shoulder bag. “Fill the tank.” He pulled out bills.

Becca frowned at the money in his hand. “Who was shooting at me, Rio? Was it Tim? Or one of his men? If he wanted me dead, why didn’t they kill us both at the warehouse?”

“Wasn’t Tim,” he said. “That guy back there is a pro. He was lying in wait. And this time, nobody was aiming at you.”

“What kind of pro? Like a professional killer?” Her mind was a mass of confusion and half-formed thoughts. “Who’s trying to kill us now?”

“Not sure. But I have a suspicion. Now get some gas. And take us to Mexico.”

Becca rubbed her forehead, now wondering ifshewas the one who’d lost her mind. In two blocks, she pulled into the bay of a filling station.

Oh God, oh God. They were going back to Mexico.

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