Page 81 of The Bodyguard

Son of a bitch.Angela dangled, half supported in his good arm, half running to keep up. He threw them behind the concrete foundation of the house.

Angela cried in pain. Blood coated her.

“Damn it—Angela?”

“Thorns,” she explained. “They’re everywhere.”

He hadn’t noticed and jerked her off the ground. The blood—was his. Good. But they still needed an escape vehicle fast.

Then he saw the dune buggy. It offered next to no protection. They’d be open targets, unable to zig and zag from a bullet’s trajectory. But, if Sawyer was able to drive toward the beach and use the dunes as a barrier, they could get distance from the shooters and figure out their next steps when no one was firing.

“See the dune buggy? We’re running over there.” He pointed. “Jump on and get down. Curl up as little as possible.”

That was as much time for instructions as they had.

“That?”

“Yeah. That’s the plan. Go.”

Sawyer hustled, half carrying Angela, and prayed the dune buggy would be functional. They jumped into the seats. “Get down. Get down.”

Angela’s knees were on the floorboard. She curled into a ball.

Sawyer inspected the dashboard. No keys required. All he needed was a little luck. He punched the Start button. The electric motor turned over. “Halle-fuckin’-lujah.”

The dune buggy beeped in reverse. A bullet lodged itself in a beer can abandoned in the center console’s cup holder.

Sawyer slammed the buggy into drive. They bumped and rolled from behind the beach house and zipped toward the steep sand dunes. “We’re gonna see how much this bad boy can handle. Hang on.”

Angela screeched. The buggy raced up the dune and crested. This vehicle was a beast. They were going to catch air on the downside.

He let off the gas and called again, “Hang on!”

“I am trying!”

Sawyer jerked the steering wheel. They banked right.

“Youare going to kill me.”

He laughed and threaded the buggy through a beach walkway and onto the wide expanse of sand where the routine patrol of lifeguard trucks had made it easy to navigate tracks.

Sawyer checked over his shoulder. “I think we’re in the clear.”

Angela pulled herself upright. “You’re bleeding all over the place.”

“Shit.” He glanced at his arm. “I’d forgotten about that.” He could wash the drying blood off in the ocean, but he didn’t relish the idea of cleaning his wound with salt water.

Not a lot of choices, though. They didn’t have supplies, much less a first aid kit. He’d lost the gun somewhere between the cactus garden and the dune buggy.

Maybe their attackers grabbed it as an early Christmas present. Free ammo. Either way, once Parker had been updated on the situation, Titan would send in a clean-up team to return the two houses to their original state sans bullet holes. The clean-up team would even return the dune buggy after Sawyer ditched it. When and how were his most significant concerns.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

They couldn’t return to their beach house. Neither of them had a cell phone or cash. Angela was missing a shoe—and a quick glance told him she was the worse for wear. “I don’t know yet. You okay?”

“I could use a cup of coffee and a pair of tweezers.” She grimaced. “There are a lot of cactus spines all over me.”

“Come to think of it, same,” he admitted.

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