Page 10 of Factory Thief

One thing I do know for sure: This woman is gorgeous, more beautiful than I could have imagined. I remember the feel of her breast in my grasp, her tight, toned bottom pressed against me as we rode underwater, and get a most inconvenient stiffness in my underpants. Thank goodness my jumpsuit is baggy.

“March.”

She hooks her arm into mine, making it look like we’re a couple on a stroll and hiding the fact she has a gun stuck in my side. We pass by the partying teens, who are too caught up in their own thing to give us much notice. A couple of them glance our way but don’t stare long.

“Fortunately, your jumpsuit looks brown thanks to the trip in the drink,” she murmurs as we trudge up the sandy slope. “We’ll have to get you into something else quick.”

“You’re the boss.”

She laughs with derision. It takes me a moment to realize the hard edge is not directed at me, but at herself.

“Yeah, right. I’ve got about as much control of my life as you do right now.”

“Yes, but you are the one holding the gun.”

“I’ve got a dozen more to the back of my head, you just can’t see them.”

I feel the stirrings of sympathy for this woman, my jailbreaker-turned-captor. I try to tamp it down. After all, I have no idea why she broke me out in the first place. She could be leading me to a worse fate even than solitary confinement.

We leave the teens and their burgeoning bonfire behind us and set foot on solid asphalt. My prison-issue shoes have little traction, and, when they hit the damp asphalt, I slip and tumble into the woman.

We sprawl onto the ground, and the gun hits with a heavy thunk. It slides across the asphalt and disappears under a Volkswagen Beetle.

I don’t question my good fortune. I leap to my feet and run, not looking back.

“Damn it, stop!”

I stretch my legs out and run. Maybe I can outdistance her. I could run for the nearby highway, but the fear of running into a guard or cop drives me toward the wooded, boulder-strewn hill nearby, instead.

I scramble up the slope, daring to shoot a glance over my shoulder. The woman is less than twenty feet behind me, the gun once again in her hand.

Damn, but she’s fast! Fear drives my limbs with new urgency, and I fall on all fours to skitter up the slope like a crab on cocaine. My chest heaves with heavy pants, my heart thuds, fit to burst, and I get a stitch in my side that feels like a knife cutting me deep.

All that time in solitary has killed my cardiovascular conditioning. I used to take a two-mile run every morning before work. Now, I’m going to die before I make it up this hill.

I somehow manage to make it to the top and stand bathed in starlight, the woman a few steps behind. “Jack, do you want to get shot?”

It’s not the threat contained in the words itself which stops me. It’s the plaintive, pleading tone she takes on. Again I feel that tinge of sympathy. Since I’m about to collapse anyway, I stop in my tracks.

She approaches, gun drawn and leveled in both hands. The woman breathes hard as well, which is distracting as I look at her chest. She’s not on death’s door like me, though. Clearly, she’s in fantastic shape. I wonder what she looks like under all that black tactical gear…

“Jesus Christ, you’re a pain in the ass.” She lowers the gun slightly. “Why do you keep running away? Where the hell do you think you’re going to go? Swim all the way to China?”

“I guess I wasn’t thinking,” I say truthfully.

“That’s right, you weren’t.”

A surge of anger warms my belly. “Hey, sue me. Something about being led about by a stranger with a gun makes me a little trepidatious.”

She sighs. “Fine. I’m Victoria. Now we’re not strangers.”

“Funny, you don’t look like a Victoria.”

“Oh?” She holsters the nickel-plated gun, much to my relief.

“Yeah. More like a Laklyn, or Genesis. One of those spoiled California princess names.”

A laugh escapes from her mouth, seeming to surprise her as much as me.

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