Page 55 of Facing the Enemy
“Hunger Games?”
“Kinda, and yes, I am.”
“Me too. Do you have another Snickers?”
“One left. I’ll split it with you—if you’ll listen to my story idea.”
I rolled my eyes. “Deal. But you drive a hard bargain.”
He reached into his backpack for the candy bar, broke it in half, and gave me the biggest piece. “When I’m finished with my story, I’d like honesty. I mean, if it’s any good.”
“More of the hard bargain?”
“Yep. What’s the plan once we’re in Houston?”
“Gage will let us know.”
“I can lie better than that.”
My fears exactly.
At 130 miles out of Marathon on US Highway 90, I called Gage for the transfer location. Still hadn’t told Carson. The more I chatted with him, the more I liked him. He’d gotten tired and decided to share the rest of his novel later. When I considered my lack of sleep, I wanted to pull over. We were still a long way from San Antonio and farther to Houston.
I saw Carson staring at the road. “Gage is meeting us at a McDonald’s on I-10 outside of Houston.”
He cocked his head. “And?”
“He’s taking you to a safe house.” I swung him my best reassuring smile to ease the worried lines across his forehead. “He’ll fill you in on the details.”
“Okay. Will my mom and brother be at the same place?”
“I have no clue. Ask him. I’m the college prof, remember?”
“Thanks, Miss Jacobs.” Carson’s tone turned somber. “I appreciate your confidence in me, for listening when it seems like I’d hit your brother. I want to do the right thing as long as Mom and Caleb are okay. I pray I’m wrong about Dad. The thought makes me sick.”
“When this is over, you’ll get a handle on your future and your life.”
He shook his head. “Like make the best of a bad situation? Normal is always in the past.”
I checked my rearview mirror. A white Dodge Ram pickup had been following us for the last twenty or so miles. Now it sped closerto my bumper. My pulse raced and caution threaded through me. “Carson, we have company.” I kept calmness in my voice. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I’d like for you to lean down in the seat as far as you can. Don’t move or give me any grief.”
“Why?”
I reached under my seat for the Sig and released the safety.
My side mirror shattered with a crack.
29
A second shot whistled past my left ear. I sensed a sting, and it fired up my fight-or-flee attitude, and in this case—both.
“Who is shooting at us?” Carson shouted. “You’re bleeding!”
“Get down.”
