Page 56 of Facing the Enemy
He ducked while I readied the Sig. I pressed the window button to lower the driver’s-side window and did a U-turn. I aimed at the pickup’s windshield. Squeezed the trigger. My shot hit spot-on, spider-webbing the glass. But it didn’t deter the driver. I whirled back onto the road and pressed the gas.
“I’m a good shot,” Carson said with his cheek kissing the car’s console.
“I’m better.” Another shot pierced the Explorer’s rear glass and exited the windshield on Carson’s side. He twitched. No need to comment.
I fired, aiming at the pickup’s engine and hoped the gas vapors would escape and ignite, but the vehicle swung a vicious right, then left as I pulled the trigger. My bullet hit the front bumper, but I couldn’t tell if it penetrated the engine. Obviously not. I saw the driver was a man, and he kept on approaching my bumper.
“Who is it?” Carson said.
“He didn’t send a calling card. A friend of yours?” Another quick glance in the rearview mirror showed no passengers to double thefiring power of the shooter. The driver veered left to come around me. “No way, jerk.” I swung to the middle of the road. A semitruck approached about a half mile away. Good thing Carson had his face to the console.
The pickup swerved right.
I slid in ahead of him.
“If I find out you’ve lied and this guy is your doing, I’ll make sure you’re put away for a long time.”
“Why would I have a bad guy shoot you and risk me getting killed?”
“Because you’d outlived your worth.”
The pickup yanked left again. I whipped in front of him. One of us faced the hood of the semi, and I had no intentions of being the loser in this game of chicken.
Carson bolted upright. Idiot kid. “I can shoot while you drive.”
“Get down! I have enough to worry about without you bleeding out.”
Another bullet whistled by my right ear and exited the windshield. Carson hit the console. I fired again.
“Hold on tight.” I stomped the gas and headed straight for the semi. The left and right shoulders of the road were stone and flipping the Explorer could happen to the best drivers.
The pickup raced within inches of my bumper.
The semi shifted to the center of the road and laid on the horn.
I drove into the center.
The pickup moved with me.
I calculated the seconds needed to get out of the semi’s way and concentrated on the road—five, four, three, two, one.
I jerked the steering wheel left out of the semi’s path and sped around it, hitting unfriendly stones. The Explorer bounced and bucked like a wild horse.
The semi lunged right. The pickup’s tires screamed. The driver lost control and slammed into the front of the massive semi. The pickup lifted from the road. Flipped twice. The engine exploded and burst into flames.
Adrenaline raced from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I laughed, certain I must be insane. But being alive exhilarated my spirit.
I slowed and stopped. Carson whipped around to see the flames leaping from the explosion. Gripping the Sig, I narrowed a gaze that would frighten the dead. “Stay here. Call Gage from my phone.”
I raced toward the scene. The driver hadn’t crawled from the pickup, but if he had escaped, he might still blow a hole through me. The driver of the semi left his rig and rushed to the pickup.
“Stay back! He’s armed!”
The driver stared at me in disbelief, and I repeated myself. Within seconds he hightailed it back to his rig. With the Sig held at chest level and my arms extended, I scanned the scene and walked slowly toward the hot flames. Burning to death wasn’t a way anyone should die. Neither did I want to get caught in the inferno. Yet the idea of the driver enduring immense pain got the best of me.
“Toss out your gun, and I’ll help you out of there.”
Crackling sparks met my ears.
