Page 158 of The Vigilante's Lover
I touch my hands to my face. The side of one eye is swollen. “Easy shot at a restrained man,” I say and take a look around.
He shrugs. “All for show.”
No mention of how I bested him at the silo as well as in the car chase. Sore points, probably.
We’re near an old covered wooden bridge. A river trickles below.The road is narrow. The air is a little cooler than in Nashville, and the trees are less piney, more deciduous. They’re showing fall colors. “We’ve gone farther east,” I say.
“Yeah, we’re in Virginia,” he says. “That dart knocked you out for hours.”
“We’re traveling fast,” I say.
Paulson closes the trunk and pats the bumper of the car. “Yeah, nice to have my car back.”
He’s right. It is his. The one I stole from him and stashed in Tennessee, when I met up with Mia and got my Aston Martin back.
“Why was I in the trunk?” I ask.
“Dead man don’t ride in the seats,” he says.
Right again. I forgot they faked my death.
“Where are we headed?” I ask.
“D.C. We should make it in about two hours,” he says.
“How’d you find your car?” I ask. “I left it cloaked in a seriously remote town.”
Paulson jerks his thumb at the front. “Your friend has been in contact with Carter for a few days now. He asked for cover yesterday when he got blown. Apparently that special of yours called him when you got up close and personal with that prosthetic-skin kill device. He had to bow out as a Vigilante or face a tribunal for helping you.”
“Sam is here?”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Paulson thumps on the back window.
The passenger door opens and a dark buzzed head appears. Sam turns, speaking into a Blackphone, and waves. He holds up a finger, telling us to wait a second.
“He’s up,” Sam says into the receiver. “I’ll fill him in.” He shuts off the phone and stares at it with admiration. “Damn, I do good work. I can talk like I’m not on the run with a dead man.”
“Hey, Sam,” I say. “Figured I’d meet you in hell.”
He strides up to me and smacks my back. “You’ve got a death wishlately, boy.”
“Funny what happens when you’re under a kill order.”
He hands me a Vigilante watch. “Your fake ID. Answer to Jed Buchanan.”
I strap it on. “You don’t happen to have any clothes for me somewhere, do you?”
Paulson grunts in annoyance. “You and your fancy pants.”
Sam shakes his head. “We’ll stop somewhere before we hit headquarters.” He glances down at my pajama bottoms. “Based on the, um, situation, seems like this is better than what it could have been.”
“Pink bondage rope,” Paulson says.
Sam stifles a laugh.
No telling how much they watched or recorded. Mia would be mortified. I have no desire to know what they saw.
“Fine,” I say. “What sort of intel do we have on the situation?”
