Page 5 of Guarding Her Love

“I don’t know!” I cry out.

“You don’t know? How do you not know who wants to kill you? You knew they weren’t cops, right?!”

“I don’t know who they are, but I know who’s trying to kill me!”

The car hits a bump in the road, which would be annoying if we were driving the speed limit, but at this speed, it sends me flying into the air. I hit the roof of the car and fall back into Dawson’s lap.

“Fuck,” he grumbles as he snatches the seatbelt from my side and buckles me in. “Hold on to something.”

The sound of sirens wail behind us as Dawson throws the car into another turn. The tires screech as we slide into a side street. There’s something thudding rhythmically from beneath the car – a flat tire maybe – but he’s got his foot on the gas and his hands tight around the wheel.

“Hang on,” he tells me.

Without braking, he takes a hard 90-degree turn out of the side street, causing the car to lift up onto two wheels. I yelp, sure we’re about to topple over upside down, but at the last second, Dawson yanks the wheel and we crash back down.

“Shit!” I cry out.

The sirens are getting louder. Dawson blazes right through a four-way intersection, takes another hard turn into a vacant lot, then slams on his brakes and hits the lights. I don’t know how he can see – all I see is black – but in a couple of seconds we’re parked and he’s getting out.

“Come on!” he tells me. Before I can move, he has my hand in his and is pulling me out of his side of the car. I try to stand, but I guess I’m more freaked out than I realized, and my legs give out from under me like overcooked noodles. But Dawson doesn’t even let me fall; he catches me in his strong arms and lifts me up like a new bride and quickly crosses the lot.

I glance over my shoulder as the flashing red and blue lights speed past the entrance to the lot, but Dawson doesn’t stop moving. He sets me down behind a dumpster, which he quickly opens and begins tearing through.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, but he doesn’t answer. He tears a bag open and starts rummaging through whatever was inside. I’m shaking. The sound of the sirens seems to come from everywhere. They’re circling the area; it’s only a matter of time before they find us.

“Here,” he tells me. “Put these on.”

He throws something at me. I catch it. It’s a big yellow sweatshirt and a pair of men’s jeans.

“I—”

“Put them on now,” he tells me. “You can either do it yourself, or I can do it for you. Those guys aren’t giving up anytime soon, and if you want a chance of getting out of here alive, you need to look not like you. Now put those on.”

He’s right. I’m honestly astonished at his competence; this is a man who has clearly seen combat. This is not time to be bashful; I quickly strip out of my clothes and into the ones he gave me. Thankfully they don’t smell, and when I glance at the building behind us, I realize he’s taken us to the Goodwill and we’ve just raided their donations.

When I’m finished, I look up to see he’s slipped into an oversized jacket and a pair of black jeans.

“Come on,” he tells me, taking my hand. “Just walk slowly with me, keep your head down, and try to not look like yourself.”

“Can’t we just stay here?” I ask as he begins to lead me up the alley towards the street.

“No. They’ll find my car back there, and then they’ll find us. Even if they don’t recognize us from afar, they’ll come and question us, and then we’ll both be dead. Just act as normal as you can.”

Yeah, that’ll be easy, I think as I walk behind him, willing my legs to work, even though they are desperately trying to crumple out from underneath me. My whole body feels like it’s almost not there – like I’ve been filled with a void from all the adrenaline. I feel like I could jump over a building or collapse into the shadows. Either one.

Dawson’s hand is strong and rough and holding on to me with such force that I’m pretty sure if a tornado hit me right now and tried to pull me away, he’d keep me down to Earth.

“Here they come,” he says as the sirens blare loudly in my ears. Then there’s the sound of tires screeching and the whole street is bathed in the flashing red and blue lights. There’s a homeless man sitting in the shadow of a theater doorway ahead of us, and Dawson leads me right over to him and pulls me down into a squatting position.

“Mind if we share?” he asks the bearded man, who looks like he’s about half-asleep, or half-drunk. He shrugs, and Dawson throws his arm around me and pulls me close like we’re just a couple trying to huddle up for warmth.

The sirens grow louder.

This won’t work, I think as panic starts to seize me. I’m done for!

The blue and red lights refract off the buildings, encompassing everything. My heart is pounding. I’m not breathing. I glance at Dawson, but his face is stone cold. He’s calm, collected; he’s everything I’m not. It’s amazing.

“Dawson, I—”

---