Plain Sight Read online

  “They’re vehicles, we used and ditched them. The night I took out Wittesburg, I lost my pretty baby. She was black and souped up and just so damn nice to drive. I had to wreck it.”

  “You…you wrecked it on purpose?”

  “Another fine skill they teach.”

  “Good Lord, I’m glad I’m not a spy. I’m more than happy to just keep my little Xterra running.” He glanced in the mirror again. “So it’s not me? It doesn’t make sense to pursue someone in a hulking vehicle that gets shit for gas mileage and can’t keep up after about a hundred?”

  I tapped my nose and then I tapped the dashboard.

  Vaughn laughed. “I wondered why the silver Camry.”

  “Powerfully inconspicuous.”

  “That it is.”

  I cruised along and I deliberately changed lanes again so they lost me for a minute. Lo and behold, there they were, dodging the same truck I’d gone around.

  “So. How did they find us?” Vaughn let out a yawn.

  “I’m sorry, is being on the run from illegal justice boring you?” I laughed.

  “Christ, I just want to sleep. A full damn eight hours without freaking out about every noise that gets into my brain.” He yawned again. “And now that I’m like this, there’s very little chance I’m going to stop the ridiculous yawning or be able to get any shuteye while we wait to see what these fuckers do.”

  “Swear word, Daddy,” Dylan mumbled from the backseat.

  Looking in the rearview, I could see that he was still mostly asleep. Smirking, I tossed a glance at Vaughn. “See what you did? He does that in his sleep now.”

  “I’m tempted to explain there’s no swear world rule for adults.”

  “Sounds like a fucking good—”

  I slammed the breaks and jerked the car to the right, just as a car flew onto the highway out of the ditch in the center of the road.

  “Holy shit, they were waiting for us,” I snapped.

  Vaughn had snapped fully awake and Dylan was trying to figure out what had shaken him. I didn’t have time to explain, as I aimed the car to the right to hide behind the massive semi I had almost rammed with that move.

  “Hang on,” I said. “Make sure your belt is tight.”

  “How’d they find us,” he grumbled. “I didn’t say shit to my parents where we were this time. Not distance, not direction, nothing.”

  “It’s not always you or me.”

  The Silverado swung over as the other car dove ahead into traffic. They were going to try and box me in, maybe drive me off the road.

  The gas pedal pressed closer to the floor and I could feel the confidence of the engine as I pushed it faster. Another car came up out of the ditch on right this time, and I had to make a quick decision: left or accelerate.

  I knew what this baby could do, so I pressed the pedal down a little harder, and it took off like bat out of Hell.

  “This was not how I expected this drive to go,” I grumbled as I wove the peppy thing in and out of the traffic around us. I was glad it was just about five a.m. and we weren’t near a major metro area. The last thing I needed was more traffic.

  The two cars dodged and wove and tried to box us in, but I managed to keep some eighteen wheelers around us and between us.

  “This is not fun,” Vaughn mumbled.

  “No shit,” I snapped.

  “Daddy?”

  I glanced in the mirror to find a shocked, frightened Dylan in the back seat.

  “Hang on, bud,” I said. “We’re going to be going really fast for a bit.”

  He nodded and gripped the arms of his seat.

  I switched lanes again and gunned it around the two box trucks in front of us. I dove back to the right lane and glanced up at the signs. The next exit was nearly ten minutes down the road.

  “Look out!” Dylan yelped as one of the cars pulled up alongside of us from the shoulder.

  “I don’t mean to make demands,” I growled at Vaughn, “but could you shoot the fucking wheels out on that thing?!”

  Vaughn

  I hadn’t fired a gun in ten years.

  My service piece in the army had been only just that. I carried it because I had to. I went to the range because I had to. I kept it locked because I had to. I cleaned it because it had to.

  I hadn’t even ever drawn it for anything. I was an accountant, a lacky for the captain. I typed reports, and filed necessary paperwork. Once in a while, it would get exciting and I could write a proposal.

  When I left the army, I happily turned that weapon over. I was not meant to have a gun of any kind. Even my father had given up trying to make me go deer hunting after one disastrous season where I was just horrified to even put bullets in the gun. All that ran through my brain was that I was going to hurt someone by mistake.

  That hadn’t ever really changed, even when I was in the army.

  I’d never ever fired the gun because I had to.

  “Daddy!”

  Dylan’s fear lanced through me, and I managed to yank the gun out and flick the safety off. My other hand was busy rolling the window down, and—

  “I have no fucking clue how to do this!”

  “Jesus,” she grumbled. “Turn in the seat, aim, and fire.”

  I managed to jerk myself toward the door so I could hold the gun in two hands and the next time I saw the tire on the car, I pulled the trigger.

  The snap and bang of the bullet leaving the chamber shocked me and deafened me for a moment. The smoke of the gunpowder was sucked away quickly, but it choked me before it was gone.

  Dylan started crying. I didn’t blame him.

  The car tire deflated with another bang, and holy goddamn luck on that shot. It flapped and the car pulled to the right, into the oncoming traffic. The cars swerved out of the way, and I turned to watch it flip up into the air on the other tire and off into the ditch.

  “Shit,” I mumbled.

  “Daddy!”

  “We’re fine, Dylan. It’s fine. It was just the gun.”

  “It was so loud!”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Gonna have to fire a few more times,” Bridget said.

  “Christ Jesus on a pogo stick,” I mumbled. “Dylan, cover your ears.”

  I heard an engine rev, and the way I was turned in the seat I saw the car jump ahead in the blind spot. “Bridget!”

  She swore as the metal-on-metal screech ripped through the car. “I just bought this damn thing, don’t wreck it!” she screamed at the other car.

  I heard the engine pick up again and made the huge mistake of looking at the speedometer. We were at 105 on the dial, and I saw it climbing.

  “Oh, God, I hope you can handle this speed,” I whispered. I didn’t know if I was talking to the car or the woman.

  The vehicle that rammed us was desperate to give chase. They were trying to catch up, but I could see the headlight hanging out of the front and part of the front fender gone. As fast as we were going, they were hard pressed to catch up.

  Bridget tossed a look at me. “Sit forward. This isn’t going to be fun.”

  Her window rolled down, and she held the car at 110 on the speedometer. The front wrecked end of the car appeared first in her sideview mirror and a moment later the fender itself was outside the window.

  All at once, she pulled out the gun, aimed it, let off the gas and pulled the trigger three times.

  The tire went and I saw the glass explode. The windshield was dusted with blood from the two men inside as the car careened across the lanes of traffic into wall of the overpass we sped beneath.

  She had just shot both of those men dead accurate from a vehicle moving at over ninety-five miles an hour while holding the lane.

  Fuck.

  I should have been disgusted she had just shot two men—but I was anything but. Judging by just how fast my dick hit my fly, I was sure there was something wrong with me finding that hot.

  “Two down, one to go…” she mumbled. “Where’s that shit
ting Silverado?”

  I glanced in the rearview and in the sideview. There were red and blue lights, way back, but there were a few cars between us and them. None of those looked like the silhouette of the Silverado.

  “I don’t see it. As fast as we’re going—”

  “Nope. Haven’t maxed out the Silverado’s speed yet. They could be anywhere,” she said.

  “There’s no sign.” I said, turning in the seat. “Holy shit!”

  It was right in the passenger side blind spot, running dark. There wasn’t a single light on the thing.

  “Go, go,” I gasped.

  “Can’t,” she said. “If we don’t take them out, they’ll be after us for sure.”

  “Oh, God, don’t make me shoot again,” I said.

  “Nope. When I tell you, drop your seat back. Dylan close your eyes and cover your ears.”

  I knew he wouldn’t have a problem with that. I put my hand on the side of the seat and—”Crap. This is an electronic seat!”

  “That sucks,” she mumbled. “Does it have a slide bar underneath?”

  I reached down, and there was a release for the seat. “Yes.”

  “Good. Lean the seat back, and when I tell you, kick it.”

  “It’s a grab bar—”

  “Kick the fucking thing, Vaughn, or you’re in my line of fire,” Bridget growled.

  And the dick hit the fly again.

  I situated my leg so I could quick-release the bar, and leaned the seat back a bit more than it had been. The Silverado was having a hard time keeping up, but it was so clear that Bridget wasn’t really pushing the Camry at all.

  She had the gun low on her lap, so it was unlikely they’d see the matte black metal. Watching the road, she peeked continually at the truck pulling up on us on the left.

  I could hear the engine screaming as it desperately tried to catch up with us. The window on the driver’s side lowered and I saw a gun come out.

  Pointed right at my son.

  With no more than a heartbeat to react, I grabbed the gun out of Bridget’s lap and twisted in the seat again. I shot once, the bullet going into the engine compartment, and again, at the hand that was holding the gun at my son.

  There was the sound of a ricochet, and I pulled the trigger one more, planting one in the front tire.

  Bridget hit the gas hard and we flew away from the truck as it swerved across all three lanes of traffic and slammed it into the center median full of mud. Once they stopped the hydroplane, the truck flipped up and over the front tires, slamming cabin down in the mire.

  The car flew on at nearly 120 miles an hour.

  I stared at the gun in my hand.

  Well. That broke the streak.

  “Cops on the overpass,” Bridget said. “Damn it.”

  I could see the cars flying over, which meant there was probably a cut through to the highway just ahead.

  “If we’re flying faster than they are, can we use a cut through to get off?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. Look for a weird small sign that looks like two Us bottom to bottom or a Z and number.”

  “Are we slowing down?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  The car roared along for another three minutes before I finally saw a sign and pointed it out.

  “Can you see any flashing beyond the road?” Bridget said.

  “No. Nothing. It’s dark as hell out there.”

  She nodded and peered into the dark ahead of us. “Okay. Hold on.”

  The car went from tearing down the road to slowing and almost stopping at breakneck speed. I was shoved against my seat belt as she came up on the cut through, and tossed against it as she made the hard right onto the gravel, slamming the gas down again.

  There was a locked fence just ahead of us.

  She wasn’t—

  Without even letting off the gas, she busted through the gate, tearing it off the hinges and making them twist around like cheap twist-ties.

  But the only damage would be on the very front bumper because she had gone through so fast there was no chance for them to come down and hit us again.

  We were on a back road now and Bridget made a right to travel back the way we came.

  “Wait! What! This is the way the cops are coming!”

  “Gimme my gun back, and put yours away. I want you to pretend like your sleeping,” she said. She glanced back at Dylan. “You two, bud. Head down, pretend your sleeping.”

  I handed the massive Beretta to her, and shoved the Ruger in the holster. I propped the seat back up a bit and leaned my head again the window.

  “Why are we going this way?”

  “We have all of our damage on the back end,” she explained. “If the cops came up behind us, they would see it all. This way, it only looks like a scratch on the front bumper.”

  That made a lot of sense. It seemed like this spy thing was a lot of commonsense and avoiding being seen.

  “Dylan, you okay, bud?” I called back to him.

  “Just scared, Daddy.”

  “Yeah, me too, D. Just hang on. I think Miss Birdie has us almost out of this pickle. Stay tight.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  Bridget had the car at just 47 miles an hour and it felt like a snail’s pace after tearing down the highway at well over a hundred. But I spotted the speed limit sign that read 45 MPH, and I got it. The more we appeared to be just out early in the morning, the better it would be.

  It seemed to take an awfully long time for the cops to finally appear on the road ahead of us.

  “How aren’t they guessing that this is the silver Camry—”

  “Because it’s silver, and it’s a Camry and who uses a Camry?” She exhaled. “Also, psychologically, they are too focused on getting it on the highway, not in finding the car right now. They might realize it was us in about ten minutes, but by then, we’re going to be gone and or hidden.”

  “You’re hoping the damage on the backend isn’t that bad.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’ll also settle for something I can compound out. I’d rather not have to find another new car so soon. We’ll also find a stupid bumper sticker and rough it up to throw them off as well.”

  The cars, four of them, tore down the road like bats out of Hell. We politely moved to the side of the two lane road, even though there was no one in front of us and we technically didn’t have to.

  We kept puttering along at the speed limit for another few minutes. I glanced over my shoulder, and I realized that Dylan was shaking in his seat.

  I pushed the seat all the way back and drop the seatback so I could climb in the back with him. I didn’t care about seat belt laws or restraints. I yanked Dylan out of the booster and held him on my lap, clutched against my chest.

  They’d almost shot him.

  “You okay, Dylan?” I asked, looked down at his trusting little face.

  “I’m really scared, Daddy,” he gasped and he tried not to let his tears spill.

  I wasn’t so controlled and the ones in my eyes rolled down my face. He seemed to take it as permission and let his go too. Holding him as tightly as I could, without hurting him or crushing him, I looked up in the mirror to see Bridget watching us as she watched the road, too.

  “They’re dead,” I whispered.

  She nodded, just once, and drove on while I comforted my son and myself.

  They were so dead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bridget

  I pulled the car into a spot that couldn’t been seen from the highway. The Flying J rest stop had breakfast and facilities, and it was the best place for me to regroup.

  Sending Vaughn and Dylan into get breakfast and pee, I walked around the back of the car. There was a dent there, with grayish-silver paint on the back fender. I could pop the dent, but I had to cover the scrapes and paint streaks. There was a cracked lens on the back brake light and I was going to have to do something about that as well.

  007: I need a body shop or a junkya
rd.

  Q: Good morning to you too.

  Q: Was that your work out by Evanston?

  007: Fuck off.

  007: Body shop, man.

  Q: I’m on it. Give me half an hour.

  I walked around the front and found just two divots in the front bumper. Damn good for having plowed through that gate at sixty miles an hour.

  Sitting on the hood of the car, realizing it was cold out and my ass was now lit from the hot engine, I stared across the mostly full parking lot. These drivers would all start moving out in the next few minutes, after eight which would put most of them in major cities between rush hours.

  I was so proud and terrified for Vaughn. He’d pulled that gun out of my hand without a second thought as soon as he saw his son was in danger. But at the same time, it was apparent he was in very real danger.

  We needed to come up with a plan to get these people off our asses. We needed to make them understand we weren’t targets they wanted to tackle.

  But how.

  Scrubbing my hands down my face, I looked up at the door where Dylan and Vaughn had disappeared a moment before.

  Drugs, guns, chess pieces in a massive game. How could I subject that man and his son to all this? This was my world, and what I had been trained for. He was an accidental passenger on my crazy train.

  Q: I have a mobile body shop.

  007: What now?

  Q: They’ll come to you. They can do the repairs in about two hours if it’s nothing serious.

  007: For real?

  Q: It’s not meant to hold up, just hide. You’ll have to find a real body shop if want to save it after this.

  007: That’s perfect. We just need to hide this until we can get out of jurisdiction.

  Q: Send me the location and I’ll send them out.

  007: Life saver.

  Q: Orange only.

  Double checking my gun was tight in the holster, I locked the car and headed inside. There was an Arby’s inside and I figured that was where Dylan would want to eat—and his father was in no emotional state to say no to him.

  The adorable father and son sat in a corner, well out of view of the windows and the door. Smart. Dylan was happily swinging his feet, eating a roast beef sandwich. I chuckled. That child was going to have a hollow leg as he grew.