His legs intertwined with Faith’s, his mouth covering hers, Randall rolled on top of her, propped himself up on his left forearm, and aimed his Walther at the gap between the two doors while he stared through the gap.
On her back, her head cranked backward, she got an upside-down view of the action through the same narrow space.
Shadows moved across different surfaces.
“She’s not upstairs.”
“The rooms down the hall are empty.”
“You check the basement. You start searching the grounds. I’ll join you after I check out the kitchen and the garage.”
Faith’s body quivered.
Randall held her firm while tightening his grip on the PPQ45.
Shadows grew larger.
Footfalls became more pronounced.
Randall saw a figure enter the kitchen and stop three feet away from the sink.
Seconds passed.
“Sir, it’s me. Mason’s dead, and the woman’s escaped. We’re searching for her as we speak. She couldn’t have gotten that far. I’ll—”
Five seconds of silence.
“Yes sir. I’ll—”
More time went by.
Randall estimated where the man’s head would be, pointed the 45’s muzzle in that direction, and slid his trigger finger down the gun’s frame.
“Understood. We won’t let her get away.”
The dark figure disappeared, and the sound of a door opening and closing followed.
The home was still.
Fifteen seconds later, hearing the faint sound of another door shutting, Randall let his shoulders sag as he looked down.
Noticing she had somehow hooked a foot around his butt, and that her fingers were gripping his waist, Faith met his gaze, the burn in her biceps telling her she had been tugging on him. Her focus zipped to her mouth, and she felt something wet.
Randall pulled back and saw he had been sucking on her tongue the whole time. His cheeks turned red. Perspiration beads popped out on his forehead.
Retracting her appendage, Faith replayed the scenario in her mind. I started to ask him his name. That guy cussed. He made a move. I began French kissing him. And then, she connected the dots, CRAP! He was just trying to quiet me. Heat building in her chest, feeling her armpits getting moist, she brought her elbows in and looked away. “I’m so...”
“I’m sorry.”
“...sorry.”
Their voices were barely audible.
Faith slid her leg down his hip and let go of his waist.
Randall rolled off her.
She brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I didn’t—”
“I shouldn’t have—”
She flashed an uneasy smile. “You go first.”
“No. You go.”
Neither one spoke.
“I—”
“I was only—” cutting her off again, he half smiled. “Maybe we should drop this and concentrate on getting out of here.”
Sighing to herself, Thank God, Faith acknowledged him. “Good idea. How do we do that...get out of here I mean?”
“Well,” he peered through the crack and saw no movement, “since they’ve had enough time to clear the house, they’re probably now searching the woods out back. The garage has a front-facing door. My car’s down the street.” He pushed open both doors.
Faith rolled out into the kitchen.
Uncoiling his legs, Randall pushed off from the cabinet wall, spilled onto the floor, and grimaced while grabbing his hurting ribs.
On her knees, “Come on, tough guy,” Faith slung his right arm over her shoulder and took him with her as she stood. “Let me help you.”
“I’m the one who’s,” he planted a shoe on the tile and rose to both feet, “supposed to be helping you.” He exhaled while bending and twisting his torso.
“You have...and now I’m returning the favor. You okay?”
He nodded. “Took a few punches to the ribs. I don’t think anything’s broken, but,” he winced, “It still hurts. I’ll be at a hundred percent in no time. Here.” He held out an article of clothing. “I thought you might want these.”
Beaming, “You’re an angel,” she stepped into her baggy shorts and lifted them to her waist. “Thank you. I almost feel human again.”
He grabbed her hand and jabbed the Walther toward the door to the garage. “Stay close, so I know where you are, but be prepared to get off the line if bullets start flying.”
Recognizing the self-defense term, Faith saw herself moving laterally to get away from the line of attack. “Got it.”
After slipping into the garage and confirming it was empty, they moved to the entry point next to the wide overhead door.
Randall stuck out his head a sliver and surveyed the area and the path to the waiting Dodge Charger. “Looks clear. Let’s go.” He pulled on her hand and ran down the driveway, his head pivoting, his eyes alert to the slightest of movements.
They crossed the street, hopped a curb, and ran across an unfinished yard of dirt, sand, and stones. Twigs poked out of the ground in places.
Randall ran faster.
“Ow!” Faith let go of his hand.
He took two more strides, stopped, and whirled around. “What’s wrong?”
She hobbled the three paces separating the two of them and clutched his forearm for stability. “I,” lifting her right leg, “I stepped on something back there,” she laid her foot on her left knee.
Randall spied blood on her heel. “Arms up...I’ll carry you.” He hugged her waist.
“No.” She planted a hand on his sternum. “You have to be able to shoot.” She limped a short distance. “I’ll fight through it.” She picked up her pace. “Let’s keep moving.”
Randall only had to fast walk to keep up with her slow, uneven gait. He shot glances over both shoulders before pointing straight ahead. “The car’s just beyond the end of that tree line.”
She grunted and groaned with every other step.
“If anything happens,” he glanced behind him, “just—”
Gunshots rang out.
Dirt and debris flew into the air two feet away from Faith.
“Go! Run!” Randall spun around and moved away from her. “Don’t stop.” He let loose with a volley of shots. “I’ll keep them busy.”
Faith ran.
Spying a bulldozer, ten feet away on his three o’clock, he took a step toward the cover before stopping and remaining in the open, hopefully, making himself a more tempting target than the gimpy, fleeing woman.
Bullets flew by his head and struck the earth around him.
Returning fire, That’s it...stay on me, he zigzagged left and right, never standing in one spot for too long.
The Walther’s slide locked back.
Dancing back and forth, he thumbed the magazine release while reaching for a spare. Cranking his head around, seeing Faith at the end of the tree line, he rammed in the partial mag he had swapped out earlier, sent the slide forward, and made a bee line for the dozer.
Bullets followed him.
He looked toward his eight o’clock.
Faith was nowhere in sight.
He focused his attention on the gunman.
Behind the backhoe that Randall had hid behind earlier, Linebacker was using the bucket for cover while periodically coming up to fire his weapon and ducking down again.
Standing near the dozer’s blade, Randall eyed the side of the machine, noting certain points. He leaned out from the engine housing and fired three rounds.
230-grain jacketed projectiles pinged off steel.
Linebacker kept the bucket between him and the incoming fire.
His hands and feet finding the holds he had scoped out a moment ago, Randall scaled the dozer, stretched out onto the machine’s canopy, closed his left eye, and lined up his sights.
Two seconds later, Linebacker lifted his head just enough to see over the backhoe’s bucket.
From his position of advantage, Randall squeezed off one shot.
Linebacker’s head rocked backward before disappearing behind the construction equipment.
Randall leaped away from the bulldozer and ran. Casting backward glances, he inserted his last full magazine and stowed the partial while rounding the tree line.
Keeping her weight on the ball of her injured foot, Faith half hopped/half lumbered toward the Charger. She looked as if she were wearing one regular shoe and one high-heeled pump.
“Coming up on your six.”
Hearing the familiar voice, she slowed.
Barely breaking his stride, Randall stooped, swept her off her feet, and carried her the last fifty feet to the Dodge before setting her down and opening the passenger door.
“I got it from here. Get this thing running.” Using the car’s roof and doorframe for support, she bounced twice on her good foot, pivoted right, and fell back into her seat.
He joined her a second later, both slamming their doors at the same time. Depositing his Walther into the center console, he started the engine, jerked on the gearshift, and stomped on the gas pedal.
The Charger lunged backward ten yards.
The driver whipped the steering wheel to the right.
Its rear end lurching in the same direction, the vehicle jumped a curb, its tires sinking into soft sand.
Randall worked the transmission, jammed his right foot to the floor, and whirled the wheel back to the left.
Tires spinning and throwing sand, its rear end fishtailing right, the muscle car jerked left and sped away.
Exhaling a big breath, Randall adjusted his position in the seat, pressed his back to the upright, and glanced at his mirrors. “I think we made it.” He faced his passenger. “How are you doing over there?”
She laid her tender foot on her left knee and inspected the bloody wound. “Since you just plucked me from a bad, bad situation, you’ll hear no complaints from me.”
“So no bullets found their way into you?”
“Nope. Only,” she touched her heel and made a face, “whatever’s in here.” She faced him. “You think we could stop by a hospital?”
“Your wish is my—” catching sight of the rear-view mirror, he scowled at the reflection of a six-wheel GMC 3500 pickup truck barreling down on them, the behemoth’s extra tires visible under protruding quarter panels. “I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait.”
Pivoting in her seat, Faith gawked at the truck sporting oversized tires. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What’s with these guys, anyway?”
“You must’ve made quite an impression on them. Don’t worry.” Listing forward, his right foot pressing the accelerator closer to the floor, he patted the dashboard. “This baby can outrun anything.”
A mile later, the Dodge Charger took a bend in the road.
Randall eased off the gas. “Oh, come on.”
Faith peered through the windshield. “Can this baby outrun road construction?”
Up ahead, cars were stopped, waiting their turn to pass through a one-lane road.
After spotting a man in an orange vest holding a ‘STOP’ sign and speaking into a walkie-talkie, Randall looked up at the sky, and pumped open hands. “Seriously? I even said a prayer.”
She faced him. “You did?” Faith threw up an arm and turned away. “Now it makes sense. I said a prayer back there, too.” She came back to him. “Yours probably cancelled out mine.”
Spying the trees on either side of the road and no turnoffs between him and the line of cars a quarter mile away, Randall let out a short snigger. “Hang on.” He swerved right, made a left-hand U-turn, and straightened the steering wheel. Still chuckling, he peeped at Faith. “When this is all over, Miss Mahoney, you’re going to have to let me buy you a drink.”
The corners of her mouth sloping upward, she faced him. “It’s a deal. Now tell me why you’re racing toward the bad guys?”
“Like knights on white steeds,” he rolled down his window before grasping his gun with his left hand, “it’s time for some modern-day jousting.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Wide-eyed, she gaped at the oncoming truck. “You plan to play chicken...with guns?”
He looked at the wilderness around him. “I’m open to better ideas.”
After seeing what he was seeing, she yanked her seatbelt across her chest and made a connection. “I hope you know what you’re doing. Or we’re going to be having that drink together from the hospital...through clear tubes.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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