“Find him,” Connolly said, but there was no answer. Nova hadn’t expected one. He was surprised the men had stayed on this channel in the first place, though maybe the men didn’t care that he could hear what they were planning. Only it wasn’t like there was much of a plan. Currently they were playing a game of cat and mouse, and Nova was the mouse. Except he was a smart mouse.
Even from where he hid, he smelled the gasoline. After all, the truck stood maybe thirty yards away. The driver got down on his knees again, shining the flashlight at the undercarriage once more.
“Motherfucker,” he mumbled.
Ahead of Nova, through the trees, the other men continued forward. They had given up any pretense of stealth, and branches and twigs snapped like firecrackers. They had turned on their flashlights, too, and white beams of light sliced through the night.
Nova didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. But that didn’t mean his blood wasn’t boiling. He hadn’t given into Connolly’s attempt to goad him, but that didn’t mean Nova wasn’t fucking pissed. In his earpiece he could still hear an echo of Jessica’s screams.
It had hit him the moment he burst through the copse of trees. The men chasing him expected him to go forward. So instead, Nova had gone backward. Right into that hole he had almost stepped in less than an hour ago, the one with the children’s toys. He dropped down and threw clumps of loose dirt on himself to mute his gray T-shirt. And the men had hurried past, adrenaline and velocity and Connolly breathing down their necks forcing them forward. Then, behind those men, the pickup pulled to a stop and the driver jumped out and realized the gas tank was leaking.
Now the driver started to get back in the pickup. Nova thought about charging the man. It was maybe thirty yards between him and the truck. From this angle he could slip into the passenger seat before the man put the truck in gear. Assuming, of course, the passenger-side door was unlocked. Once inside the cab, he could overpower the man. Punch him in his windpipe, disable him long enough to strip him of any weapon he currently carried. He could then take the pickup and go after Connolly.
Only he didn’t know where Connolly was headed. Nova had an idea where he was headed, but without confirmation, he would be showing his hand, when right now his best bet was to stay far below the radar.
So as the pickup’s engine roared to life once again, Nova did something that surprised even himself: He tore out of the hole, charged toward the pickup, dropped to the ground, rolled under the truck, and reached for whatever he could find.
It was too dark to see, and the stench of gasoline was overpowering, but the pickup had heightened suspension and gave him more than enough room. First he found one solid handgrip, then another, then came the real struggle: something to do with his feet. By then the driver was putting the truck in gear. In the next second the truck would begin moving. Nova lifted his right foot, then his left foot, searching for anyplace to keep them. The truck began to reverse, and his left foot found a hold, then his right foot. It wasn’t ideal but it would work for now. Nova just hoped he could hold on the entire way back to Parrot Spur.