Chapter 55
55
FIONA
We only drove for about fifteen minutes before Dax told Leather Jacket to pull over. The vinegary scent of pickles was strong, but I crinkled my nose when Backup Singer farted. The smell was so bad I was actually glad we were at the top of some random Colorado cliff, and I could get out and get fresh air.
We were parked in a pull out on the two-lane mountain road. It was similar to the spot I’d seen these guys dumping the pickles, but even more remote, if that was possible out here in the sticks. Steep mountains with pines and orange-toned rocks blocked the sun, even this early in the day. A guardrail was all that separated the parking lane from the drop off. I had no intention of getting close enough to it to see how far down it went. I wondered if Dax had told the truth about the dead bodies being at the bottom.
No other cars came by. All was quiet–even for my ears–except the wind through the pines and a far-off bird squawking.
“This is a good spot,” Leather Jacket said, looking around as he pushed me toward the guardrail. This was the first time I resisted. I wasn’t going over. I had my gun in my purse, and I’d shoot him first. I knew that Dax knew that I had my weapon. But what was his plan? I was only a few feet away from changing it.
“Not now,” Dax hissed at Leather Jacket. “Jesus, put the gun away. We’ve got company.” He tipped his head to the left.
We glanced at the car parked further down the pull out and the couple who was staring at the view with such awe that they had to live somewhere flat like Nebraska.
Guns were tucked out of sight.
It was my turn to stare in awe. That couple? Hannah and Jack.
Okay, then.
They walked toward us, Jack’s arm slung over Hannah’s shoulder, chatting and doing a really good job of faking a couple taking a drive in the mountains and enjoying the scenery.
“Hey, will you take our picture?” Hannah asked, all smiles and perky as they approached. “We just got engaged and need a good one. This guy here takes horrible selfies. Every time he does, my face is cut off. Oh, do you sell pickles?”
“Sorry. We don’t sell pickles out of the back of the van,” Leather Guy said.
“Only drugs, right?” Jack replied.
I’d only known him for a few minutes, but this voice was smooth and deep. He had a calmness about him that reminded me of the eye of a hurricane.
“Huh?”
“Now?” Hannah asked Jack. Her face was turned up to him with such hope, one would think she just asked if she could finally open her gifts from Santa.
He looked at her indulgently. Even kissed her on the lips. “Now, gorgeous.”
“Now, what?” Leather Jacket asked, annoyed.
Hannah stepped out of Jack’s hold and went over to the side of the pickle van, squatted down, grabbed hold of the bottom of the frame and… lifted.
Oh. My. God.
Like a huge football linebacker who flipped refrigerators in TV commercials, Hannah picked up the driver’s side of the van and tipped the thing over. By over, I meant over the fucking cliff.
Axles squeaked, the entire van smashed and thumped. Once, then twice as it must’ve tumbled down the ravine. Then crashed like in bad eighties TV shows, without the fireball explosion.
I stared. I did. It was impossible not to because Hannah, tiny little thing that she was, just tossed a van over a cliff. So did Leather Jacket and Backup Singer.
It was there one second, the next, gone.
Hannah wiped her hands together and walked back to Jack. He pulled her into his hold and kissed the top of her head. “Fuck, that was hot.”
I looked to Dax. He wasn’t watching the impromptu strongman competition. He was watching me. His shoulders were tense, but the look in his eyes wasn’t filled with anger or frustration or any of the other angry glares he’d given me in the past, especially when dealing with gun-toting morons. It was something else. Like he was waiting for me.
This was his plan, but he was including me in it. Making me his partner.
“Now?” I asked him, tipping my head toward the bad guys. I was itching to take them down because they were idiots and annoying and I didn’t like having guns pointed at my man.
He grinned, swift and sexy. “Now, sweetheart.”
Finally!
He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as I took down the pickle people.
He didn’t get in my way. Didn’t take over. Didn’t even help.
I also didn’t say get down.
We met in the middle.
I had to admit, when I finally got my hands on the pickle duo, it was too easy. They barely resisted because they were too stunned from the van being tossed. No, from Hannah tossing the van. When they were on the ground moaning and thrashing in pain from a shoulder dislocation–that was Leather Jacket–and a broken finger and busted knee–Backup Singer, two Coal Springs police cars pulled up, lights flashing.
I went to Dax, and he wrapped me in his arms. Kissed me.
“I’m proud of you, babycakes,” he said. His gaze was remarkably soft for what we just went through.
I grinned, pleased with us. “I’m proud of you, too. Are there, um, actually dead bodies down there?” I tipped my head toward the cliff. “‘Cause they’re going to be found when the DEA shows up to grab those drugs.”
“Worried about me?” he asked, running a finger along my cheek.
Was I? Yes. Did I care that he’d dumped dead bodies over a cliff? No.
“We make a good team,” I admitted.
“Ever think of working together?” Jack asked.
I stared at Dax. Dax stared at me. His eyebrow rose in silent question.
What would we be? Law abiding hitmen? Law breaking FBI agents?
I burst out laughing. So did he. And then he kissed me again.