Chapter Four #2
Francis stuffed the rest of the boat keys in his pocket, but that wouldn’t stop the Reaper from hot-wiring one.
Nothing would stop him.
The older man grabbed his coat on the way to the door. “Make sure you get a couple of life jackets.”
Jackson snatched two orange life vests and ushered her out the door.
As they made their way down to the dock, Francis turned the sign from Open to Closed and locked up. He even pulled down the steel shutter he probably used during the off-season.
The older man made a beeline to the only other car in the small lot, but he stopped and stared at the bullet-riddled vehicle they had arrived in. Then he looked back at them with a horrified expression. Francis didn’t take out his cell phone to call the authorities. He simply hurried to his car.
Jackson stepped into the boat that could only seat four comfortably. To call it small would’ve been an understatement. It looked like a life-size kid’s toy.
She stared at the choppy waves, jostling the little Hamble Dory and the other boats. “Why can’t we take a larger one? It’ll be safer.” Not to mention faster.
“It won’t fit where we’re going. There’s a stream that branches off from the river that we need to take, and those others are too wide.” He dropped the life jackets in the boat and took her hand to help her climb in.
She watched Francis speed off down the road. “Do you fish a lot?” Growing up, he hadn’t been interested in it.
“Rarely, but when I do, it’s only in the summer.”
Christina sat on the cushioned bench at the back of the boat near the motor. “You and Francis seemed to know each other pretty well.” So well, in fact, the older man hadn’t questioned Jackson, aside from safety factors of taking a boat today.
Jackson untied the skiff and pushed away from the dock. “Francis is someone who was relocated here through WITSEC. I was assigned to him. Got him settled. I check in on him and all the others I’ve helped from time to time. Discreetly.”
“Like under the guise of fishing?”
He sat at the wheel. “Exactly.”
Jackson wasn’t treating her like she was the enemy.
Shared confidential information about Francis—probably a slip from the pressure cooker they were in.
She’d never been under fire and suspected Jackson had experienced nothing as intense as the mayhem back at the airport.
It was definitely enough to cause a lapse in protocol.
Case in point, he got her onto this tiny boat instead of hauling her into a police station.
Still, none of it meant he trusted her or that she could have faith in him to listen to her entire story and believe her.
To understand what she’d endured. What Kirk Kehoe had put her through.
Jackson had let her down before, and she didn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t again.
People didn’t change. Not deep down at their core.
Jackson sat at the wheel. “Did you ever learn to swim?”
“A little. The basics.” Enough not to drown if pushed into a pool.
So many of her decisions and actions centered around one thing—survival.
The rough water rocked the boat. Holding on to the side, she reached for a life jacket.
A pool was one thing. This river was something else entirely. “I’m not a strong swimmer.”
Jackson checked some things on the boat and started the engine. “We’re only going a few miles downstream. It’s the quickest way to get to the place I’m taking you. Hang on.”
Bracing herself, she held on to the side. “And where’s that?”
He pulled off. “Someplace safe to hole up, so I can figure out what to do next.”
Christina finished putting on the life vest, clicking the safety buckles in place. Clinging to the side of the boat, she shifted her weight on the bench and stared at the road. Francis had parked his car at an angle, near the entrance, blocking the way for any other vehicles.
That was loyalty to a fault. It would’ve been smarter for the older man to drive off rather than leave on foot and risk running into danger.
Still no sign of the Reaper. She half expected to see him bolting down the road at a full sprint at any second.
Maybe they had lost him.
The small launch chugged down the rushing river, taking them away from shore. Her shoulders relaxed, but she was far from at ease. They were in little more than a motorized dinghy and the water looked treacherous.
Keeping an eye on their six, she tore her gaze away from the road and glanced at the bridge.
A red car suddenly stopped in the middle of the bridge. Everything inside her clenched. The Reaper appeared at the railing. Her heart sank as her hope for a clean getaway tanked.
He lifted the submachine gun and aimed through the sights. She was right in his crosshairs.
What was the range on that weapon?
She guessed much farther than a handgun’s. Close enough for him to make the shot if he bothered to take aim. Even if he was within range, killing her here wouldn’t satisfy him. Would it?
But what if he wasn’t targeting her?
Jackson.
Christina leaped up and put her back to Jackson, shielding him with her body.
“What’s wrong?” Jackson asked.
She swayed on her feet and held her arms out slightly to maintain her balance in the unsteady boat. “It’s him. He’s on the bridge.”
“You need to take cover.”
As much as she wanted to do just that, she had to protect Jackson. “No.”
It was a risky bet that the Reaper would wait to kill her, the way he wanted, on his terms. If she was wrong, then she was only making herself an even bigger target, easier to hit and kill.
The Reaper lowered the weapon and stared at her. She couldn’t be certain since he was too far away, but she could’ve sworn…he smiled.
All the anxiety pinging inside her over the last thirty-six hours coalesced. A new kind of fear, like a cold sludge, welled in her stomach, pushing on her diaphragm, creeping up around her lungs. “Go faster, Jackson.”
In the next breath, the monster raised the submachine gun and took aim again. He held so still, appeared so focused. She wondered if he was debating, if she had miscalculated, if he even drew a breath.
A shot cracked the air, the sound softened by distance, and there was a delay—nanoseconds—before it ripped through her flesh.