Chapter 30
Sean
“I left my purse in the restroom. I’ll be right back.” As I’m about to grab her arm, Lillian bolts toward the terminal.
My sitrep?
Empty holster. Sidearm in suitcase. Three SUVs. Tinted windows. Number of shooters unknown.
Yanking open the lead SUV’s passenger door, I pop the glove compartment and… bingo. A Glock. Magazine seated. Round chambered.
Pivoting on my heel, I fire at the bastard aiming at my woman.
He slumps. People scream. Families scatter in every direction. In the chaos, no one notices me drag the bloody man into the backseat. Instead, they focus on the two masked gunmen sprinting toward the terminal.
Too many civilians. No clean shot.
Seconds pass as the two Chevys bully their way into traffic. Freed, I slide behind the wheel to follow. In this case, the tinted windows work to my advantage. The others will assume I’m their dead buddy.
Sirens wailing in the distance, our lane slows. Airport security races into the street, focused on the gunfire inside instead of three SUVs slipping past them. We all inch forward until a bus stops in front of the lead Suburban.
“Yo, move it!” The driver leans on the horn.
Moments later, his bus door folds open. As his frightened passengers rush up the steps, a flash of Lillian’s dark pants and favorite sneakers gives me pause. She made it.
There’s no sign of the two mercenaries who chased her into the building, but they must’ve radioed her position because my new friends pull behind the shuttle as it lumbers from one terminal to the next. Belching diesel fumes, it unloads and loads before rejoining the endless line of vehicles.
Ditching my comms and my phone out the window, I trail them all the way to the long-term lot. There, Lillian departs. Pretending to be absorbed in a phone conversation, she falls into step beside a young couple with two kids.
Well-armed mercenaries, I count four, wait for the bus to disappear. As they exit the SUVs, I stretch over the backseat, snatch the dead man’s cap and balaclava, then pull them on. By the time my feet hit the tarred surface, Lillian’s vanished.
The tallest and broadest of the soldiers faces me, sweeping an arm toward the hundreds of parked cars. “Don’t just stand there. Find her.”
After a quick nod at him, I jog to where I last saw her. My stitches only complain a little as I lower myself to my knees, and I shine my phone’s flashlight beneath each vehicle.
“Babe? You there?”
“Sean?” At the faint rustle to my right, my heart skips a beat.
“Thank fuck.” I squeeze her outstretched hand, switch off the flashlight, and help her crawl out from under the car.
While the others move farther away, deeper into the lot, we stay crouched, winding around the abandoned vehicles until we reach the perimeter’s chain-link fence.
“Benny’s dead.” A shout rings out, echoing off the cars.
Took ’em long enough to find him.
“Fuck this. I’m outta here.” A younger voice whines. Seconds later, a door slams, an engine roars, and tires spin.
Inhaling burnt rubber, we wait as a second SUV follows. When the vehicle I was driving pulls away, I curse. In hindsight, I should’ve taken the keys. As we sit in the dark, a pigeon coos somewhere in the empty lot, the sound carrying through the silence, sending a chill down my spine.
About ten minutes later, airport security drives through. I start to rise, but Lil yanks me down.
“Stop,” she says. “We are not spending another night in a police station explaining another shooting.”
Gotta love this woman. Despite the situation, I smile. “Well, we could sleep under the stars… or better yet, break into a Scooby-Doo van. Make love in the back.”
“Or…” Her grin widens. “We could steal a car.”
While we scan the rows of autos for the perfect heist, she points into the air. “Sean, check out the billboard.”
Over I-95, a jumbo screen flashes, revealing an image of a Honda Civic parked in space marked B3.
I’ve just finished memorizing the plate when the ad for Doctor Jared’s hip implants comes back on.
If it is Daed, I have no way of knowing. “I ditched my comms. Do you have yours?”
“No. Same.” She bites her lower lip. “But it’s just as well. What if those assholes in the SUV haven’t given up and are trying to flush us out?”
While she makes up her mind, the billboard changes to a winged man flying high toward a Motel 6.
I translate, “Daed has our six.”
As the image disappears, I lift her chin. “Clear enough for you?”
“You do know Icarus never made it home, right?” Her lips purse for a long time before she nods. “Okay. But where is B3?”
An hour later, we arrive at the designated spot. In front of us, the Honda doors unlock with a soft click, and the engine starts.
“You will find everything you need in the glove box,” a computerized female voice says. “Use the pre-programmed GPS to navigate. Open the dashboard. Glasses and comm unit recommended before proceeding.”
“Sweet. Our favorite geek hacked the onboard computer. I knew I liked that guy.” After stuffing a wad of cash into her back pocket, Lillian hands me a parking stub, the facial-reco blockers, and comms.
As I back out, she reads the GPS, “12 Miller Street. Teaneck. Estimated arrival, 3:00 a.m. Why there? Why not Queens?”
Daed cuts in through our earpieces. “I suggested you hole up in Jersey until we sort out this shit show. My men were hijacked. No idea who those mercs are.”
“Oh no. Are your people okay?” Lil’s concern, while adorable, is misplaced.
His guys dropped the ball and almost got us killed. Shaking my head, I follow the exit signs as Daed reports minor injuries.
“Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to warn you.” At least he sounds contrite. “Had to scramble. Glad my billboard trick worked.”
While he speaks, Lillian slips a prepaid credit card into my hand and asks, “What about Grams and Becks? Did you find them?”
“Not yet. You sure you don’t have any idea where they might be hiding?”
Lillian shakes her head. “Not a clue.”
Dammit.
After everything we’ve been through, she’s lying.