Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“So is there someone out there or not?” she finally asked.
“Probably.”
“Are we just going to hide in here until they leave?” She tossed up her hands at his silent, incredulous expression. “I don’t want someone to shoot at us again.”
“Me neither. My best guess is they’re new on the scene and trying to ascertain if we’re home.”
“The car’s here. We’re obviously home.”
“We’re quiet with the windows covered,” he countered. “Either way, I want to get the hell out of here.”
Someone tried to twist the deck door’s knob. Another shadow hovered by the window. All right, Sawyer needed to contend with two people out there. At least they weren’t shooting their way inside. He decided it was time to roll. “Let’s go.”
Angela followed Sawyer, crouching when he did, hurrying toward the front door.
They donned the flip-flops they’d left on this floor.
It wasn’t the footwear he wanted at the moment, but it was better than none.
He double-checked the nearby windows and inspected as much of the space as he could see of the front.
Sawyer snagged the car keys from the hook but wasn’t sure if he and Angela could reach the vehicle without being spotted.
Theirs was a tricky situation. The people outside didn’t want to take Angela. They wanted her dead. He had to limit her exposure.
Sawyer turned the deadbolt open. The click sounded in his head as though he’d hit a gong to announce their position. His hand rested on the doorknob. “Stay close and behind me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Good thing I trust you.”
He laughed. “Good thing.” Sawyer twisted the doorknob and allowed an inch of daylight to fall inside. Semi-blinded but mostly sure they were safe, his ears pricked at the sound of the opening door on the other side of the house. He grabbed her hand, and out they went.
A man yelled from the street that they’d slipped out the front door.
Sawyer jerked to his left then his right, dragging Angela. A bullet splintered into the side of the house. She screamed. Another one popped.
The man called for his partner.
Sawyer made it to a tiny plastic storage shed that would do nothing to slow a bullet. “You okay?”
“I lost a shoe.”
“Given the situation, I’ll take that as a yes.
” A bullet thumped the storage shed. They didn’t have many options of where to go.
One way would leave them wide open and in the middle of the street.
The opposite way would head toward the beach.
They’d be sitting ducks, as would anyone else who had the misfortune to start their beach day nearby.
The last option was to go onto their neighbor’s property, where ideally someone would have left the keys in a car.
Not likely, but they didn’t have any time for another plan. “Time to move boots.”
Sawyer lifted her over a nasty patchwork of thorns and cactus, cursing every flip-flopped step he took. The chasing voices stayed close—and fire exploded in his arm. His hold on her faltered.
“Sawyer!”
Son of a bitch. Angela dangled, half supported in his good arm, half running to keep up. He threw them behind the concrete foundation of the house.
Angela cried in pain. Blood coated her.
“Damn it—Angela?”
“Thorns,” she explained. “They’re everywhere.”
He hadn’t noticed and jerked her off the ground. The blood—was his. Good. But they still needed an escape vehicle fast.
Then he saw the dune buggy. It offered next to no protection.
They’d be open targets, unable to zig and zag from a bullet’s trajectory.
But, if Sawyer was able to drive toward the beach and use the dunes as a barrier, they could get distance from the shooters and figure out their next steps when no one was firing.
“See the dune buggy? We’re running over there.” He pointed. “Jump on and get down. Curl up as little as possible.”
That was as much time for instructions as they had.
“That?”
“Yeah. That’s the plan. Go.”
Sawyer hustled, half carrying Angela, and prayed the dune buggy would be functional. They jumped into the seats. “Get down. Get down.”
Angela’s knees were on the floorboard. She curled into a ball.
Sawyer inspected the dashboard. No keys required. All he needed was a little luck. He punched the Start button. The electric motor turned over. “Halle-fuckin’-lujah.”
The dune buggy beeped in reverse. A bullet lodged itself in a beer can abandoned in the center console’s cup holder.
Sawyer slammed the buggy into drive. They bumped and rolled from behind the beach house and zipped toward the steep sand dunes. “We’re gonna see how much this bad boy can handle. Hang on.”
Angela screeched. The buggy raced up the dune and crested. This vehicle was a beast. They were going to catch air on the downside.
He let off the gas and called again, “Hang on!”
“I am trying!”
Sawyer jerked the steering wheel. They banked right.
“You are going to kill me.”
He laughed and threaded the buggy through a beach walkway and onto the wide expanse of sand where the routine patrol of lifeguard trucks had made it easy to navigate tracks.
Sawyer checked over his shoulder. “I think we’re in the clear.”
Angela pulled herself upright. “You’re bleeding all over the place.”
“Shit.” He glanced at his arm. “I’d forgotten about that.” He could wash the drying blood off in the ocean, but he didn’t relish the idea of cleaning his wound with salt water.
Not a lot of choices, though. They didn’t have supplies, much less a first aid kit. He’d lost the gun somewhere between the cactus garden and the dune buggy.
Maybe their attackers grabbed it as an early Christmas present.
Free ammo. Either way, once Parker had been updated on the situation, Titan would send in a clean-up team to return the two houses to their original state sans bullet holes.
The clean-up team would even return the dune buggy after Sawyer ditched it.
When and how were his most significant concerns.
“Where are we going?” she asked.