It wasn’t the smartest move to remind Cordell he was expendable, but worth it if it kept Evie alive. She was absolutely right about the cameras, although the lousy visibility played into Cordell’s favor. She was also spot on with her theory that the local authorities were waiting for them to kill themselves out here. The robbery was less than an hour old, but it was a safe bet the casino security and the sheriff’s office had already broadcast the make, model, and plate number for the SUV over every emergency channel.
On top of that, Agent Pickering and her team were surely following the GPS tracker in his wallet. They were likely the only vehicle on the road in Deadwood right now, so there would be no mistaking them, no place to hide.
Up front, Baker fiddled with the defrost setting to no avail. He leaned forward in the seat, both hands on the wheel again, struggling to pick out the best part of the road in a landscape that was a blur of white on white. The acceleration was subtle. Between the adrenaline and the slippery road Baker probably didn’t know his foot was heavy on the gas pedal.
Cordell braced a hand on the dash.
“Ease up, Baker,” Wyatt said. “No one’s expecting us to come back.” It wasn’t a lie. Regardless of the FBI tracker, this move wouldn’t be expected. “No need to rush.”
“I’m not rushing,” Baker retorted. “I’m braking.”
“Don’t,” Wyatt and Evie said in unison.
“Just coast,” Wyatt advised. Under the blanket, he saw Evie’s hands working at the plastic cuffs again. She must be as worried as he was about Baker’s inexperience out here.
But Baker noticed the shape of the road too late.
The back end of the SUV fishtailed, the arc swinging wider on the slippery road as Baker overcompensated. Wyatt clamped his lips together, keeping any advice to himself. It wouldn’t help. He could see from the set of Baker’s jaw the man was beyondhearing anything. His jaw was locked and he was starting to panic.
They slid and skidded past the row of casinos and hotels. Wyatt took comfort in knowing where he was and a distinct lack of police pursuit. No comfort at all in the way the tires lost grip, gliding over the black ice that formed after the snow had been cleared.
Evie pressed close to his side. She’d seen it too, understood what it meant when a road appeared wet. They were in a dangerous situation and approaching a bridge that was notorious for icing over in much milder conditions.
She opened her mouth to warn Baker and Wyatt elbowed her into silence again. She kicked him, though it barely registered through the snow boots. If the crew self-destructed, they had a better chance of getting away. He’d only have to get the tracker into a pocket of one of the three thieves and the FBI would be able to drop a net over Cordell.
“He’ll get us killed,” she whispered for his ears alone.
Wyatt pressed his leg close, doing what he could to reassure her. He thought about the roadway, the SUV’s safety features and said a prayer it would be enough if Baker lost control. Somehow they’d survive. Had to. He couldn’t imagine a world without Evie in it, even if she hated him.
The passenger side tires dragged along the plowed and drifted snow just ahead of the bridge. At the sound, Baker’s hands jerked on the wheel. The back end slowly swung toward the middle of the roadway.
Wyatt couldn’t tear his gaze away from the horror show playing out in front of them as the heavy snowfall piled up on the windshield, the wind sculpting drifts that completely blotted out the bridge marker on either side of the roadway. A pristine white blanket covered the guard rail, and a thick layer of ice glazed the sign.
None of that registered for Baker. He didn’t know the area and he was too consumed with getting his boss out of Deadwood. Wyatt and Evie were pressed into Karl as Baker fought physics in a futile attempt to straighten the wheels and thread the big SUV through the narrowly plowed path.
In a blink, the SUV was sliding sideways across the bridge, gaining speed on the slight decline. The slide quickly morphed into a sickening spin. Cordell shouted and reached for the wheel. Baker pumped the brakes to no avail. The other men shouted as if words would change anything. If Evie made a sound, he couldn’t hear it over the others. It was impossible to focus on any one point, the world was a swirl of white through every window.
A piece of the front fender caught on the guard rail and halted the spin with a lurch and an ear-piercing shriek of metal on metal. Wyatt took a breath when the sound stopped, sure it was over, grateful they were safe. But the SUV’s momentum carried them on. Baker swore, slamming his hands against the steering wheel as they continued to slide backward down the sloping road.
Wyatt swore and fought to release his seatbelt. He hauled himself into the gap between the front seats, over the console, inadvertently kicking Evie in the shins as he reached for the wheel. Bruises were better than what he feared was coming.
“What are you doing?” Cordell shouted, grabbing his arm.
Wyatt shrugged him off. “Saving your life,” he said. He hoped he was saving them all. Catching the steering wheel around Baker’s hands, he turned it hard, cranking the tires away from the edge of the roadway that fell away into a ravine. With the storm blowing snow and altering the view, only a local would know the hazard was there.
At last the heavy vehicle stopped moving, the back end tucked into a drift. Not ideal, but enough. For several heartbeats, the only sound was their ragged breathing. In the tense silence,the wind gusted and snow kicked up against the windows. It was like being wrapped in a blanket, except the sense of security was a lie.
“Don’t move,” Wyatt whispered. He had yet to shift from his position wedged between the front seats. Craning his neck in an awkward angle, his gaze caught Evie’s. The concern he saw in her wide, beautiful eyes startled him.
“Get us out of here,” Tate barked. “We’re sitting ducks.”
“No one else is out here,” Wyatt reminded him. No one would find them in this weather without the GPS tracker. Even with the device, the risk to the pursuing officers would be considered too high. It was the worst time to think the FBI might have been smart by insisting Pickering’s team stay put until the storm passed.
“Whatever.” He rubbed his chest. “We’ve wasted enough time up and down this road. Diamonds or not, I’m starting to hate this town.”
“Feel free to leave. Without me,” Evie said.
He shot her a look at the quiver in her voice. She was ready to bolt. He couldn’t blame her for wanting out of the car, but he was relieved that she wasn’t moving. So she, like him, realized disaster hovered too close for comfort.
