Nodding, I hand her my other pistol. “Try not to shoot me.”
“No promises,” she sneers, flicking off the lock and checking the ammo clip.
I’m right about their plan to ambush us. We tear through the next intersection to the chorus of blaring horns, and I can already see the big box truck racing to block us at the next streetlight.
“Are these windows bulletproof?” Isla asks matter-of-factly.
“Aye, they’ll hold up under nearly everything but explosives,” I say, watching the truck close in on us. “Can you get around it?” I call to Angus.
“No, but tell the chase cars to start backing up the second we stop. Block the traffic behind us and give me some room,” he says, jaw tight and hyper-focused on the road. He’s still bleeding from a cut on the back of his neck
“What’s your stance on civilians?” Isla asks, watching the dog walkers and harried businessmen hurrying along the sidewalk. “Because I’d rather be shot before letting someone else take my bullet.”
“We do not endanger the innocent,” I agree. “Our drivers are very skilled in evasion moves.”
She doesn’t look fully invested in my assurances, but she tightens her grip on the gun, watching the car tracking us on the left. The box truck hurtles into the intersection in front of us, knocking a little sedan out of the way, and spinning it into a light post. Traffic’s too heavy here for us to swerve around the truck, and Angus already slowed down in anticipation of the ambush. To the east and west, the two Range Rovers race toward us, I watch our chase cars back up, giving Angus room.
“Steady… steady,” I murmur.
When they’re too close and moving too fast to stop, Angus throws the car in reverse and moves back just in time for the SUVs to smash into each other, head-on with a thunderous screech of metal and a spray of glass that covers everything in the intersection. He executes a tidy U-turn, even if most of the maneuver involves the sidewalk.
There’s a violent hammering of bullets rocking the driver’s side of the car and I pull Isla down.
“Feckers are using an AR500,” Ian grumbles, rolling down his window and aiming at the truck. Men are pouring out the back of it, two of them are already firing at us.
There’s screaming, but the intersection is already clear of people, they’re crouched on the ground or racing into storefronts.
“Stand down!” I say sharply, “Don’t engage, we have our way out. They’ll stop shooting.”
He’s not pleased by this, especially as another round of bullets hits the back corner and puts us up on two wheels for a moment, but he obeys.
The car’s silent for a moment, the men searching for new threats as we speed toward the private airfield. Ian’s holding a low conversation with the men in the other cars. “No fatalities, boss,” he reports. “William got shot in the arm and the shoulder, bullets went right through. Angus here is still bleeding like a stuck pig.”
“Feck off,” Angus mutters, eyes on the road.
“I need to call my father!” Isla says, “I saw him getting out of the building, I need to know he’s all right.”
“We’ll put in a call to him the minute you’re safely on the helicopter, aye?” I promise, squeezing her sooty hand.
“I know my family hates you a lot,” she says, “but it’s clear we’re not the only ones.”
I chuckle mirthlessly. “Most of them are dead.”
“Any idea who that was?” She pulls off her jacket, wadding it up and holding it to our driver’s bloody neck, and he grunts his thanks.
“We keep a running list,” I say sardonically, “but that was a wee bit dramatic for a public place. This leads me to my next question, who alerted them?”
“What are you saying?” she demands.
“Even with eyes on both families, this meeting should have gone undetected. And should someone have gotten lucky and tracked us, they still couldn't have time to put together that kind of assault without advance notice.” The fury’s building in me now. They could have killed my wife. She could have been shot to pieces. “Who did your father tell? Is he insane enough to risk your life?”
“You’re blaming this onmyfamily?” Her hand tightens on the gun I gave her and I’m wondering if she’s thinking of using it on me. “Anyone involved in my father’s personal security who’d be planning today’s meeting is completely trustworthy, people who have been with the Blackwoods for years,” she snarls. “Look to your side! Was this just a convenient way to flush my father out into shooting range?”
Taking a deep breath, I see the airfield in front of us as I try to calm down. “This isn’t the time for this conversation. We’ll get back safely and talk then.”
I swear she says, “You started it,” but the sound of the helicopter starting up drowns out the rest.
Isla sits stiff and silent next to me on the flight back to the lodge, I’m busy pulling up security footage from the restaurant that Cormac’s man has already compiled. I’m about to switch to the next camera angle when a man passing by the restaurant window turns his head slightly and I freeze the frame.
