A dead cop will make me look like a snitch if I’m caught near him. A Murphy and a dead cop here? It’s a declaration of war.
I release Marlowe, crawl out and look around. Maybe I can make?—
She moves fast the moment she’s out from under the belly of the truck, trying to get up and run, but I grab her and haul her back against me.
Her hat’s gone, and her red hair’s a beacon in the moonlight.
“Let go,” she hisses.
“Marlowe, if you run, you’ll die.”
Hate spits from her copper eyes as she glares up. “Are you bullying me?”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean I’d kill you. But if you’re spotted by whoever’s out there, you’re done. I’m going to get you out?—“
“And then what?”
I pull her downfarther.
“Look, I’ve got things to do. If you don’t behave and listen to me, I’ll send you into that building?—“
She frowns. “You don’t scare me. Besides, no one’s in there. It’s empty.”
I don’t ask how she knows that. We’re wasting time. And even if she’s lying, I can’t trust her, not with that rebellious gleam in her eyes. I look around.
A stray bullet slams into the truck.
The gunfire increases in intensity, and it’s heading this way again.
I don’t think. I grab Marlowe’s hand and drag her, running, to the next pile of truck parts. We hit the ground as bullets fly overhead. I cover her body with mine.
She smells like peonies and roses, and I only know what they smell like because Harry, my sister-in-law, owns a flower shop.
Jesus, I want Molly’s mouth.
I’m out of my damn mind.
“We need to get out of here. My car’s a few streets down. We’re staying low and running until I say stop. Got it?”
I don’t give her a chance to respond. I just get up and drag her with me. I guess I’m leaving the bodies.
She’s fit enough to keep up as I tear through the debris. Her gun presses into the small of my back where I tucked it into my jeans—and why the fuck does she even have a gun?—but I keep mine holstered.
Whatever battle’s waging has nothing to do with me.
She might be a different story.
The next spot…slats of an old wooden crate leaning against a new one…is the final cover before the chain-link fence I climbed through. It’s ten yards away, maybe.
“Run and don’t look back,” I mutter.
Her mutinous expression wars with fear, but Marlowe Briggs, ballet star and spoiled princess, just nods.
I grab her hand and start running. Marlowe trips, but I don’t stop. I just haul her up as someone starts shooting at us. I fling her through the fence and dive through it after her, rolling her on the ground.
Someone’s running. “You! Get back here!”
I force her up and push her forward, my body shielding hers, shooting behind me as we run.
