Gunner hauled me up and curled his big body around me. “Are you hurt?” he called over the noise.
“I’m fine,” I yelled back, ignoring the sting of where the plaster had nicked my skin. I stopped him when he tried dragging me to who knew where. “Killer.”
“That damn rat is going to get us both killed,” he griped but led the way to the kitchen. Killer was madly hopping around his cage, shivering.
Gunner grabbed the cage and nodded to the door. “Stay as close to me as you can.”
I didn’t argue and followed him through the house. He pushed me against the wall next to the door leading into the garage and put the cage down. “Don’t move.”
I forced my hands to stay next to my body instead of reaching for the cage.
He disappeared inside the garage and came back out a second later. “All clear. Let’s get out of here.”
We got in the car after Killer was safely buckled up in the back seat. Gunner hit the garage door opener and as soon as the door opened halfway, we spotted three people standing in our way, guns raised.
One of them shook his head when Gunner revved the engine, pointing his gun to the side. I looked over and suppressed a scream at the sight of another guy standing by the door we just walked through.
“Keep your head down. This might hurt,” Gunner said, sounding as calm as if he was about to take a nap instead of being two seconds away from being shot to bits.
He pushed the gas pedal down, and the gunfire started. I curled up in the foot area of the passenger seat and prayed this wasn’t the end.
No glass shattered, and Gunner didn’t slow down. We hit something, but Gunner didn’t pause or ease off the gas. The car eventually picked up speed, and I assumed we were on the road.
I stuck my head up to assess the situation. When I determined that the bullets had stopped flying our way, I crawled back onto the seat.
The glass was cracked in places but not broken. I pushed a hand against it.
“Bulletproof glass,” Gunner explained, his attention on the road.
“What now?” I asked.
“Now we switch cars. Then we go off grid.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. But instead of starting a pointless argument, I turned around and made sure Killer was still in one piece. Much to my surprise, I saw him munching on a piece of carrot as if nothing had happened.
Maybe I didn’t have to invest in a pet psychologist after all.
Twenty minutes later, Gunner pulled into the parking lot of a run-down car yard.
“We need a place that takes cash,” he explained when he noticed my frown.
“And you have cash?”
“Emergency bag is in the trunk. But they know what car we’re driving, so we need something different. We don’t have time to stop for food, but I should have enough to last us a few weeks.”
I gasped. “A few weeks? Are you insane? If the Irish don’t get to us first, we’ll kill each other.”
“Stay in the car,” he said and got out.
As soon as he disappeared inside the building, I looked for the key. That he’d, of course, taken with him. The car was too new for me to hotwire. I’d have to escape on my own two feet instead.
Decision made, I got out and pulled Killer from the back seat. I made it no more than two steps when a warm—and familiar—body blocked my way.
“I’m guessing you weren’t trying to help me out by looking at the cars.”
“That would be a hell no,” I responded, knowing there was no way this could be made to look like anything it wasn’t. “I was trying to sort this out myself. You clearly have a rat in your organization. I’ll be much safer on my own.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, then herded me to one of the cars that looked like it wouldn’t make it past the exit of the lot.
