“Mik, it’s too dangerous.” He presses the keys into my hand, then cups my cheek. “Go down the hill and wait for me right before the main road. If you see their truck, floor it all the way back to the hotel and call thePolicia. Understand?”
“No. Austin—“
“I can handle these two assholes. They tried to kill you and they arenotgetting away.”
He’s so confident, but we’ve been hiking for hours, and he has to be exhausted.
“Go as soon as they’re distracted,” Austin says, then plants a hard, swift kiss on my lips. “I’ll meet you.”
My eyes burn as he takes off, staying low, the knife still in his hand. After a dozen steps, he breaks into an all-out run, and I heft his pack and start limping towards the Land Rover. My ankle throbs with every step, the extra weight not doing me any favors.
Austin reaches the black truck rolling slowly over the rough terrain and jumps onto the back bumper, clutching one of the roll bars and riding the Jeep partway down the hill.
I keep to the far side of my vehicle, hiding behind it as I try to get the key into the passenger side door with my hands shaking. It takes me several tries, but finally, the door pops open and I shove his backpack onto the floor.
How long has it been? Three minutes? I have time. I can at least grab my laptop or one of the sample cases. Bursting through the door, I yelp and stumble as I hear a gunshot from halfway down the hill. My crutch bangs into something small and light, sending it tumbling across the cheap carpeted floor.What the heck?
It’s a road flare. Lit. Smoke fills the space, and I cough until I hear muffled cries. Oh God. Squinting, I can barely make out Li’s face. She’s on the floor, bound, gagged, and struggling. Isaiah’s a few feet away, and to my left, Corey lies on his side, blood streaming from his temple.
The sparks from the flare hit a dark stain on the carpet, and with awhoosh, flames rush all the way to the back corner of the trailer, so bright and hot it’s like looking into the face of the sun.
Austin
If I needed to feel like a badass, hanging onto the back of a Jeep as it rolls slowly down the side of a mountain? It’s not exactly doing it for me. Maybe if the vehicle were moving faster than ten miles an hour, things would be different. I don’t risk a glance back at Mikayla. Her vehicle should start any second.
Digging my knife into the Jeep’s soft top, I rip a four-foot hole in the canvas and drop down into the back seat. “Buenos tardes,assholes.” A shot whizzes past my left arm as I sink the blade into the soft flesh behind the passenger’s collar bone. His scream brings me more satisfaction than I should admit, and I grab for his gun, twisting it out of his hand, but I can’t relish in the victory because the driver jams his elbow back and catches me in the jaw.
Fuck. It’s been too long. I’ve lost my edge. My vision blurs for a second, but I still manage to lurch forward and get my hand around the wheel. Wrenching it hard to one side, I lose my balance as the Jeep lurches, landing on my ass behind the passenger seat and firing at the driver.
My shot goes wide, hitting him in the forearm, and he says something I don’t understand because metal screeches as the front bumper crumples against a large tree.
The scent of blood fills the Jeep, and I scramble up and back out through the hole in the roof. The driver’s head hit the windshield—seatbelts, fuckers, learn to love ‘em—and the other guy...he’s struggling to push himself up and get to the roof to follow me.
“Austin! Help me!”
Mikayla. From the faintness of her cry, she’s still back up at the lab, and fuck me. If these two idiots were telling the truth, the whole thing’s going to blow in the next five minutes.
The driver won’t be an issue. But the passenger? Backing away, I aim three shots at the roof and pray it’s enough.
Sprinting back up the hill, I panic when I see the thick, black smoke pouring out of the trailer. Mikayla’s limping out the door with someoneleaningon her.
Li. Her student. If the other two are in there…
“Mik! Start the goddamn car and get clear!” I’m still eighty feet away. Sixty. Forty.
“Isaiah and Corey,” she croaks, her breathing labored and her face stained with soot.
“Get in the car and start driving. Now. Down the hill!” Fuck. I don’t even know if I can get to them. Flames lick along the bottom of the door, and I jump, landing in a crouch. Halfway across the room, Isaiah’s struggling to rip through the duct tape wrapped around his ankles. Corey’s unconscious. And unbound. The harsh scent of alcohol burns my nose. This whole place is going up any minute.
I slash at the tape, and Isaiah gets to his hands and knees. “Go. Get out of here!”
Just as I turn to Corey, the entire back wall goes up like someone hit it with a Molotov cocktail. My pants catch fire, and part of the roof caves in, falling across Corey’s legs.
If we don’t get out of here in the next ten seconds, we’re both dead. I can already feel my lungs seizing, and the smoke, thick and black and acrid, is just inches above our heads.
Yanking him up and over my shoulders, I lurch for the door, jump down the steps, and roll with Corey on top of me, over and over to dampen the flames.
He’s not moving, but I stagger to my feet and, sighting the Land Rover halfway down the hill, drag him towards it. If only I could catch my breath. Or feel my face.
