Lynnette was already climbing onto the bench seat and motioning for Jenna to do an awkward, squeezing shuffle past the dash that no full-size woman should ever try and Jenna was suddenly very glad Jon wasn’t actually there. It was embarrassing enough that she thought she could see a man with a knife running toward them, probably with enough of a view to see what they were doing.
As they moved, Lynnette said, “We got accosted by some gangster looking assholes. No idea why. Jenna took out one with the bear spray I keep in my purse, but it looks like she got some of it in the process.” She cut her eyes to Jenna as she dropped into the driver’s seat. “Are you okay otherwise?”
Jenna practically fell into her new seat, and though it was her intention to nod because she was pretty sure she was, she wasn’t actually sure her face cooperated.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Lynnette said.
“Where are you exactly?”
Lynnette’s eyes snapped up and narrowed. “Jenna, think you can drop him a pin or something? I gotta drive.”
The words were barely past her lips before a body collided with the door now at Jenna’s shoulder. A muffled exclamation came through the window and a different kind of clink compelled Jenna to twist around despite that she didn’t want to and, really, her vision was rather blurry.
Not so blurry she didn’t recognize the man with the neck tattoo. His face was twisted in rage and he was stabbing at the window with a bladed weapon.
“Theater,” she croaked, forcing the word out. “Theater. Under the big trees.”
Lynnette through the truck into gear. “And now we’re leaving.Adiós, asshole.” The pickup surged forward, throwing the guy off before he could strike the window again and almost immediately careening into the front end of one of their attacker’s vehicles.
Guilt slammed into Jenna’s heart as the truck jolted with the impact. She knew how much Lynnette loved her old truck. It was an outdated, gas-guzzling beast that was nearly as old as they were and cost more money to maintain than it would ever sell for. But Lynnette wouldn’t sell it. “Lynn—”
Jenna cut herself off when a different impact sounded behind them. Horror flooding her system, she twisted in her seat and gaped at what she was pretty sure was the sight of the man with the neck tattoo carefully rising to his feet in the truck bed. Her vision wasn’t clear enough for her to see his expression, but he had to be either fully enraged or dead-set on seeing his mission through, for reasons she could not comprehend.
Lynnette cursed, eased off the gas, and threw her truck into reverse before promptly stomping down on the pedal again. The sharp movement rocked them in their seats and knocked their attacker off his feet, but not out of the truck. The loud clang of his weapon hitting the truck bed was undeniable, though, and it brought a momentary relief.
Lynnette brought them to a stop and reached for her seatbelt. “Buckle up. One more good hit and we can clear that car.”
Jenna reached for her seatbelt, already feeling lightheaded between the spray and the jarring movement. “But,” she tried, her voice still more of a croak, “your truck—”
“Yeah, I know. I’m not happy about it. But your SUV wouldn’t cut it for this.”
“Stay where you are,” Jon said, projecting his voice through the still-open phoneline. “I’m about ninety seconds out.”
Lynnette balked. “Ninety—”
“How?” Jenna asked, before promptly falling into a coughing fit.
“I’m not doing the speed limit, baby. Just stay alive for one more minute.”
If she had the voice, and if they had the time, she would have argued that there had to be more to it than that he was merely speeding. She also should not be flattered that he was breaking the law for her. But she did not have the voice, or the time, and in truth … if it kept her alive, who the hell cared about a speeding ticket? As long as he didn’t crash, of course.
Lynnette turned a raised brow to her, silently asking whether Jenna wanted to heed the strategy of the man on the phone or not.
Jenna dipped her chin in a nod right as the man in the truck bed slammed himself against the rear window.
“I’ll bleed both you whores and string you up by the roadside for everyone to see,” he hollered. He raised his fist—curled around the weapon he’d retrieved—and pressed it against the glass. “You never should’ve pissed me off.”
Lynnette, who had never taken kindly to harsh words in all the time Jenna had known her, rested an elbow on the back of the bench seat as if she were relaxing and called back, “I’m gonna send your friend PJ the bill for my truck repair. Think he’ll have the balls to sue me over that?”
Jenna was pretty sure she saw the man’s lips move, but whatever he said wasn’t loud enough to come through.
He followed it up with an angry swing of his blade that stabbed into the glass and nearly nicked her shoulder, causing her to shriek. The glass cracked, quickly spiderwebbing outward.
Lynnette released her seatbelt. “Son of a—”
The unmistakable sound of tires squealing carried through the air, and echoed over the open call, drawing everyone’s attention outward.
Jenna’s vision was blurry, but she was sure she recognized the green boxy shape moving closer at a rapid rate of speed. “Jon,” she breathed.
