I press her back against the cold, corrugated metal of the semi’s trailer, pinning her in place with my body while adjusting my grip on Bullet so the dog can’t bark. The massive diesel engine of the truck idling beside us rumbles so loud it vibrates through my shoes, masking the frantic hammering of my heart.
Through the narrow gap between the trailer and the stolen SUV, we watch.
The police cruiser rolls to a stop directly behind our vehicle.
Rue’s body goes completely rigid against mine. I can feel the terror vibrating off her in waves. She clutches my shirt with her free hand, her knuckles turning white. “This is bad,” she whispers. “This is so bad.”
I count the seconds in my head.One. Two. Three.The cop is typing the plate into his computer. We have less than ten seconds before the hit comes back.
And we know it’s going to read hot.
“We can't stay here,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the roaring semi engine. “When he gets the hit, he’s going to step out with his weapon drawn. He’ll clear the car, and then he’ll clear the perimeter. We’reinthe perimeter.”
Rue looks up at me, her green eyes wide and terrified in the shadows. “Where do we go? There’s nowhere to hide.”
I scan the lot, looking past the row of big rigs. Beyond the pumps, near the dark, dusty edge of the property, sits a massive white RV behind a matching one-ton truck. It’s taking up three parking spots, entirely isolated from the rest of the trucker traffic.
“The RV,” I tell her. “Come on.”
“Noah, it’s probably going to be locked?—”
“I don't care if it's locked, we’re getting inside,” I snap quietly, shifting the weight of the dog and the bags. The pain makes my vision swim, but I swallow it down. “When I say go, we move behind the cabs of the semis. Do not run in the open.”
Suddenly, the cruiser’s overhead lights explode to life.
Red and blue strobes bounce violently off the surrounding trucks, painting the parking lot in the terrifying colors of all of my fucking nightmares. The siren lets out a sharp, deafeningwhoop-whoopto clear the immediate area.
The cop got the hit.
“Go!” I shove Rue forward.
We break from the cover of the first semi, sprinting through the narrow, greasy gaps between the parked trucks. The strobing lights cast long, chaotic shadows across the pavement, making it impossible to tell if anyone is watching us.
I hear the heavythudof the cruiser door opening behind us, followed by the crackle of a police radio demanding backup.
“Suspect vehicle located. New Mexico plates...” The cop’s voice echoes across the lot, sharp and commanding. “Vehicle is unoccupied. I need a perimeter set up immediately.”
Rue stumbles over a discarded tire chock, but I catch her arm, pulling her upright before her knees hit the asphalt. We clear the last row of trucks and make a desperate, exposed dash across the open lane toward the dusty white RV.
Every muscle in my back tightens, expecting a shout, a flashlight beam, or the deafening crack of a gunshot.
But it doesn’t happen.
We reach the side of the RV. I drop the bags and set Bullet on the ground.
“Check the door,” I command, pressing my back against the fiberglass siding and looking back toward the gas pumps.
Two more Highway Patrol cruisers come screaming down the entrance ramp, their sirens wailing into the night. They’re cutting off the exits. We’re gonna get boxed in.
Rue grabs the chrome handle of the RV's side door and pulls.
Nothing.
“It's locked,” she whispers, her voice cracking with sheer panic. She pulls it again, rattling the frame. “Noah, it’s locked!”
I spin around, my eyes scanning the windows. They are tinted black, revealing nothing. I don’t have time to pick a lock, and breaking a window will make too much noise.
“Move,” I tell her, bumping into her before she even can.
