Lucky shrugged and glared at his passenger. “That depends on what you tell me.”Yes, I’m sure as shit telling her everything.“Who put you up to following me?”
“Nobody, okay!” Philip’s eyes went wide and every muscle tensed. “Oh, God!”
Lucky focused on the road.
A Chevy came right at them.
The car rammed the Durango’s side, rattling Lucky’s teeth. One moment they sat on four tires, the next…
The world rolled over.
Glass shattered.
Thank God the airbag didn’t deploy.
“Bo! You okay?” Lucky grabbed his .38 from the driver’s side window.
A groan came from the back seat. “I’ve been better.”
Lucky wriggled. “Fucking seatbelt! Let me go!”
Bo reached up from the backseat with a pocket knife, cleanly slicing the restraint.
Pausing to listen, Lucky kept one hand on his gun and the other on the warped passenger door.
“Wait! Let me get into position.” Bo clambered into the front seat.
“What about Useless?”
“Out cold.”
Sirens came closer and closer. Maybe the asshole in the Chevy was dead or wouldn’t shoot with firemen, cops, or paramedics present.
Lucky slammed the door open. No shots came. He struggled out as an ambulance and fire truck pulled up. Another truck kept going toward the grass fire.
Victor stood off to the side. Walter watched from the back seat of a black SUV.
What the fuck?
A man Lucky didn’t know approached. “Are you okay, Agent Harrison?” He peered out at the carnage. Fuck. No way the driver survived crumpling the Chevy like a beer can.
Lucky batted away the man’s hand and jumped down onto the blacktop, gun still at the ready. Pain shot through his ankle. Fucking ankle.
“Good work, Agent Harrison, Agent Schollenberger,” Victor said. “You’ve apprehended two of the three fugitives.” His smile fell. “Only, I hadn’t anticipated so much damage.” With narrowed eyes he added, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t follow orders.”
Lucky clutched a side suddenly given to pain. Gas, oil, and other things he didn’t want to think about charred his nose. He managed to gasp, “Go big or go home.”
Bo stood beside him while a team of good ole boys disguised as volunteer firemen worked on getting Phillip out of the truck.
Lucky strode to the other side of what was left of the Durango and winced. Nobody could’ve survived in the Chevy. “Is he?”
“Dead?” Victor asked, striding up beside him. “Yes, I’m afraid he is. Desperate men do desperate things.”
“Who?”
“Agent Rogers with the SNB.”
Red hair and freckles. Fuck. Lucky wanted the man stopped, but not dead.
