“My dad always said to buy good tools. Then you only have to buy them once.”
“We should only need it once, if we’re lucky. Buy cheap this one time.”
“Okay, just this once.” He grabbed the lever to open the door.
“Be careful.”
He grinned at her. “Hey, it’s only over there. And it’s an auto parts place. I think I can handle it. I am a guy, after all.”
He let his eyes move from side to side as he crossed the lot. There was only one other car. His car was hidden in the shadows. He approached the middle-aged man behind the counter and repeated Sara’s request.
“You mean a dent puller?” the clerk asked, incredulous.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he agreed, no closer to understanding what either thing was.
The clerk excused himself, and returned with a box containing an eighteen-inch-long T-shaped contraption. The end of the long leg was threaded. A weighted handle slid freely until it contacted with the stops at the other end.
“You’re in luck,” the clerk explained. “That’s the only one in the store. Most carmakers went to carbon fiber. It don’t dent, it just cracks and falls off. You got an antique you’re working on?”
“My brother-in-law. Huge motor head. Found an old sedan with some major crumples.” He shrugged, recalling the one he and Sara left in flames. “It’s his birthday, and it keeps him off the streets at night.”
The clerk pointed out his other requests, and rang up the order when he brought the armload to the counter. Zach paid in cash and stuck the receipt in his pocket out of habit.
He walked out of the store with the slide hammer in its box under his arm. In his other hand, he carried a bag containing the rest of the things she requested, plus a few other items.
Lifting his door, he handed her the bag and the long, red plastic box containing the slide hammer. He levered himself onto the seat, cautious of his chest. She put everything on the floor between her feet, next to the bag containing both halves of Zach’s deli takeout order.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he said.
“I’m impressed,” she said, smiling. I didn’t think you’d know what a slide hammer was.”
“Hey.” He tried to feign hurt. “I’m not as dumb as I look, you know.” He chose to ignore the sidelong glance she shot him. “Okay, what next, we going to pull some dents?” he said, trying to impress her with his new found knowledge.
A grin spread across Sara’s lips. “Sort of. Please take us to the nearest mall.”
“A mall?” he asked, not sure he’d heard her correctly. “Here, by the way.” He handed her a shop rag from the bag. “Your handkerchief—it’s getting saturated.” He pointed to the cloth she still held against her forehead. “We’ll have to take care of that soon.”
“Soon,” she said. “First, the mall. The big one.” She accepted the shop cloth from him and pressed it against her head, replacing her blood-soaked handkerchief with it.
“It’s twenty minutes away.”
She scowled.
“It’ll give us time to eat. Are you ready for dinner?” He programmed the Auto-drive, and when the car started in the direction of the mall, he pointed at the takeout bag.
She smiled sheepishly. “Are you sure? I feel really bad about eating your dinner.” She held the bag out to him.
He put his hand on hers without thinking, and jerked it away again when she stiffened. “Sorry. No, please. Consider it my way of saying thanks for not breaking my sternum back there.” He shot her a quick grin.
Her stomach growled and they both laughed.
“I think that’s an executive decision.” He held half of the sandwich out to her again, then unwrapped his.
Sara took a bite and smiled. “Oh God,” she said, past the mouthful of sandwich. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Thank you.” She swallowed and moved her hand to her abdomen, then closed her eyes and took a couple of slow breaths. After a moment, she opened her eyes again. “I think the worst of the nausea has passed, especially if I don’t move too quickly.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said.
She grew thoughtful. “It’s too soon for the police to be searching for you, yet, and they can’t cover all the roads.”
“Why would the police be looking for me?” he asked. “I haven’t done anything.”
“They’re going to want to question you about Dr. Thomas’s murder.” She took another bite of sandwich.
She’d said it so matter-of-factly, he did a double take. “What? But I—” he sputtered to a stop.
“They’ll have to,” She said, between bites. “He’s your friend, and your business partner. You could always turn yourself in and tell them the truth. Until you have some solid proof you didn’t know anything about it, though, and maybe a sound alibi, I wouldn’t suggest that course.”
He felt the blood drain from his face. “But I thought you…”
She chuckled. “Oh, yeah. A rogue Secret Service agent who crashed two cars, set fire to one, injured two coworkers, and hid a suspect wanted for questioning. The local police wouldn’t believe my alibi for the sun’s whereabouts on the other side of the planet last night.”
Fear twisted Zach’s stomach. “But… but… What do I do?”
“Play it out. Drive to the nearest mall,” she said. “This is a great sandwich. Where is this place?”
“Carol’s, on Sixteenth.” He blew out a breath before turning to her. “Laz was my best friend.”
“Is there a pickle? I love…” She stopped, and lay the sandwich on her lap. “I know he was, but the first order of business is to secure your leverage and get you someplace safe. Then, we can figure out a way for you to turn this in your favor.”
“I… How do we do that?”
“First things first.” Passing light from the overhead streetlights alternated between strobing onto her face and throwing her into shadow as the Mitsu rolled through the night.
He swallowed. “Okay, what’s first?”
“First, we have to steal a car.”
CHAPTER 10
Zach stared at her in open-mouthed disbelief.
“Did you say if there was a pickle of not?”
He handed Sara the pickle wrapped in a separate piece of paper. Taking it, she unwrapped it and bit into the large, crisp dill. A smile curled the ends of her lips. “This is the best. Would you like a bite?”
He shook his head. “Um, if we could get back to having to steal a car, please?” He tried unsuccessfully to shake off the feeling of impending doom. “I’ve never intentionally broken a single law in my whole life.”
Sara licked her fingers after she’d finished her half of the sandwich. “You’re off to a hell of a start.” She hesitated. “Look, if we can get your records from the lab, we’ll have some real leverage. It’s the motive that will shift suspicion away from you.” She noticed the uneaten part of the sandwich on his lap, and frowned.
He followed her line of sight to where his food lay on his lap. He tried to smile. “I’m suddenly not very hungry.”
“I know this is a lot to take in all at once,” she said. “But trust me, there is a way out. You should eat. You don’t want to get cranky.”
He lifted the sandwich. “Why do we have to steal a car?” He ripped a mouthful off and chewed. The sandwich was dry on his tongue.
“Because we need a diversion that won’t threaten the agent watching for you, but will distract him.”
The car broke into their conversation. “Destination in two kilometers.”
She patted his arm. “Focus on what’s in front of you, right?”
He nodded as he chewed another bite. “What do we do now?”
“Take us into the parking lot.”
When he had, she directed him to the middle of the lot.
“Okay,” she said. “Now cruise around. We’re looking for a parking space.”
He nodded and did as she instructed.
“There.” She pointed at an
ancient, battered, rusting, American four-door sedan squatting toward the end of a row. No overhead light illuminated it from close by. “It has an internal combustion engine. Perfect.”
“We’re going to steal that?” he asked, still having trouble wrapping his mind around what she was proposing. “That piece of crap?”
“It’s fine. We’re just going to blow it up, anyway.”
His belly tightened as panic gripped him. Zach shook his head and blinked at her. His heart sped up again, which until now he would have considered impossible. “We’re going to do what?” She was nuts, he decided. He was certain now, any moment he would wake up and this would all be a bad dream. This was a twisted, demented way for his subconscious to point him away from her after he was awake again.
Her face was set and flat again. “Extreme circumstances sometimes call for extreme measures. You want something newer?
“No.” He shook his head. “It’ll do just fine.” He was panting despite the pain in his chest.
Sara grabbed the slide hammer and checked it like she was examining a new gun.
“Here we go,” she said, and dropped the screwdriver into her jacket pocket. She slipped the roll of duct tape over her hand like a bracelet, then reached into the bag and pulled out two bottles of water. “You got water.” She said. “And nitrile shop gloves. Very thoughtful, and practical, too.” She opened a bottle and poured a little water on the shop cloth. Then, she lowered the visor and opened the vanity mirror, checking her forehead, lightly dabbing at the dried blood on her face. Afterwards, she did a once-over in the mirror, frowned, and re-rolled the top of the bag.
She produced a small pocket knife from a jacket pocket and cut a piece off the cloth, which she handed to Zach. “Please tape this over my cut.”
He did as she asked.
“Now, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, as she snapped on a pair of the gloves. “We’re going to step out of the car and walk down the aisle, just like we know what we’re doing.
“Why?”
“You’ll see.” She drew a pair of gloves from the box and handed them to him. When he had them on, she nodded once. “Now, let’s go.”
They got out and walked away from the car. At fifteen feet, its lights flashed. He couldn’t help but think it was calling to him and he was abandoning it to the wolves. He turned his head.
She took his arm in hers. “The first rule is, don’t look back.”
He nodded, a short, choppy movement. “Right. I just—” he had to hurry to keep up with her. “I thought we were strolling.”
She slowed her stride. “Yes, of course. You’re right.” They walked on in silence for a few minutes.
The rundown American sedan’s silver paint was faded and peeling on the upper surfaces and it had no hubcaps. “Please keep a eye out.”
“This is—”
“You should see your face.”
“I— You— I—” Zach sputtered.
Sara chuckled and set to work. As he surveyed the parking lot, she slipped her arm out of the tape roll and tore strips off, covering the entire passenger side rear door’s window. She finished by running the tape onto the metal door surfaces around the window.
Satisfied, she shrugged out of her suit jacket and wrapped it around her hand, in which she held the screwdriver. After a quick scan around the lot, she brought the handle of the screwdriver against the window in a short, sharp, snap. The window shattered with a muffled pop. The tape kept it from shattering onto the rear seat. Sara carefully pulled a corner of the taped window loose, leaving the remainder attached to the door, then reached in and unlocked the passenger door.
She replaced the window, re-taping it to the frame. She was reaching for the door handle when a voice behind Zach called out.
“Hey, what the fuck you doin’ with my car?”
Zach spun to the sound. A scrawny man approached, his jacket flapping in the light breeze, a toothpick hanging from one corner of his mouth. The man crowded Zach and spoke. His breath was a miasma of tooth decay, cigarette smoke, and Juicy Fruit chewing gum. Zach wanted to throw up. He wondered for a second if the condition of the car’s peeling paint was due to the driver’s breath.
“I said, ‘what the fuck you doin’ with my car,’ asshole?”
“I can explain,” Zach stammered, taking a half-step back, bumping the car’s trunk with his legs.
The man followed him, closing the gap further. “Betcher ass you’re gonna explain, mother—”
“Freeze!” Sara practically growled from behind and to the man’s left. It stopped the man in mid-sentence. He turned just as she jammed her Secret Service identification card in his face.
“Who the fuck—?” He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes as big as half-dollars. Sara held a lethal-looking black semi-automatic pistol pointed at the man’s chest.
“I said ‘freeze,’ asshole. Now. Secret Service.” Sara flipped her ID closed and returned it to her pocket. “Assume the position.”
The moment vibrated as they faced each other. In a blink it was over and the man grunted, turned, and placed his palms on the trunk of his car. “This is bullshit.”
Sara holstered her weapon and reached a hand into her jacket pocket.
“You better have a goddamn good reason fo’ whatever the fuck you doin’ with my car, bbb—”
To Zach’s shock, the scarecrow in the loose-fitting jacket was seizing to the sound of an electrical discharge. Sara’s hand was under his jacket, pressing something to his side. When the crackling stopped, the semi-conscious man slipped to the pavement with an audible thump. Rolling onto his side, the man groaned once. Sara leaned over him and filled the quiet lot with the crackling sound again. This time, the man lay still.
She stood up and regarded the stun gun in her hand, turning it one way, then the other. “Batteries must be running low.” She slipped it back in her pocket and turned to Zach. “Get in so I can drop you at your car and you can follow me.”
He stood frozen, not believing what he’d just seen. He stared at Sara. “You…” he trailed off, staring at the unconscious man on the pavement.
She tugged him toward the car. “I said, let’s go.”
He rounded on her. “You’re just going to leave him lying on the ground?” His breath came in short pants.
“Zach.”
“Sara.”
“Please.” Her tone was pleading.
“I can’t, do—”
“Dr. Marshall, sir.” She said, adopting her former, flat, business-like tone. “Please get in the car, sir. When I have you at a secure location, we can discuss—”
“We can discuss it now.”
Sara fisted the front of his shirt and pulled him toward her until their noses almost touched. Her other hand moved from her pocket to Zach’s neck. The taser’s silver fangs touched his neck, just below the angle of his jaw. “Get in the god damn car, Dr. Marshall. Now.” The hiss of her breath as she spoke matched the cobra-quick move. “We can debate this later, when we’re safe, but we don’t have time right now.”
Her eyes glittered in the distant overhead light and a drop of blood trickled down her forehead. Zach exhaled and slowly lifted his hands out to the side. “You win.”
She released her grip and he stumbled back half a step. He slowly climbed into the seat and tried to bore a hole in her with his stare.
“Sit still. Touch nothing.” She pushed the door closed with her hip.
The inside of the car stunk of petrochemicals, stale sweat, and old gym socks. The ripped vinyl upholstery scratched at his legs. He held his breath and rolled down his window. Sara started around the rear of the car, losing her footing and steadying herself against the rear fender for a second. When she reached the rear of the car, she bent down for a long moment, before continuing around to the driver’s side door.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, she turned to him. “Breathe.” Her nose wrinkled. “On second thought, maybe not.” She jammed a key from a ring cont
aining twenty or so into the ignition and twisted. The antique wreck chugged to life, coughed twice, and died.
“Great,” she muttered, and twisted the key again. This time when the motor caught, she floored the gas. It roared to life and then settled into a shaking, irregular idle.
Sara blew out a breath. “That’s better.” She shifted in the cracked vinyl seat, which squeaked in response. Her hand moved to the console between them, groping for the shifter, finding nothing.
“It’s up there,” Zach said, pointing to the column.
She turned her attention to where he indicated, and raised her hands, palms-up in confusion. “There’s two.”
It was Zach’s turn to roll his eyes. “Put your foot on the brake.”
When she did, he reached to the lever closest to him and shifted into drive. The car lurched forward, and Sara turned the wheel, dragging it around as if she were opening a rusty valve.
“It’s probably low on fluid.”
Her brow wrinkled. She cut her eyes toward him. “How do you know so much about these things?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Friend of mine in high school… Barker. His uncle died and left him something similar to this.” He sniffed. “Except for the stale sweat and BO.” He moved a foot and bumped something heavy and metal in the dark. “That came later.”
“Barker?” she chuckled. “His name was Barker?”
“Last name.”
“Did he have a first name?”
“No. Well, yeah.” Zach hesitated, thought back. “He must have. We never used it. He was just Barker.” Then, realization jolted through Zach. They were riding through a mall parking lot in a stolen car, its owner lying unconscious behind them. He stared at her.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words to express what he was feeling.
“I said, ‘are you hurt?’”
His heart was racing, his hands were shaking, and he was breathing in short, shallow gasps. He shook his head no. “This is crazy.”
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