Valley of Fire (Valley of the Moon Book 2)

by Bronwyn Archer

  The Lamborghini was nowhere to be seen. We hurtled along a narrow two-lane road headed dead east.

  He picked up his phone and tried his home number, but no one picked up.

  He tossed his phone down in frustration. “Your dad’s probably out for a walk or something.”

  The high-pitched whine of a Lamborghini’s engine broke the tension. Alexander pulled the shifter into Turbo. The road curved and we came up to a deserted intersection. The light turned yellow as we flew under it.

  Alexander sped down the road. The Lamborghini crossed into the opposing lane and came up next to us. The black paint was streaked with orange dust and dirt. I watched in horror as the tinted passenger’s window slid down.

  Strawberry blond hair swirled out through the open window. Nastia waved and smiled at me. Next to her, Sergei held up his smartphone and gave me the thumbs up. Nastia slid a finger across her throat and laughed. A loud horn blared and a UPS delivery truck was barreling straight for them. I screamed. At the last second, Sergei swerved back into the lane behind us.

  “Call 911!” Alexander yelled.

  I’d forgotten the phone frozen in my hand. As I dialed, my fingers shook.

  “911, what is your emergency?”

  “We’re being chased!”

  “On foot?”

  “In a car! By a black Lamborghini.”

  “Slow down, Ma’am. A what?”

  “A Lamborghini! License plate is Savitch 1.”

  “Can you spell that for me?”

  “S-A-V-I—”

  The call failed. No service.

  “Was that what’s-her-name from the Amangiri?” Alexander asked.

  “Victor’s girlfriend Nastia. You’d love her.” I tightened my seat belt as the speedometer crept up to 100.

  “Maybe you can introduce us one of these days,” he said. There was a rise in the road and he sped up. We got slightly airborne before the Vanquish slammed to the ground. Alexander whipped his head around in time to see the Lamborghini fly over the hill. Sparks flew as it gained on us.

  I dialed 911 again.

  “911 what is your emergency?”

  “We need help! We’re driving north chased by a—

  “East!” Alexander shouted.

  “Sorry, east! We’re headed east, towards—LOOK OUT!!”

  We were on a big curve in the road and came up too fast behind a slow-moving minivan. Just in time, he swerved, sped up, and passed it. I clutched the arm rest as the car jolted back onto the road.

  “Ma’am, did you say you’re being chased?”

  “Yes!” All the warnings from Victor not to contact the police no longer applied.

  The police were the only way we were going to avoid getting killed.

  “What is your location?” I scanned the roadside for a sign, any sign, but Alexander had veered onto a narrow, tree-lined country road. Shadowy woods loomed on either side. There was no sign of the Lamborghini behind us, but I could hear the faint whine of their engine.

  I managed to catch the name of a street sign and relayed it to the 911 operator, but there was no response.

  “I lost the call again!” He took his phone from me and shoved it in his back pocket.

  Headlights flashed behind us.

  The first shot sounded like a BB hitting a steel drum.

  “WHAT WAS THAT?” I screamed. The rear window exploded, showering us with tiny glass pellets. Cold wind whipped through the open cockpit. Tiny bits of glass fell out of my hair and slid down the front of my t-shirt.

  “I’m moving to Plan B!”

  “What was Plan A?!”

  “Not getting shot at. Try the police again!”

  We raced through the quiet main street of what looked like a picture-perfect seaside town. Another shot plinked off the bottom of the car. The wheels wobbled and the car started to careen across the road. I watched in horror as we almost hit a bus bench sign advertising for a crab shack, but Alexander wrestled it back onto the road just in time.

  “One of the tires just got shredded. When I tell you to get out, get out.”

  “What’s Plan B?” I yelled. His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel. I had a sickening realization: I was about to get him killed. I should have kept him as far away from me as possible. I’d refused to go to the police, and we were about to die.

  He raced straight down the road away from the town. I smelled diesel fuel and sea water. Up ahead, dozens of white sailboats of every size were lined up in rows at a marina.

  “Is that the ocean?”

  “The Chesapeake Bay,” he said.

  “We’re gonna run out of pavement! Where are you going?!”

  The car roared down the street, veered to the right, zoomed down a ramp, and then we were inside the marina’s unlit parking lot. Three long docks jutted out into the bay, like a giant letter E. It was so dark it was hard to see where the wooden planks ended and the water began.

  Behind us, the Lamborghini raced down a service road parallel to the water.

  “They won’t stick around once they hear sirens.” He jerked the wheel and we headed down the center pier through a forest of sails and topmasts. On either side of us, boats bobbed on their lines. The damaged tire screamed in protest as it bounced over the rough wood. The car vibrated violently and the acrid smell of burning rubber filled the air.

  Alexander stopped the Vanquish halfway down the center dock.

  “Jump out and follow me. Leave the bags. We’ll hide on one of the sailboats.”

  He jogged towards the end of the dock and pointed at a huge yacht. I opened the door and took a tentative step towards him when I heard the Lamborghini. It sounded like it was coming from in front of us, which was impossible.

  There was nothing but the bay in front of us.

  Headlights flashed on the water and the Lamborghini skidded to a stop in front of us. Unbeknownst to us, the docks looped and connected at the ends. Alexander whirled around and ran towards me, yelling, “Get back in the car! Go!” I threw myself behind the wheel, punched the ignition, pushed the shifter into reverse, and screamed at him to get back to the car. At least it would offer us some protection.

  “Come on!” I yelled. He was only a few dozen feet from me. I waited, poised, with my foot hovering above the gas. Adrenaline ripped through my veins. My heart pounded so fast it hurt my ribs.

  But then he stopped short.

  He turned slowly to face the Lamborghini.

  He stepped towards its blinding headlights.

  “NO!” I screamed, my voice hoarse. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

  The scissor door on the driver’s side of the Lamborghini levitated skyward.

  It was hard to tell who stepped out of the car, but I heard the shot.

  The bullet zinged through the air.

  Alexander fell hard and rolled to the ground and didn’t move.

  I screamed and didn’t stop screaming.

  But he wasn’t dead. He started army-crawling to the edge of the dock. He yelled, “Go! Get out of here!” I opened the door and was about to race over to him when a bullet whizzed by my head and plinked against the hull of a sailboat behind me.

  I ducked back into the car.

  A figure in black walked towards Alexander. I saw his arm raise. Light from the Vanquish’s headlights glittered off the gun.

  There was no way I was going to sit and watch Sergei kill Alexander. I threw the shifter back into drive and slammed my foot down on the gas.

  The Vanquish instantly complied.

  Sergei looked up and tried to run, but it was too late.

  I closed the distance in half a second. Sergei crashed into the windshield, his gun smacking hard into the glass, then he rolled up and over the car.

  I took my foot off the gas and smashed my foot on the brakes.

  The ruined tire squealed and smoked. The other three tires couldn’t get a grip on the slippery wooden planks.

  The Vanquish kept going, skidding and sliding forward
at top speed.

  I stomped the brakes again and the car went sideways and the horrible screaming of metal on wood stopped.

  The vibrations ceased.

  For two long seconds, the car was absolutely silent.

  Because it was airborne, sailing sideways through the briny air.

  I didn’t even have time to scream before it hit the water.

  #

  The Vanquish hit the water rear end first. My skull smacked back into the headrest and for a few horrible moments I was pinned to the seat by the force. The car bobbed in the water with its front end sticking up. Cold water rushed in through the smashed back window and surged forward.

  Time slowed down. I knew I had just a few seconds to get out before the car filled and sank. I stopped screaming and obeyed commands that seemed to come from outside my head.

  Unclick your seatbelt.

  I unclicked my seatbelt. Then I pushed the door as hard as I could, but it wouldn’t open more than an inch. Cracking it open turned the cabin lights on.

  Open the window.

  Water crept up to the seats and the car tilted until it was pointing straight up. I got on my knees and felt for the window control buttons on the door. I pressed the button.

  Nothing happened.

  I slammed my hand down on the buttons.

  Nothing happened.

  I banged my fists on the window. Sea water rose to my waist.

  You’re going to die. You’re going to drown in this stupid car you love so much.

  It started to sink rear end first. I was about to dive down and fight through the water pouring into the shattered rear window when a side window slid down.

  Then another one.

  Then all four side windows were down.

  I pulled myself through the nearest one, kicked once, and was free.

  I made it to the surface gasping and coughing and watched the black water swallow the Vanquish until the headlights dimmed and went out.

  #

  I clung to a wooden piling to catch my breath and looked up. The top of the dock was at least ten feet above my head. The water under the dock was black and stank of diesel fuel. Swells up to my waist kept pushing into me. I wiped my face and tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. My legs churned the water below to stay afloat. I thought I could hear sirens in the distance.

  But I couldn’t make a sound. I tried to scream for help but a pathetic squeak emerged. My chest was so cold. I tried again and again. Finally, my vocal cords thawed enough to produce a real scream.

  “Help! Alexander! Someone! Help!”

  All I heard in response was the lapping of the waves hitting the pilings.

  Hot tears and seawater stung my eyes. There was no answer from the deck.

  He’s dead. They shot him.

  You got him killed by dragging him into all of this.

  The pain of that moment was the worst thing I had ever experienced, besides my mother’s death.

  Worse than the cut on my shoulder.

  Worse than my dad getting sick.

  He was dead and it was all my fault.

  “Lana! I’m here!”

  HE WASN’T DEAD.

  His voice had echoed from somewhere under the dock, but I couldn’t see anything.

  “Where?”

  “Right in front of you.” My eyes adjusted and I could just make out a metal ladder extending down from the dock into the water. He was standing on the bottom rung, holding his arm out towards me.

  “Jump and I’ll catch you.”

  I threw myself towards the sound of his voice and sank into the foul water. Then his hand clutched my wrist and he hauled me up, then pushed me each rung until we were both back on the dock.

  I crawled away from the edge of the dock on all fours, threw up, and collapsed in a heap on the splintery wooden boards, shivering uncontrollably.

  “Don’t EVER do that again” he said. He cradled me in his arms and kissed my ice-cold cheeks. I vaguely registered that his clothes were soaked. His hair dripped onto me.

  “Wait, where are they? Did he shoot you?”

  “Lucky for me, your hitman has terrible aim.” He gently examined my forehead. “They drove off when you went airborne. Your head’s bleeding. Does anything else hurt?”

  “Don’t know, too numb.” My teeth clattered together so hard they hurt.

  “The good news is, this road trip’s finally over,” he said. “The bad news is, I’m missing an Aston Martin.”

  His car.

  I’d destroyed his car.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! Oh my God!” I choked back sobs. The ocean breeze chilled me through my sopping wet clothes.

  His eyes blazed with fury. “Are you kidding? I don’t care about the car! I thought you were dead, Lana! Why did you do that?”

  “He was going to kill you! And then kill me! I had to do it! I tried to brake, but the car kept going.”

  He stared at me. “That was bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

  I sat up and tried to rub the sting out of my eyes. “I’m not safe until they’re dead. You’re not either. When will they stop? When will they ever stop?” I couldn’t breathe. My chest heaved and I coughed up water. “It’s like I’m in a nightmare and can’t wake up.”

  He knelt down close to me. “I know, but the nightmare’s almost over. Can you walk?”

  “Yeah, but not to New York.”

  He helped me to my feet. My legs trembled and I took a few weak steps. Out in the bay, the only sign there was a car in the water were the cans of Red Bull bobbing up and down on the surface.

  “All our stuff. Everything’s gone. I’m so sorry.” I covered my face with my hands and sobbed. He held me while I cried and stroked the back of my head.

  “Lana, you literally saved my life, so I forgive you. Add it to your tab if it makes you feel better.” His eyes searched mine and his hands slicked the wet hair away from my face. “The only thing I care about survived.”

  “Wait!” I gasped and clutched my neck. “The necklace!”

  He brushed the nape of my neck with his fingers and gently tugged on something. The diamond pendant emerged from the top of my soaked shirt and glittered in the night.

  The sirens I’d heard got louder. The glossy white sailboats suddenly flashed red in the darkness as police cars screamed towards us. He put his arm around me and we waited. The warmth of his body helped me stay upright.

  “I hope they brought a really big fish hook,” he said.

  Chapter 15

  Lacus Temporis ~ Lake of Time

  The cops exchanged a glance over my head as I chattered. To them I was just a clueless teenage girl—what did I know about driving? Even I could hardly believe the truth. I told them the whole thing was a crazy road rage incident that started when I cut off another car. Which happened to be a Lamborghini with an angry armed driver. I only drove the Aston Martin into the bay because I got lost and confused, and put the car in drive when I meant to put it in reverse.

  I couldn’t tell them the real story. I had zero doubt five minutes after the police knocked on Ramona’s door, my dad would have a bullet in his skull. The only real fix for my predicament was to pay Victor back once and for all. Testifying against killer Russian mafia assassins would not be good for my health. I’d seen enough movies.

  But I still didn’t know what to do about Ramona. Could I pay her off, too? Alexander and I huddled together inside a police car under silver Mylar blankets and he texted someone on his phone. Its waterproof case had kept it alive—my phone slept with the fishes.

  “I got hold of the security guy. Your dad’s fine, he’s in Glen Ellen with Cesar.”

  “Good. Now find a car rental place nearby. We can still get to New York by morning.”

  Alexander looked at me like I was crazy. “New York?” He shook his head. “Lana, it’s over.”

  “It’s not even eleven o’clock! If we drive all night, we’ll make it by the morning!”


  He stared at me dumbstruck. “I just watched you almost die. Forget New York, okay? We tried, it’s over.”

  I tore off my blanket and crumpled it into a ball. “You want to quit? After all that? See ya!” I started to scramble out of the car, but he grabbed my hand.

  “Just hold on.” Without another word, he jumped out of the car and walked over to the gaggle of cops.

  #

  The police car stopped. We were in a quaint neighborhood of tidy clapboard cottages.

  “Thanks, Officer, appreciate the ride.” I climbed out of the car in a daze. Where were we? He’d refused to tell me where he’d asked the cop to take us.

  “That water’s pretty deep back at that marina, might take a couple weeks to get the vehicle out,” the police man said. “We’ll call you when we do.” Alexander thanked him and shook his hand, and then we were alone on a dark street corner.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Come on.” He wrapped his arm around my shivering shoulders and led me across the street. A dog barked in the distance. He stopped in front of an attractive white Cape Cod-style house with an elaborate garden in the front yard. A profusion of flowers in every color lined the brick path to the door.

  Alexander took a deep breath and threw his shoulders back. His hand froze an inch from the doorbell. His finger shook a little.

  He rang the doorbell.

  Nothing happened.

  He rang it again and heavy footsteps approached the door.

  Finally, it swung open.

  “Hey, Dad,” Alexander said. “Mind if we come in?”

  #

  “Alex, tell me again how in the hell you parked a three hundred thousand dollar car in the bay?”

  “It was me,” I said. “I did it, Mr. Parrish.”

  We were huddled around the built-in table in the cozy galley kitchen of the Eleanor Rigby, Peter Parrish’s yacht. It smelled like ground coffee beans and pipe tobacco. The espresso machine on the polished chrome and wood counter steamed and hissed. Pete poured himself a mug and shot Alexander a pointed glance.

  “Huh, nothing changes,” he murmured. Peter Parrish eyeballed me with an all-seeing look that reminded me of his son’s. Tractor Beams, Senior. I fidgeted nervously. “Call me Pete, Lana.”