anything to stop their momentum. Her Defender flew off the back ledge, grazing her cheek before hitting the floor.
Finally, when the car slowed, Quinlan used the opportunity to spread his body out over the length of the car seat. His feet pressed against one door as his hands pushed against the other to steady himself.
“Hold on,” he ordered her.
Lying flat over his body, Sabrina wrapped her arms around his middle and linked her ankles underneath his. She could feel the power of his muscles underneath her body pushing out against the two doors to keep them stable while the car continued to zig and zag.
Sabrina noted the time they had been driving and estimated an average speed. She’d seen enough landmarks through the car window earlier to let her know they had been driving in the intended direction: south. That meant they were probably somewhere close to Gettysburg, maybe even closer to the Maryland border. From past trips down this way Sabrina knew the area was mostly farms, small towns…and woods.
A perfect place to dump a car and two bodies.
Not if she could help it. She let go of Quinlan and with one hand searched the car floor by touch until she found her Defender. She grabbed it, but the car made another sharp angle and it took all her strength just to hold on to Quinlan. He had a better chance of getting a shot off anyway.
“Shoot the partition,” she shouted into his ear above the sound of the turbulent vehicle.
“Bulletproof.” He did, however, lower one arm from the door and take the offered gun. “Try to lower it.”
Sabrina understood immediately that she was in the better position to reach the control panel over his head. It’s where she’d seen him work the partition previously. But before her fingers found the button, she saw the glass sliding up to meet the roof. By the time she got to the panel, it wouldn’t move.
“Forget it,” Quinlan told her. “The partition can be controlled and locked from the front.”
It made sense, considering who had tricked out this car. No doubt the doors were also controlled from the front for the purpose of not letting anyone exit the car without the driver’s permission. The assumption was that the good guys would always be the ones driving.
Bad assumption.
Their only recourse was to wait until the car stopped. Eventually it had to. After another turn and jarring side impact, with what Sabrina had to guess was a pretty significant tree, the driver must have started to hit the brakes. Gravity began to pull against their bodies. Sabrina clung to Quinlan as tightly as she could, but when all movement came to an abrupt end, her grip didn’t hold.
Suddenly she found herself flying the short distance from Quinlan’s body to the wall that was the front seat. Her back slammed against the leather-covered steel frames, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of her. She slid to the floor of the car. Moaning, she tried to suck in some air and roll over so that she was at least facing up ready in spirit for any attack if not in body.
The car was stopped now. It was just a question as to what the driver would do next. Quinlan was already sitting up, the gun she’d pressed into his hand aimed at the door on the driver’s side.
She tried to control her breathing so she could hear what was happening around her, but she couldn’t stop her staccato gasping. The squeak of a door opening was ominous, but the expected clicking sound of the locks being disengaged never happened. Without unlocking the car, the driver wouldn’t be able to open the back doors from the outside.
“What’s he doing?”
“Shh,” he whispered, his senses evidently completely engaged.
She groaned and pushed through the bruising pain in her back to sit up. Still no action.
“He won’t shoot us through the door,” she concluded. “He knows it’s bulletproof.”
“He can blow it up,” Quinlan informed her.
But Sabrina shook her head. “He can’t risk killing me, remember?”
“You think.”
“I know,” she replied. Finally she was able to take a deep breath. “The men back at the house were stalling us. We both agree on that. This guy is doing more of the same. Horner?”
“Probably dead,” he stated coldly. “His own fault for getting out of the car in the first place. Tried to be a hero and instead he ends up…” Quinlan closed his mouth and lowered the Defender.
She read the scowl on his face and knew that his irritation had a lot to do with the disgust over losing an agent. He never liked to lose. Anything. But he would put the agent’s death behind him as if it meant nothing because that’s the only way he could stay focused on the present. She knew this because once upon a time he’d taught her to do the same.
“So we’re stuck?”
“Yes.”
“But I have to pee.” She flashed him a cheeky smile.
Shaking his head he gave her back her gun. “You have a warped sense of humor.”
“At least I have one,” she rallied as she shoved the gun deep in her jeans at the small of her back where she knew it was secure. Then she began to assess the space. “You got a plan?”
“I’m working on it.” Quinlan, too, studied the small area looking for a possibly stealthy exit. There was none.
“Each of us could get out on either side,” she suggested. “He can’t cover both of us.”
“He doesn’t have to. If your theory is right, he won’t be shooting at you.”
Sabrina nodded, agreeing with his conclusion. “Tough break for you then.”
He smirked. “I was thinking more along the lines of both of us surviving.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, we’re locked in. Remember?”
He turned and faced the back seat cushion. He felt around the headrest and tugged. The entire back seat snapped loose from the catches that held it in place and he was able to lower it until it was almost parallel to the seat.
They both stared at the empty trunk.
“He’ll be expecting us to find a way to unlock the doors and get out that way,” she commented, knowing she was merely echoing Quinlan’s thoughts. “Can you hot-wire something and lower the partition?”
“Why?”
“The rearview mirror.” It was all she needed to say.
Quinlan nodded. A little muscle and some help from a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit and he was able to get the casing off the car door panel. He fished out a bunch of wires, picked two, stripped them of their plastic casing and twisted them together. A hum sounded, and the glass between the front and back seats slid down.
That done, he reached through the opening and pulled at the mirror until he managed to break it free from its hinge. She let him work, while she pushed the back seat down as far as possible so she could squeeze her upper body back into the trunk.
“No,” he objected. “I’ll do it.”
“You’re too big. If you crawl back here you’ll make the car dip too much and he’ll know what we’re doing. Besides, I’ve got more room to maneuver,” she explained logically. “Give me the mirror.”
He hesitated.
“You know I’m right. And I know that drives you around the bend a little bit, but this time you don’t have a choice. Hand me the mirror.”
Quinlan passed the mirror through the opening and put it next to her. “There should be a release switch that opens the trunk from the inside.”
Sabrina had already found it. The problem was she had an image of pushing the switch and having the trunk top spring open. It would broadcast their location and could leave her a sitting duck, depending upon where the guy had taken up his position to wait them out. Shifting in slow increments so as not to cause too much motion in the car, she turned first on her side, then on her back. She found a wire secured to the top of the trunk, probably for the brake lights, and tugged. It was tight enough for what she needed.
Holding on to the line, she reached over her head for the button located just under the catch that held the trunk top in place. She pushed it, heard the pop that signaled the catch releasing, then clutched the wire in her hand to hold the trunk lid.
