“I didn’t mean to,” Maria said. Obviously, she couldn’t see the smile.
Jonathan pointed to the.44 with his chin. “Sure, go ahead. Quickly.”
“Don’t be crazy, Scorpion,” Boxers said from the driver’s seat.
Jonathan ignored him. Maria wasted no time. She bent at the waist, picked up the weapon off the street, and jogged over to him. When she closed to within a few feet, Jonathan extended his hand and smiled again. “You can call me Scorpion,” he said.
He opened the back door for her. “The driver is Big Guy, and that young man is Tristan.”
Jonathan offered a hand to help her up the big step, but she didn’t need it.
He closed the back door, holstered his MP7, and climbed back into the shotgun seat.
“Let’s go to America,” he said.
Boxers gunned the engine.
She was beautiful.
As incongruous and stupid and juvenile as it seemed, that was Tristan’s first thought. Maria Elizondo was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He’d only caught a glimpse of her in dim yellow streetlamp light that made it through the windows. Her huge brown eyes glinted in the light, and as she sat on the bench opposite him, he could make out every contour of her body through the soaked clothing that clung to her skin.
Clung to her breasts. Her breasts that had no bra. The suspension on this truck left a lot to be desired, and every bump caused the breasts to bounce.
Christ, he was getting hard. How much of a pervert do you have to be to get a hard-on when people are shooting at you?
“Hello,” she said in English. From her smile, he sensed that she’d read his mind.
Tristan’s ears turned hot. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Tristan. I’m the one who actually has a real name.”
“Maria,” she said.
“Tell me where we’re going, Maria,” Jonathan called from the front seat.
She rose from her bench and duck-walked to where she could look between the two front seats to see out the windshield.
God, her ass looked great, too.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Palma keyed the radio mike again. “I said, bring her to me,” he said. “Do you copy?”
They, too, were dead. It was a conclusion drawn purely from speculation, but given the way everything else was going, that was the only answer.
And why not? Clearly, the plan for their escape would bring Harris and Lerner to the alley where his soldiers had been waiting. It was just a matter of timing.
He spat a curse and kicked the door of the car that had become his command post. He flashed on how furious Felix was going to be when he found out that Palma had not only ignored his order to grab the girl right away, but that as a result she had gotten away.
And make no mistake, she had gotten away. The ruses and diversions had all worked perfectly for them. They could be anywhere now, and they could be driving anything-
Wait.
The Sandcats! In his mind, he plotted the locations of the explosions as a function of the vehicle locations, and it made sense. But how could the Americans have known they were there? Did Palma have an informer among his men?
That didn’t matter.
At least he now knew what they were looking for. As he radioed for a helicopter, he dialed his phone with his other hand.
“Do you know the warehouse district off of Hermanos Escobar?” Maria asked.
“I don’t know anything about your city,” Boxers said. “Start with compass points.”
“North and east of here,” Maria said. She gave Jonathan the address from memory. “It is very close to the American border.”
“It’s a freaking tunnel,” Boxers said. “I
Jonathan entered the address into his GPS system. He also made sure that Venice got the address and the coordinates back in Fisherman’s Cove. When he got the results, he shot Boxers a look. “Fourteen-point-three kilometers.”
“That’s like nine miles!” Tristan exclaimed from the back.
Boxers’ foot grew heavier on the accelerator. “I think I read somewhere that these TPVs have a top speed of seventy-five miles an hour,” he said. “What say we test that?”
The cityscape sped by faster.
“Getting there doesn’t matter unless we get there alive,” Jonathan said. He knew better than to make an overt suggestion that the Big Guy slow down. When he was this close to the barn, any criticism was likely to result in even faster speeds.
“This thing’s got lights and siren if you want to use them,” Boxers replied.
Jonathan had already considered and rejected that. While it might help clear the way at individual intersections, he didn’t like giving such vivid audible and visual clues to a city full of emergency responders who would relish the chance to hurt the people who had done so much damage tonight.
“Didn’t think so,” Boxers said.
Jonathan undid his five-point restraint and rolled out of his seat into the back. “Tristan!” he yelled over the engine noise.
The kid jumped.
“Come up here. Take my seat.”
“What are you doing?” Boxers asked.
“If only one of us survives a wreck, it needs to be the PC,” Jonathan said. “Tristan! Now!”
Tristan half walked, half crawled the distance to the front.
“Sit in that seat,” Jonathan instructed. He helped the kid climb over the center console.
Tristan continued to have trouble maneuvering all his equipment in such a small space.
“Is that safety on?” Boxers asked as Tristan’s butt made contact with the seat.
“Yes! Jesus, yes. I haven’t touched the friggin’ safety.” He pushed Jonathan’s hands away from the belts. “I can do that. I’m not a kid in a car seat.”
The TPV hit a pothole, and Jonathan literally hit the overhead. He landed on his side.
“Sorry, Boss,” Boxers said in a tone that spoke far more amusement than apology.
Jonathan flipped him off, eliciting a laugh. At least Tristan was still secure.
He looked to Maria, who somehow had remained on the bench. Maybe if you grow up in this shit-hole town you get used to the road conditions and don’t get bounced around. “You okay?” he asked.
She smiled and nodded.
Even with all the speed in the open spaces, corners and the occasional obstacle still made it slow going.
“We just passed the halfway mark,” Boxers announced.
Jonathan looked at his watch. Twelve minutes to go a little over four miles. If he’d read the map properly, the second half of the trip would be on wider, straighter roads. Maybe they might just make it after all.
The thought had barely formed in his mind when he heard the chatter of automatic-weapons fire and the distinctive
“We’ve picked up a tail, Boss,” Boxers said, checking his driver’s side mirror.
Jonathan reached across the open space of the backseat, cupped his hand at the nape of Maria’s neck, and
