Impact

firearm. He grasped the suppressor and affixed it to the muzzle and laid it on the seat next to him as he eased the car around to the back of the motel.

There wouldn't be any noise if Burr could help it.

58

'Out the window? Are you nuts?' Abbey stood in the door to the bathroom, hands on her hips.

Ford ignored her. He pulled open the cheap sliding aluminum window in the bathroom. He shoved Abbey's suitcase out, pushed out his own. 'Now you.'

'This is crazy.' But Abbey obeyed, ducking her head out and wiggling through the window. Ford handed her the laptop and drive and then he squeezed out. They were behind the motel. There was a weedy service drive, a chain-link fence, a drainage ditch, and then a large parking lot surrounding a frowzy mall. The sky was gray and a light drizzle fell.

Abbey picked up her suitcase. 'What now? Call a cab?'

'To the mall.'

'It isn't open yet.'

'We're not shopping. Just follow me.'

'Why are we running?' Abbey asked. 'What've you done?'

'Later.'

Abbey followed Ford across the driveway. He tossed their suitcases and his briefcase over the fence. 'Go.'

'This is ridiculous.' Abbey grabbed the chain links and climbed over, dropping down the other side. Ford scrambled up and over.

'Keep up.'

He took off at a jog across a trash-strewn strip of grass, jumped the drainage ditch, and headed into the parking lot. Abbey heard a faint squealing of tires and turned to see a yellow New Beetle tearing down the service road behind the motel. It screeched to a halt, the door burst open, and a man jumped out, kneeling.

Ford grabbed her arm and yanked her behind a parked car. There was a thunk and the side windows blew out in a spray of glass.

'Jesus Christ!'

Another thunk as a round punched into the car.

'Just stay down. Forget the suitcases. Follow me.'

Ford took off at a crouch, scuttling between the parked cars. After a moment Abbey heard another squeal of rubber and the Beetle had taken off. She could see it heading at high speed for the main road.

'He's coming around into the parking lot here,' Ford said. 'Run, and I mean run.'

He sprinted toward the only section of the parking lot where there were cars, his jacket flapping behind him, still carrying his briefcase. Abbey ran to keep up. She glanced over her right shoulder and could see the yellow car whipping along the main road, then the screech of tires as it slewed into the mall parking lot and came bombing toward them.

'Get down.'

They crouched behind a battered old Ford pickup and Ford immediately began to work on the lock. In a moment he had the door open. 'Crawl in, stay down.'

Abbey obeyed, crawling into the cab and staying below the window. Ford got in beside her, shoved the briefcase behind the seat, and popped the glove compartment. He pulled out a screwdriver, pried off the cover and panel around the ignition tumbler, exposing a panel clipped to the rear. He stuck the screwdriver into the ignition switch, turned it--and the car fired up.

Abbey lay crouching on the floor in front of the seat, head down.

'All right,' said Ford. 'Hold on and keep on the floor.'

She heard the engine roar, the floor vibrating, and the truck shot out, rolling Abbey back. There was a screech of rubber as the truck cornered and another high-pitched roar as Ford floored it.

She heard the pop pop of gunfire, felt the truck swerve and go into a powerslide, then spin back in a fishtail and continue on.

'Jesus,' she cried, trying to keep from being thrown about.

'Sorry.'

Another distant pop pop.

With a tearing screech of rubber and a sickening sideways slide, the truck took a sudden bump that threw it up, airborne for a moment, then a violent bottoming out. Now the truck was pounding and shaking along what was either a bad dirt road or a field, lurching up and down, rattling hard, stuff jouncing up and around her.

'You can get up now.'

Bracing herself, Abbey lurched back up and into the seat. Sure enough, the truck was tearing across an abandoned field toward a set of railroad tracks. Ford turned and raced parallel to the tracks, following an old tractor path, and after half a mile came to a raised road crossing; he gunned it up onto the roadbed, skidded sideways, crossed the tracks, and bombed down the dirt road, fifty, sixty, seventy miles an hour.

'Take a look, Abbey, make sure we lost him.'

Abbey turned. There was nothing but the dirt road, the big field full of stubble, the looping tracks of the truck, and in the far distance, a broken fence and the road they had just come from. Abbey thought she could just see the yellow spot of the Beetle, by the side of the road.

'He's gone.'

'Excellent.' Ford slowed down and they soon came to a paved road. Ford turned onto it.

'Jesus Christ,' she said, flicking an old french fry from her hair. She looked around at the truck for the first time. It was an old-model pickup and it stank of stale cigarette smoke and sour milk. She was filthy from the car floor, which was heaped with food trash and dirt. They passed a sign for the interstate and soon they were humming along.

'I don't like this,' Abbey said. 'I don't like this at all.'

'I'm truly sorry, Abbey. I'm getting you to a safe place, right now.'

'I quit. This job sucks. I want to go home.'

'Not yet. I'm sorry.'

'Did we just steal this truck? Or is that a stupid question?'

'Yes to both.'

She shook her head and wiped her eyes, which had unaccountably teared up. 'This is like a bad movie.'

'Yes.'

'So where are we going?'

'I haven't decided yet. I'm taking you someplace where you'll be absolutely safe and leaving you there until I can fix this problem.'

Abbey sat back, rummaged in the glove compartment, found some tissue, and blew her nose. 'I had my iPod in that suitcase.'

'That's the least of your worries.'

'But all my songs!'

'I've got to get you into a safe location. I'm thinking of a cabin in New Mexico I've used in the past . . .'

'New Mexico? In a stolen car? We'll never make it.'

'You have a better idea?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact. My friend Jackie's family owns an island off the coast of Maine with a fishing shack