As soon as they did, Gus shifted the gun back to her. Oh, lovely. She just loved being the center of attention. He thought
“What in the fuck did you do to them?” he demanded.
Yep. That was exactly what he thought.
She lifted her hands. “I’m just here to make sure your kid stays okay,” she said quietly. “And I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.”
Okay, so a little lie thrown in there . . . she accepted it and let it settle into place. Wasn’t her favorite thing to do, but if it helped get the job done, then she’d do it. And it wouldn’t hurt her cause for him to think she was capable of
He plowed his left fist down against his truck, still holding the weapon with his right. It was a Sig Sauer P250 and it remained pointed at her, steady and level. She had no doubt he could put a hole through her. Maybe he’d regret it, maybe he wouldn’t. But he could still do it and that wouldn’t help any of them.
“Get out of my way, Vaughnne,” he growled.
“I can’t,” she said quietly.
“I’ll shoot,” he warned.
Time to get him to focus on the one thing she knew he cared about. Glancing toward the car, she said softly, “And if you do, you condemn that boy to running even more.”
“He’s going to be doing that anyway,” Gus whispered.
“Is that what you
His lashes flickered over his eyes. “No.”
“Then get in the car.”
Off in the distance, sirens wailed and she gestured to the car. “The cops are coming . . . you can’t get away from them without endangering him now. I can get you away. Trust me, Gus. I’m not going to let anybody hurt him. I promise you that.”
PLEASE . . . YOU
Trust was painful, he realized. For so many years, he’d trusted no one. Trusted nothing but his instincts. The problem was that
“If you fuck me over, I’ll hunt you down. I’ll hurt you. I’ll make you pay so badly, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
“Understood.”
Without wasting another second, he moved around and jerked open the passenger-side door. There were only three things he needed. His weapon, the bag he never went without, and Alex. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he kept the weapon ready and then headed around the truck and jerked open the door. Alex moaned as he lifted him out.
“Shhhh,” Gus murmured. “It’s time to move on, Alex. We have to go now.”
“I’m going to be sick,” Alex whispered, his eyes glazed, like he didn’t even hear what Gus had said.
The kid’s weight pulled at him. They’d found a few months of peace and quiet here, something that almost resembled
Shifting the boy in his arms, he turned to face Vaughnne, not bothering to shut the door to the truck or grab anything else. There were things back at the house that might have been useful—more money, their clothes, weapons. But he had everything that was vital with him. Alex, and the bag.
He was always ready for this—ready to run at a moment’s notice. Vaughnne had the back door open and was eyeing Alex narrowly. “He’s sick,” he said sourly.
She just nodded.
In just seconds, they were heading down the street. A nice, sedate speed and he was burning inside with the need to tear out of there.
“Sure. The best way to avoid the notice of the police,” she said drolly.
“You’re the FBI.” Warning flickered inside him.
She sighed and tossed her ID into his lap. “Yes, I am. But unless I want to get into a jurisdictional pissing contest, it’s better to
Picking up her ID, he rubbed his thumb over it, studying it for signs that it was a fake. He knew what to look for. But then again, he’d carried one of these himself, and had convinced more than one or two agents that
He closed his eyes, both at the pitiful sound of Alex’s voice, and at the connection he’d tried to hide for the past few years. “Close your eyes, Alex,” he said, his voice gentle. “Try to rest.”
“I’m going to be sick,” he said again, and this time, the conviction in his voice was even stronger.
A collapsible blue bag was shoved into Gus’s hands, and he shot Vaughnne a look. She shrugged. “I believe in being prepared.”
He turned around in the seat and pushed the bag into Alex’s hands just as the boy lost control.
As the sour stench of vomit filled the air, Gus hooked a hand over the boy’s neck and rubbed. “I’m sorry,” Alex whispered. “I . . .”
Another spasm ripped through him.
“It’s okay, kid,” he said. “You’re sick. Nothing to be sorry for.”
A few seconds passed and then Alex slumped back against the back of the seat. Gus caught the bag and fisted his hand around it to close it. “Any better?”
Alex nodded, his head rolling over as he huddled against the seat cushions.
“There are plastic bags beneath the seat,” Vaughnne said softly. “Just tie it up in that. We’ll dump it when we stop. You can put the windows down.”
A few moments of strained silence passed while he did that, and not only did he discover bags, but he found a small pack of hand wipes and hand sanitizer. “You often expect people to vomit in your car?” he asked tightly.
“It’s happened a time or two.” Then she shot him a look and shrugged. “Sometimes with me. I used to get carsick a lot when I was younger. It’s better now, but for a while, even up until my twenties, I got sick almost every time I climbed into a car.”
He narrowed his eyes, not quite believing that, but even as he decided he’d call her on it, her phone rang.
Her nose wrinkled and the look caught him off guard. It was a look of disgust, but it was so damn . . . cute. That was it. It was cute, that look of aggravation on her face.
“Not now,” she grumbled. She didn’t ignore the call, though.
“YOU pick the worst times to call,” she said without waiting for Jones to say anything.
“Are there police there looking for the kid?”
“No.” Vaughnne checked the mirror, eyeing the kid in the backseat. He was almost asleep, his dusky cheeks flushed with fever, his eyes closed.
“Agent MacMeans, do
She heard a snap of temper cut through his voice and she let herself smile a little. She so rarely had the pleasure of being one of the ones to irritate him. He rarely
Five seconds passed.
