She has that kind of detailed knowledge of random things, so I trust her. The North Security vehicles are all black Explorers designed to hold a maximum number of people, and a couple large trucks for hauling supplies.
“Then who is it?” Cody says as the car behind us speeds up.
Impact. We’re jolted forward as the car slams into the truck. Cody swerves hard but manages to keep the truck on the road.
“No one we want to meet,” I say, gripping the leather seat. “Keep going.”
It comes to me with calm certainty—this is about my father.
A child who might remember something from when she was hiding under her father’s desk. Not only from the day he died. From before that. A phone call. A conversation.
I still don’t remember anything. There were diplomats and formal dinners where I would be forced to wear itchy dresses. Endless phone calls where I would play with my doll underneath his desk. What could I have heard that’s dangerous? Maybe Liam is right. It doesn’t matter what I’ve heard. It only matters that someone thinks I might know something.
The car behind us speeds up, pulling alongside. “Oh shit,” Laney says.
They’re trying to run us off the road. The crunch of metal. Cody fights to keep the truck straight. If we go off the road right now, we’ll head straight into a ditch—and then be sitting ducks. Elijah taught me self-defense, but I have a feeling the man in that car has a gun.
A burst of light as a large black SUV jumps onto the road, headlights overbright, engine smooth and loud. It must be Liam in one of the Explorers. He slams into the Crown Vic, pushing it into the embankment instead of us.
Cody fights the steering, but we’re going too fast. There’s a loud pop as the ancient white pickup truck is pushed one mile past its endurance. The truck swerves hard, almost flipping over, before it rocks back onto four wheels.
There’s a shout. A wild cry.
The whole world shakes as we leave the pavement and hit sliding rocks.
A tree looms ahead in the windshield. We’re slowing down, but not fast enough. We slam into the trunk with a loud thunk and the punch of a half-inflated, ancient, yellowed airbag.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The London Symphony Orchestra was booked to travel on the Titanic’s maiden voyage, but they changed boats at the last minute.
LIAM
The man driving the Crown Victoria has pale eyes and a scar across his left eye. I put a bullet in the middle of his forehead before he can talk. There’s a half second of regret about that. He could have had useful information, though probably not. And he deserved a painful death. But I can’t risk the fucker hurting anyone while I’m losing my mind with worry. I sprint across the road to the white truck, which smokes from its rumpled hood. By the time I get there Cody is helping Laney out. Samantha pushes her way out from the other side, in time for me to catch her in my arms.
“Are you okay? Talk to me.” I run my hands over her body, searching for injuries. The whole chase probably lasted two and a half seconds, but it’s more than enough for someone to be hurt. For someone to be killed. The human body is so fucking fragile.
She pushes at my hands. “I’m fine. Liam, I’m fine.”
I hold myself back long enough to study her face. Her brown eyes are wide with worry. Tear tracks glisten down her cheeks. “I’m not,” I say hoarsely. “I’m not fucking fine.”
Then I clutch her to my chest, trying in vain to control the wild beat of my heart. I feel like some kind of feral creature. I want to beat the earth and howl at the moon. I want to find the fuckers who sent an assassin after Samantha and rip them apart with my bare hands.
All I can do is stand here and hold her—and hold her. And hold her. It’s woefully inadequate, but the alternative is to lose my fucking mind, and she needs me right now.
It feels like an eternity, the perfect clock in my head gone haywire. Three Explorers pull up, my brothers descending with harsh efficiency to handle the body, to check on Laney and Cody, to get the local law enforcement involved. That last one is a courtesy. We all know with grim and silent communication that we’ll find the fuckers behind this and dispose of them ourselves.
Josh tries to take her from me. “I’m not sure she can breathe,” he says.
Of course she can breathe. I have my hand on her back, feeling her lungs move. I’ve touched her pulse. Even the tears that dampen her lashes. I need to feel those signs of life.
Elijah shows up with a grim face. “No ID on the body. The tags are cut off his clothes. The VIN number filed off the car. The sheriff’s going to call in the FBI on this.”
Christ, this place was going to be a circus in a matter of minutes.
“I’m taking her back to the house. They can question us there once they’ve processed the scene.”
“They aren’t going to like the shooter leaving,” Josh says, rueful.