Top Dog

I stumbled on the hot sand with my bag dangling from my fingers and tangling about my legs. Sand burst next to me again followed by that whizzing sound. Fear shot through me as Harley pushed me down to the ground violently without pausing to see if I was alright.

I realized with a horrible and surreal jolt that Harley was crouched next to a boulder with a gun pointed in the direction of a tree line. His eyes were scanning the trees intently. I held my breath when something whizzed by to thud into the rock next to him.

Bullets.

Fear rendered me motionless. I couldn’t do anything even if I tried. Someone had been shooting at us. I watched as Harley aimed his gun in a certain direction, one finger reaching around to click the safety off. He fired once. I covered my ringing ears then as I watched his finger work the trigger two times, three times, and something hit the rock again next to me. I sank down to the hot sand to cover my head while bits of rock and sand covered us.

It wasn’t until Harley shook me violently that I looked up to see his lips moving.

“We have to run,” Harley said, impatiently. He helped me up to my wobbly legs and guided me forward with a steady push. “We need to find a cab to take us back to find Libby. Where is she?”

I couldn’t answer. Harley pushed me forward at such a pace that my legs burned in an effort to keep up with him. Before we reached the steps that led back up to the streets, Harley holstered his gun but kept a hand on my arm as he half-dragged me to the curbside. A cab pulled up to the curb, and Harley shoved me into the backseat without waiting for the driver to put his brakes on.

I couldn’t stop shaking. All I could hear was the sound of bullets hitting the sand next to me.

“Abi.” Harley’s warm hand fell over my trembling ones. He squeezed them when I looked up at him. “Everything is going to be okay. I promise you okay?”

All I could manage was a nod. Harley took my purse to dig through it before pulling out my phone.

“We have to find Libby,” he said. “We need to find her now, and get out of Madrid as fast as possible.”

CHAPTER FORTEEN - HARLEY

It had to be someone at the hotel. That was all I could think while the cab drove around aimlessly under my instructions.

“Pick the fucking phone up, Libby,” I snapped when it went straight to voicemail again. Roco. It had to be Roco. He was the only who knew that I would be at the beach with Abi.

I glanced over at a pale and trembling Abigail. Her eyes were wide and glossy as she watched cars and people through the passenger window. Years of instinct kept me from reaching out to assure her further that everything would be okay.

Whoever those shooters belonged to were dead on the beach. I had watched the three of them tumble out in surprise. They hadn’t expected a gun fight, but I had given them one. Neither were experienced either. They couldn’t even hit anywhere near Abigail where all those bullets had gone too.

Finally, I felt the steady buzz of Abigail’s phone to see that it was Libby’s name calling.

“Libby,” I said. “It’s Harley. Where the hell are you?”

“In a shop a few blocks away from the hotel,” Libby said, alarm filling her voice. “Harley? Why are you calling on Abi’s phone? Is everything ok—”

“No,” I said, shortly. “There was someone trying to shoot at us.”

Libby gasped into the phone.

“Listen to me. Who are you with?” I asked, keeping an eye on the driver for any movements towards his phone. He didn’t reach for it once.

“Roco,” she said. “We were having lunch together, but he said he had to make a phone call a few minutes ago.”

“Get away from Roco. Get back to the hotel, and lock yourself in the room. Don’t tell anyone where you are, and don’t answer the door until I’m there. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Libby hung up a second after that. I bounced my legs anxiously as I rattled off the address to the hotel. The driver pulled off a side street to head in the right direction.

“Is Libby going to be okay?” Abigail asked, voice a hoarse whisper. “Please tell me that she’s going to be okay, Harley.”

“She’ll be fine,” I said, one hand resting on the hilt of my .22. I didn’t look at Abigail who clung to my arm. “I told her to get to the hotel. She’ll probably be there the second we pull up.”

“I don’t understand,” Abigail said. “Who was shooting at us? I don’t even know where they were, or how they found out where I was.”

“Someone told them where you were,” I said. “I have a feeling that they knew about your trip to Madrid.”