She took a sharp left, toward their parked car. Carlos would follow her, then no one else had to die. She reminded herself she had a gun in the car. Now she had to focus on running, on getting to shelter so she could use it.
The car came into view and she pushed through the sting in her legs, against the power of the wind, running faster, harder. She could use the car for a shield, and then she’d pull her gun. Constantine was wrong to doubt her willingness to shoot. She’d shoot and she’d survive.
She approached the car and to her amazement, and relief, Constantine was right behind her. He charged at her, grabbed her arm and dragged her to a squat out of sight, beside the driver’s door.
He held her shoulders, inspecting her for injuries. “You’re okay?”
She blinked at him, rain rolling over her hair and lashes. They were both completely, utterly soaked.
“Nicole! Are you okay?”
“Yes.” The one word was barely audible. Her teeth were chattering, but she wasn’t cold. Reality slipped back into her mind. “It was Carlos! Where did he go?” She grabbed his forearms where he held her. “Where? Where is he?”
“Close. Too damn close. I got a shot off at him, but I missed. He slipped out of sight. But he’s here.”
“And so are a lot of innocent people.”
His jaw flexed. “I know that all too well.” He fixed her in a reprimanding look. “You shouldn’t have left. You could have been killed.”
“I—”
He cut her off. “Now isn’t the time. Stay down.”
Constantine started to stand, but stilled when one of the police officers from the boat appeared, his firearm drawn.
“Drop your weapon!” the man ordered.
“Easy now, kid,” Constantine said. “I’m FBI. Call it in on—”
“Shut up! My partner is dead. I don’t give a damn if you’re the Lone Ranger.”
Nicole’s heart sank. Oh, God. “He didn’t kill your partner. He’s FBI. It was—”
“Shut up!” the kid yelled again and focused on Constantine. “Drop the gun.”
Constantine held his gun by his side, showing no signs of throwing it away. “That man who killed your partner is after us. Throwing down my weapon would be a death sentence.”
“Please,” Nicole added, “let him do his job. Before it’s too late.”
The patrolman shifted his gaze between them and then fixed on Constantine again. “I’ll do it when the gun is on the ground.”
The muffled sound of a motorcycle broke through the noise of the storm, and Constantine stiffened beside her. “That would be the man who killed your partner, and now he plans to kill us.” The sound grew louder. “Look, kid,” Constantine said, his tone like hard steel, “I’m losing my patience with you. You’re impeding an FBI operation.” He raised his voice. “If you don’t stop aiming your weapon at me in about two seconds—”
Abruptly, he stopped talking. The sound of a motorcycle was fast approaching. “Get down!”
Nicole hit the ground. The patrolman didn’t. Constantine launched himself at the kid and took him to the pavement, smack in the center of a puddle that splashed mud all over. And not a second before a spray of bullets hit the car. Nicole covered her head, her heart thundering along with the motorcycle engine as it sped by.
The minute the sound of the bike faded, Constantine shoved off the patrolman and stood up. Nicole followed his lead and did the same, moving to Constantine’s side, the place he’d once again proven to be the safest.
The patrolman scrambled to his feet, his expression flustered and confused. Constantine looked at the man, his face full of disgust. “Call for backup,” he ordered as he returned his weapon to the holster. Carlos had to have gone. How he knew this, Nicole wasn’t sure, but she was learning not to doubt him. Not when it came to his job.
Constantine wasn’t done with the patrolman. Not by a long shot. “When you call for that backup, tell them you just let Carlos Menchaca get away.” He bent down and retrieved the kid’s weapon from the puddle and let it dangle from his finger. The kid grabbed it.
Constantine motioned toward the car, and she didn’t argue. She wanted out of there. Her life had become hell.
Once they were in the car, she was relieved to see the bag of supplies in the backseat. Constantine must have remembered to bring them. He started the engine and squealed out of the driveway. A second later, he grabbed the phone that was stuffed in the compartment between the seats and dialed. “Give me Agent Nelson. Tell him Agent Vega is on the phone.”
Nicole gaped at that, shocked he trusted anyone at this point, especially Nelson after the way he’d reacted to his involvement. “Vega here,” he said to the receiver, she assumed to Nelson. “Menchaca is in Padre, near pier thirty-nine. He killed a cop, tried to take us out, too.” He listened a minute as they pulled up behind a line of traffic at a standstill. “Local police have their hands full with the storm.”