Stephanie Doyle - Calculated Risk

Then a vision intruded. In her mind she saw herself sitting in the same seat hours earlier when Quinlan had first picked her up. She saw herself in the space and measured the distance between her knees and the driver’s seat.

Sabrina opened her eyes and looked down at her legs and at the front seat. There was three-eighths of an inch difference.

“Q,” she whispered.

“Hmm.”

“Wake up.”

Her tone conveyed the situation. Instantly, he was alert. She could almost feel the resulting tension that was quickly being dispersed throughout his body.

She pointed to the driver’s seat in front of her and whispered, “It’s been moved up.”

He looked at the seat but shook his head, indicating that he was unable to see any discernible difference from where it was now to where it had been before. That didn’t mean that there wasn’t one, and apparently he trusted her enough to know that she wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t see it.

He stared through the tinted partition where they could see a part of the driver’s head. Sabrina pushed closer to Quinlan, also trying to make out more of the driver’s face. Then she turned and shook her head.

“Shorter,” she mouthed silently.

He looked at her and she could see he was beyond questioning her at this point. Nodding, he reached for his gun. Then hitting a button on the door’s handle, he lowered the partition between them another few inches. Enough to be heard, but leaving enough protection if the man driving aimed a gun over his shoulder.

“Horner, pull over.”

“Can’t,” came the muffled response from the front seat.

“She’s sick. Pull the car over.” As he said this, he pushed Sabrina back against the seat with one arm and lifted his gun out of the holster with his free hand pointing it directly at the head of the driver.

She understood that if the driver didn’t want to pull over, then the driver was going to die. With her hands she searched for the seat belt. It felt as if they were pushing at least sixty on the speedometer, and anything over forty could be deadly for both of them if the driver was suddenly put out of commission and the car made impact with an unmovable force.

She leaned toward Quinlan ready to warn him to put his seat belt on, as well, even as she struggled to fasten hers, but it was too late. The unknown driver, evidently realizing he’d been discovered, veered the car off the highway.

Their destination was unknown, but Sabrina had a feeling she wasn’t going to have anything good to say about the trip.

As the careening car skidded off the road, the force of a sudden ninety-degree turn sent Sabrina slamming into Quinlan. Another turn, this time in the opposite direction, sent them flying the other way until they were smashed against the door. The pattern continued so quickly that neither was able to grab hold of anything to stop their momentum. Her Defender flew off the back ledge, grazing her cheek before hitting the floor.

Finally, when the car slowed, Quinlan used the opportunity to spread his body out over the length of the car seat. His feet pressed against one door as his hands pushed against the other to steady himself.

“Hold on,” he ordered her.

Lying flat over his body, Sabrina wrapped her arms around his middle and linked her ankles underneath his. She could feel the power of his muscles underneath her body pushing out against the two doors to keep them stable while the car continued to zig and zag.

Sabrina noted the time they had been driving and estimated an average speed. She’d seen enough landmarks through the car window earlier to let her know they had been driving in the intended direction: south. That meant they were probably somewhere close to Gettysburg, maybe even closer to the Maryland border. From past trips down this way Sabrina knew the area was mostly farms, small towns…and woods.

A perfect place to dump a car and two bodies.

Not if she could help it. She let go of Quinlan and with one hand searched the car floor by touch until she found her Defender. She grabbed it, but the car made another sharp angle and it took all her strength just to hold on to Quinlan. He had a better chance of getting a shot off anyway.

“Shoot the partition,” she shouted into his ear above the sound of the turbulent vehicle.

“Bulletproof.” He did, however, lower one arm from the door and take the offered gun. “Try to lower it.”

Sabrina understood immediately that she was in the better position to reach the control panel over his head. It’s where she’d seen him work the partition previously. But before her fingers found the button, she saw the glass sliding up to meet the roof. By the time she got to the panel, it wouldn’t move.

“Forget it,” Quinlan told her. “The partition can be controlled and locked from the front.”

It made sense, considering who had tricked out this car. No doubt the doors were also controlled from the front for the purpose of not letting anyone exit the car without the driver’s permission. The assumption was that the good guys would always be the ones driving.

Bad assumption.

Their only recourse was to wait until the car stopped. Eventually it had to. After another turn and jarring side impact, with what Sabrina had to guess was a pretty significant tree, the driver must have started to hit the brakes. Gravity began to pull against their bodies. Sabrina clung to Quinlan as tightly as she could, but when all movement came to an abrupt end, her grip didn’t hold.

Suddenly she found herself flying the short distance from Quinlan’s body to the wall that was the front seat. Her back slammed against the leather-covered steel frames, the force of the impact knocking the wind out of her. She slid to the floor of the car. Moaning, she tried to suck in some air and roll over so that she was at least facing up ready in spirit for any attack if not in body.

The car was stopped now. It was just a question as to what the driver would do next. Quinlan was already sitting up, the gun she’d pressed into his hand aimed at the door on the driver’s side.

She tried to control her breathing so she could hear what was happening around her, but she couldn’t stop her staccato gasping. The squeak of a door opening was ominous, but the expected clicking sound of the locks being disengaged never happened. Without unlocking the car, the driver wouldn’t be able to open the back doors from the outside.

“What’s he doing?”

“Shh,” he whispered, his senses evidently completely engaged.

She groaned and pushed through the bruising pain in her back to sit up. Still no action.

“He won’t shoot us through the door,” she concluded. “He knows it’s bulletproof.”

“He can blow it up,” Quinlan informed her.

But Sabrina shook her head. “He can’t risk killing me, remember?”

“You think.”

“I know,” she replied. Finally she was able to take a deep breath. “The men back at the house were stalling us. We both agree on that. This guy is doing more of the same. Horner?”

“Probably dead,” he stated coldly. “His own fault for getting out of the car in the first place. Tried to be a hero and instead he ends up…” Quinlan closed his mouth and lowered the Defender.

She read the scowl on his face and knew that his irritation had a lot to do with the disgust over losing an agent. He never liked to lose. Anything. But he would put the agent’s death behind him as if it meant nothing because that’s the only way he could stay focused on the present. She knew this because once upon a time he’d taught her to do the same.

“So we’re stuck?”

“Yes.”

“But I have to pee.” She flashed him a cheeky smile.