HelenKay Dimon - Guns and the Girl Next Door

Not wanting to be left behind, she took off after him and reached for his wrist. “Where are we going?”

“To the truck.”

Maybe he hit his head. “Do you see a truck?”

He leaned his mouth down close to her ear. “Trust me.”

Another few steps and they ran into a pile of branches she hadn’t seen the minute before. He dumped his pack on the ground and wasted no time throwing the limbs on a stack to the side. Slowly, he uncovered a beat-up pickup truck. It was small, possibly once was green and didn’t look as if it could go a mile without chugging to a stop.

“Really?” she asked.

“Get in.”

It took five pulls before the door opened. When it did, it flew out of her hands, creaking as it went. She ignored his glare and every pain in her body as she hopped inside.

“Not the quietest getaway ever.” Mumbling under his breath, he chucked his pack on the floor.

He turned the key and kept the lights off. Remarkably, the engine started. It didn’t clink or sputter either.

With the truck in Reverse, he rested his arm across the back of the bench seat. Whatever he was about to say had him grinning, but then his mouth fell into a flat line. “Get down!”

She didn’t think. Hands over her head, she ducked but not before she saw the beam of green light flash across the front of the car.

Holden yanked the wheel hard to the left as he stepped on the gas. His grip didn’t ease as he bent down, bringing his head close to hers.

“Go faster!” She screamed the command with all the out-of-control terror bubbling inside her.

“Can’t.” He pressed her farther into the seat with his free hand. “We’ll get stuck in the mud.”

She could feel the energy pounding off him as pinging sounds echoed all around her. The tires slid and the back of the car moved as if separate from the front. With a sudden crack, the window next to her head shattered and the car slowed.

She lost all ability to talk, to do anything, when a hand draped in a black glove reached into the truck. It slapped for her, grabbing for her hair, but she pressed her body low against the seat and begged Holden to do something.

She watched him morph into superspy mode. With one hand on the wheel and his foot on the gas, he threw out his free arm and pointed his gun at the darkness over her shoulder.

The deafening blast exploded right next to her face. She saw a burst of light and heard the thundering boom. Then the offensive hand fell away.

By the time she sat up, Holden had maneuvered them out of whatever had a hold of the wheel. They spun around in a circle and drove about five feet before he slowed to a stop.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice rubbed raw from all the yelling and panic.

“Checking.” He was out of the truck before she could stop him.

She slid across the seat and peeked out the driver’s side door. “Holden!”

“Do not move,” he called back.

Her muscles were frozen. If she wanted to jump down, run—anything—she couldn’t. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until he ran back and slid into his seat.

She smacked his arm.

“Hey!” He had the nerve to look offended.

“What were you thinking?”

“That I could identify him.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Did you?”

“No.” Holden kept glancing in his rearview mirror as he drove slow but steady through the chocking woods.

“Is he…”

“Dead?” Holden looked at her then. The terrified anguish from the tunnel was gone. He wore a mask of fury now.

She didn’t know if he was angry with her or coasting on adrenaline. Either way, she didn’t appreciate the barking. If he wanted attitude, she was more than prepared to show him some.

“Well, is he?”

“Very.”

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