The big guy pulls him off the car and jabs him in the face several times.
Things don’t look fine. If Park loses, it’s just me and the big guy left alone. I scramble out of the car, looking around for a weapon. I grab the windshield squeegee and chuck it at him. He doesn’t even flinch. Apparently, squeegees are harmless.
I clutch the gas pump, swing it around my head like a lasso, and then release it. The metal handle hits Park in the back of the head mid-fight, knocking him off balance.
“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!” My hands go to my mouth. “I was trying to hit the other guy.”
“I figured.” Park kicks the man in the stomach. Then he takes the gas hose and wraps it around the man’s neck. He tries to pull off, but Park loops it a few more times, tightening it. I run forward, taking the dangling gas pump. There’s not much slack, but enough to angle it toward the guy’s head like a gun. I pull the trigger, spraying gasoline in his eyes and face. I’ve never used a gas hose as a weapon before.
Park watches the entire thing play out as he holds the hose around the man’s neck tighter and tighter. “You really like using liquid during fights, don’t you?”
I lift my shoulders, still spraying gasoline. “Well, it looks like a gun. So…” My words trail off as the man’s eyes roll back into his head, and his body slackens and falls to the ground.
The police sirens get louder, and there are flashing lights on the horizon.
“Start the car!” Park yells as he digs through the man’s clothes, looking for clues as to who he works for.
I run around the car to the driver’s side and hit the wires together, starting the engine. I shift the car into reverse just as Park dives into the front seat. My foot pushes on the gas pedal, and we go flying backward. The back right wheel bumps over something, and I slam on the brakes.
My face turns to Park, and my mouth drops open. “Did I just—”
“Yep.”
I shift the car into drive and push on the gas pedal again. The tires lift over the body for a second time.
“Oh my gosh! I killed himagain!”
“I think he was dead the first time.” Park looks over his shoulder out the back window. “Actually, he might’ve already been dead from the gas hose.”
“You don’t know that.” I peel out of the gas station, making my way to the on-ramp. “I’m a killer!” my voice comes out panicked.
“You’re not a killer.”
“I am! I kill people. I burn them with hot chocolate and run over them with my stolen car. I’m a killer. And a thief.”
“In that order?” Park asks with a playful grin.
“That’s not funny.” I bite back my smile as my eyes dart to the speedometer. “It’s too soon to be joking about anything right now.” We’re pushing one hundred miles per hour. This is the second time we’ve made a dramatic escape. You’d think I’d be used to the whole fleeing the scene thing by now, but I guess there’s still room for improvement.
TWENTY-EIGHT
PARK
Lacee’sbeen driving for one hour without anyone following us. She weaves in and out of traffic better than the cars on Crossy Road. Must be all of her driving on the Massachusetts Turnpike.
Is it bad if her impressive driving skills are a turn-on?
Yes, it’s bad, Park. Stay focused.
She’s been quiet, and I haven’t pushed her to talk. I’m sure this is all a lot for her to take in. Instead, I’ve been going through the phones and wallets of the two men we left back at the gas station. A password locks both phones; without Derek’s help, I can’t break in. And there was nothing significant in either wallet. Not that I thought there would be. Those guys were professionally trained. They weren’t going to leave behind any clues about who they work for.
“Pull over up there.” I point to a garage off the side of the highway.
Lacee makes a sharp right turn, and we skid to a stop in front of the building. I hop out of the car, shooting the lock around the door handles. Sparks fly into the air, and the chain drops to the ground. I pull the sliding doors open. The garage is empty except for a few old tractors and tools. I motion for Lacee to drive the car inside and then glance around outside before closing them shut again.
Lacee climbs out of the car, back and forth. “This is insane!” she finally says. “People are trying to kill us.” Her fingers comb through her red hair and then drop to her side. Her gaze flips to me as I come around the car to her. “And you’re trying to kill them!”
I hold my hands up. “I can see you’re about to freak out but if we could just—”
