Shepherd turned his bug eyes to the remote in his hand. It had slipped slightly in his shaking fingers, revealing Chris’s mom’s homemade label that helped her keep track of which Christmas decoration the remote in question powered.
“That’s just what I call my bomb!” Shepherd shouted. “Ginny, get over here!”
Ginny ran.
Another biker opened one of the duffel bags he’d abandoned. “There’s no money in here! There’s just—what the hell? Fertilizer and batteries?”
Ginny made it to his side. Shepherd dropped the train remote, let go of the cooler, and reached into the duffle bag he’d made sure to keep.
The bikers were all armed and they were all aiming at him. But he had two gas masks, and they were completely unprepared for Plan B.
FIFTY
As it turned out, tear gas spread throughout an enclosed room faster than an adult human male could pull gas masks out of a duffle bag. Shepherd’s eyes and throat burned. He shoved a mask over Ginny’s head before yanking the other on himself, coughing and crying and snotting. Chris and Max came in from behind the president, who himself was on his knees and dry-heaving, each holding canisters of bear mace and spraying like they were kids on Halloween, drenching their friends with silly string.
Shepherd abandoned his supplies and reached for Ginny. She clutched her mask to her face, shallow gasps quiet but audible even as all the bikers were screaming and cursing and puking. With no time to lose, he hooked one arm under her knees, the other round her back and carried her out of the gaseous biker clubhouse into the South Florida humidity, which wasn’t much better as far as breathing goes. There was enough water in the air to saturate a sauna, and it clung to his gas-covered skin in a sheen of toxic grease.
Ginny abandoned the mask, sucked in a deep breath of the thick air, and immediately launched into an incredible string of swear words that Shepherd had never heard strung together so artfully before.
He hustled her towards Noah’s car, which was parked across the street behind several palm trees, before ripping off his own gas mask and reaching for the gallon of lukewarm milk left on the passenger seat. He dumped the sickly-sweet liquid directly on his face before offering it to Ginny, who repeated the motion, still swearing.
“Wow,” Noah said when the milk ended the tirade. “That was … you should write an advice book for people who want to learn how to curse creatively.”
She spit out milk, held up her middle finger.
Out of the front door came a handful of bikers, all armed but no longer dangerous, falling on the pavement and gasping for air.
“Noah,” Shepherd panted. “Did you do it?”
Noah waved an impressive cell phone; surprisingly thick, matte black, it folded closed and even had an antenna on the top. The fact that this kind of model was still in circulation was another wonder of the world. “As soon as Chris and Max went in. They’re meeting us back at the restaurant, right?”
Shepherd nodded.
“Then we should get going. I think I can hear the sirens already.”
Shepherd wiped his face with his hand—it didn’t remove any milk, only spreading the pale liquid around more—and listened. Sure enough, sirens were on the way. He shook his head and sat down. “Just a second.”
“But what about Haul Ass?”
Ginny took the seat next to him, closing the door and blocking out the siren sounds. Shepherd pulled her close to his side, kissed her temple. She smelled like milk and pungent cinnamon, powerful enough to take out a bear.
“OK, Noah,” Shepherd said. “Haul ass.”
FIFTY-ONE
Back at the restaurant, Shepherd watched as Ginny hugged Noah, Chris, and Max, thanking each of them for saving her. He stood, leaning against the wall, because if he sat down, there was no way he’d be able to get back up again anytime soon. And he knew, deep down inside—just as he knew that the sun sets in the west and rises in the east, and that Lex would do almost anything for five dollars—Ginny would want to go see her mother, and he’d be the dumbass who drove her.
“Noah,” Shepherd said and then yawned halfway through, so it sounded like “No-aahhhhh.” He cracked his neck, shook the stiffness out of his arms. “Put up a sign up on the door that says we’re closed today for a family emergency, but we will be open again tomorrow.”
Noah gave him a thumbs-up, a sleepy smile on his face. His entire crew looked as exhausted as he felt, which couldn’t possibly be true—they all got to sleep in their regular beds last night, while he and Ginny were tied to chairs.
Ginny came up beside him. “I need fresh clothes,” she whispered. “Probably a shower.”
Shepherd stared down at her, brow furrowing in confusion. He’d anticipated a much speedier exit on her part—her pretending that she didn’t want him to come, him insisting on coming along anyway. He had an entire song-and-dance number planned for why her going anywhere near her crazy family alone was a Bad Idea. “Your mom—”
“Is being debriefed by federal agents and probably a host of doctors and nurses for the next few hours,” Ginny replied. She grabbed his shirt sleeve, her fingers warm and gentle on his skin. “Come upstairs with me?”
The way she was looking at him—her blue eyes soft, her lips parted, the very tip of her pink tongue visible between herteeth—suggested going upstairs with her would be a very good, very productive use of his time. Shepherd swallowed hard, blinked harder. He was able to nod before he was able to speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Max and Chris elbowing each other and gesturing rudely their predictions about what Shepherd and Ginny would be doing in her apartment.
