Page 59 of No Lies No Promises

“Thank fuck.” I squeeze her outstretched hand, switch off the flashlight, and help her crawl out from under the car.

While the others move farther away, deeper into the lot, we stay crouched, winding around the abandoned vehicles until we reach the perimeter’s chain-link fence.

“Benny’s dead.” A shout rings out, echoing off the cars.

Took ’em long enough to find him.

“Fuck this. I’m outta here.” A younger voice whines. Seconds later, a door slams, an engine roars, and tires spin.

Inhaling burnt rubber, we wait as a second SUV follows. When the vehicle I was driving pulls away, I curse. In hindsight, I should’ve taken the keys. As we sit in the dark, a pigeon coos somewhere in the empty lot, the sound carrying through the silence, sending a chill down my spine.

About ten minutes later, airport security drives through. I start to rise, but Lil yanks me down.

“Stop,” she says. “We are not spending another night in a police station explaining another shooting.”

Gotta love this woman. Despite the situation, I smile. “Well, we could sleep under the stars… or better yet, break into a Scooby-Doo van. Make love in the back.”

“Or…” Her grin widens. “We could steal a car.”

While we scan the rows of autos for the perfect heist, she points into the air. “Sean, check out the billboard.”

Over I-95, a jumbo screen flashes, revealing an image of a Honda Civic parked in space marked B3.

I’ve just finished memorizing the plate when the ad for Doctor Jared’s hip implants comes back on.

If it is Daed, I have no way of knowing. “I ditched my comms. Do you have yours?”

“No. Same.” She bites her lower lip. “But it’s just as well. What if those assholes in the SUV haven’t given up and are trying to flush us out?”

While she makes up her mind, the billboard changes to a winged man flying high toward a Motel 6.

I translate, “Daed has our six.”

As the image disappears, I lift her chin. “Clear enough for you?”

“You do know Icarus never made it home, right?” Her lips purse for a long time before she nods. “Okay. But where is B3?”

An hour later, we arrive at the designated spot. In front of us, the Honda doors unlock with a soft click, and the engine starts.

“You will find everything you need in the glove box,” a computerized female voice says. “Use the pre-programmed GPS to navigate. Open the dashboard. Glasses and comm unit recommended before proceeding.”

“Sweet. Our favorite geek hacked the onboard computer. I knew I liked that guy.” After stuffing a wad of cash into her back pocket, Lillian hands me a parking stub, the facial-reco blockers, and comms.

As I back out, she reads the GPS, “12 Miller Street. Teaneck. Estimated arrival, 3:00 a.m. Why there? Why not Queens?”

Daed cuts in through our earpieces. “I suggested you hole up in Jersey until we sort out this shit show. My men were hijacked. No idea who those mercs are.”

“Oh no. Are your people okay?” Lil’s concern, while adorable, is misplaced.

His guys dropped the ball and almost got us killed. Shaking my head, I follow the exit signs as Daed reports minor injuries.

“Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to warn you.” At least he sounds contrite. “Had to scramble. Glad my billboard trick worked.”

While he speaks, Lillian slips a prepaid credit card into my hand and asks, “What about Grams and Becks? Did you find them?”

“Not yet. You sure you don’t have any idea where they might be hiding?”

Lillian shakes her head. “Not a clue.”