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Remi killed the other pot. She fired at the balustrade, keeping the guards pinned inside, as Sam maneuvered his way through the tree branches. When he reached her, he took her gun, gave her the rope. She slung the coil over her shoulder, balancing in the crook of the tree, as a shout came from below. The two perimeter guards exploded from around the corner, one of them aiming his gun upward, searching the row of trees. Sam wrapped his left arm around the trunk, leaned out, and fired at the grass in front of them. Grass and dirt blasted up, the men jumped back. Sam, shifting his weight, fired at the balcony. He used the momentum to pivot around, landing on the other side of the trunk.
Remi looped the rope around the branch and was already halfway down. Sam ducked when the guards from the balcony fired, shots hitting the thick tree limbs, splinters and sap flying out. Remi jumped to the ground. Sam tossed the gun to her, grabbed the rope, then jumped, too, as a second volley of shots hit the tree.
At the bottom he took her hand, and the two raced to the oleanders. When they reached the car, they crouched behind it, Sam rising high enough to peer through the window. Guests on the top terrace near the front doors were leaning over the balcony, trying to see what was happening. The guard up there was drawing them away, trying to usher them toward the doors.
The two young men working the shuttle were surveying the parking lot. A few cars were rolling slowly toward them. One of the men pointed at the first car, saying something Sam couldn’t hear. The other nodded, walked up to the car, his hand reaching for his hip, probably for a gun hidden beneath his jacket, as he looked in the window. He waved the first car through but stopped the second car.
“How fast do you think you can change back into that gown?” Sam asked.
Remi looked at the men checking the cars. “Fast enough.”
Staying low, she opened the back door, slid in, while Sam got behind the wheel. He started the car, hoping the two young guards were so busy searching the interior of the departing vehicles in front of them that they wouldn’t notice him driving out from behind the oleanders.
He checked the mirror, saw Remi shrug out of her shirt, then slip the dress over her head, pulling it down over her hips. “Ready.”
“Your hair.”
She pulled out the elastic, fluffed it up. “Drive on, James.”
Sam idled forward. One of the two men walked toward their car, looking in the window at Sam, then over to the empty passenger seat. “Signorina,” Sam said.
She rolled down her window and leaned out, immediately drawing the young man’s attention away from Sam. “Scusi,” she said, her Italian and accent flawless. “Were those gunshots? I’m not in any danger, am I?”
“No, no,” the man said. “Warning shots to scare off the wolves. They come down from the hills occasionally.”
“How frightening,” she said, her hand going to her throat. “You’re very brave to stand out here.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, taking a step back, his stance relaxing. He waved them through the wrought iron gates.
Sam, keeping his focus ahead, pulled out, then watched in the rearview mirror as the second man put his hand to his ear, obviously listening to a radioed transmission. He shouted something to his partner, and both men ran out the gates toward them.
“What’s wrong?” Remi asked, as he hit the gas.
“I think they just figured out who we are.” He saw the two men run into the road, drawing their guns. “Get down!”
He yanked the wheel to the left as they aimed and fired, twin muzzle blasts flashing in the dark, followed by the dull ping as one of the shots hit the car.
Gas pedal floored, engine roaring, Sam sped up the hill, cresting it, blinded by the headlights of a car coming straight at them.
56
Unable to see past the glare of the oncoming car, Sam slammed on the brakes, whipping the wheel to the right, the back end fishtailing. The acrid smell of burnt rubber filled the car, then dissipated as they sped down the hill. In the mirror he saw the red glow of the other car’s taillights fading as it descended on the other side. No sign of approaching headlights—for now.
“Remi?”
Nothing but the sound of the wind rushing in her open window.
“Remi!”
Her hand came up between the seats, soon followed by the rest of her. “Sorry. Took me a moment to shove my heart back into my chest.”
“That little bit of driving?”
“The longest ten seconds of my life.”
“Less than five.” He shot a look at the backpack on the front floorboard, at Remi in the rearview mirror. “Any idea how much you took from that broker?”
“I only had time to grab three stacks. Bands of a thousand.”
