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She had mine the moment I set eyes on her.
“How?”
I rummage in my pocket. I’ve got a rubber band I used to hold together a couple of boxes of ammo I loaded into their magazines on my way here. “This work?”
“Yes. Will you hold this?” She hands me her lipstick.
As I pocket it, she grabs her hair and shoves it without much care into a messy bun, then twists the rubber band around it until the pale mass stays. It’s not optimal, and I wish like hell she had a hat and athletic shoes, but this will have to do. At least she’ll be a less obvious target now.
And we’ve been in the alley too long. We’re sitting ducks.
I jerk my head to the side. “Up for running? We have to get across the street.”
She nods. “Let’s go.”
I take her hand again and slink to the edge of the building. Pandemonium still rules the streets. With the mad dash of people and all the barricades closing off the parade route, I imagine local law enforcement is having a difficult time getting their vehicles into the area. Instead, police are pouring in on foot, but we can’t afford to be swept up in the crowd. It’s not safe for Sophie since I have no idea who’s behind this attempt on her life. We can’t get separated. It’s my job to lead her to safety, and I intend to do it.
Since I haven’t heard anymore gunfire, I suspect the shooter has closed up shop and is doing his best to blend in with the crowd. We need to do the same, so I lead Sophie out onto the sidewalk. Then we jog across the street. If she was anyone but a well-known star, I’d pull her into the drugstore—one of the few businesses open during the holiday—and wait for the area to be cleared. But her face is liable to cause a commotion, which is the last thing we need. And just because I don’t see anyone on our asses now doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. The shooter could be blending in to hunt her down.
At the back of the drugstore’s parking lot, I spot a horse-drawn buggy with a traditional canopy. The entire thing is decorated in red, white, and blue streamers for the parade. A teenage boy hovers beside it nervously, watching everything around him. His eyes go wide with fear when I approach, gun in hand.
“I’m not here to hurt you. Fifty bucks to let me borrow your ride.” I drag a bill from my pocket.
The kid swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply. “I-I can’t. It’s my grandpa’s. I promised I’d bring it back.”
“A hundred bucks for ten minutes. I won’t take it far.” We have to get out of the vicinity. It’s about a mile to my truck. Once we’re there, we can get anywhere.
The teenager opens his mouth to reply, then his stare falls on Sophie. And his eyes go wide with recognition. “Oh, my god! You’re—”
“Keep it quiet,” I hiss.
“Please.” Sophie grabs his hands. “I need to get out of here safely.”
“I’ll take you,” he insists in a rush, head bobbing.
My first instinct is to refuse. I don’t want to deal with amateurs or risk this kid with so much life in front of him, but if he won’t lend me his buggy and I don’t have another way out of this place, I have to compromise.
“You’re sure?” I ask. “It could be dangerous.”
“I-I’m not afraid.”
Clearly, he is and doesn’t want to seem scared in front of Sophie.
“You don’t have to play hero, kid.”
He scowls at me. “My name is Dustin, and I’m eighteen.”
So he’s touchy about being an adult. Got it.
I hold up my hands. “Sorry.”
Maybe this kid’s stubbornness is a good thing. If the shooter sees him, he has no reason to connect Dustin with us.
Sophie squeezes his fingers. “You don’t have to get involved.”
“Were the shots for you?” he asks her.
I nod.
