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“Nope.” P.T. says convincingly.
“Just hang five…” The guard says and I hear his heavy step moving away from the rig.
“Sorry…” I whisper, hoping P.T. isn’t too mad with me. I manage to shift the curtain between the sleeper and the front seat long enough to see his body shaking. Rage, I’m assuming. But sensing my eyes on him, he pivots his head. His eyes wet with tears of laughter or maybe it’s just stray vapor from the bag I thought I’ve tied up tight enough.
“I knew I’d picked the right girl,” He says, shooting me a wink. But my eyes widen with worry when I see not one but four guards coming back towards the truck. P.T.’s own expression falls too.
I’m guessing this isn’t part of his done it a thousand times routine and he doesn’t have to tell me to hide again.
My mouth dries up and I slink back behind the thin curtain. My heart pounding in my chest as I strain to hear over my own fear.
“All clear, Mr. Peters.” The border guard says cheerfully.
“It’s Parker,” P.T. corrects him. Thanking him when he’s told there’s a rest stop a few hundred yards ahead and when he’s reminded to make sure and dispose of anything organicbeforeentering Canada next time.
“Will do, thanks…” P.T. rasps. Shunting the truck into gear and moving as fast as he dares. Driving for what feels like ten miles but it’s maybe only one or two before he gives me the all-clear.
“Alright… You can come out now,” He says. Sounding nowhere near relieved like I thought he would be.
“What was allthatabout?” I ask, trying to act natural. Like a girl who hasn’t just filled a shopping bag inches away from him with something I know would make me die if he ever saw it.
“It was about as close to caught or caring as I’ve ever been…” He says with a somber expression. But his mood lifts once I feel his arm hooking around my waist. Even taking his eyes off the road so he can plant a big wet kiss right on my lips.
“We made it! We made it…” He says, his whole body relaxing and his million-dollar smile beaming from ear to ear, “But that's half of the challenge,” He cautions me. I hug him around the neck. Knowing we only have a few seconds before he has to keep driving when I spot a dark SUV slowing by the side of us in the far lane.
“Holy fucking shit…” I murmur. P.T. instantly rigid with attention again.
“What is it?” He orders me to tell him, shifting himself to give me a stern look.
“It’s the guy…The third guy… The one driving when they snatched that girl.”
13
P.T.
It’s not what I expected to hear so soon after the worst border crossing of my career. But in another way, it’s like music to my ears.
If three guys snatched a girl and saw Petra witnessing it. And two of them already dead, I know number three is the only link between my girl and the suits. If I can take him out, that’s one less thing to worry about for the rest of our days.
I command Petra to point out the car she saw him in, easily spotted in the snaking rows of sedans as traffic shifts from checkpoint to the regular freeway kind. I keep in the truck lane but ignore everything else except the sunlight winking at me from the edge of the roof of the blacked-out SUV. Driver’s side window down, just enough to get a glimpse of the type of guy I’d spot as a suit a mile away.
“Yousureit’s him?” I ask her. Reaching over and taking out the handgun from a glove compartment.
She gulps but stabs a series of nods.
“Good girl,” I praise Petra… “You are one clever, stinky girl… And I love ya for it!” I exclaim, pressing my foot harder on the gas. Feeling more than just the thrill of the chase and the scent of scat in a bag filling my senses.
Because telling her I love her. Telling anyone I love them must mean it’s true.
I can feel her half pride, half ashamed look of confusion at my statement. But once she figures out who we’re following from now on, it isn’t long before both of us have laser focus on the SUV. And any plans I may have had once we were across the border are gonna have to wait. Even though the guy is driving in the same direction I’d normally take.
Dropping off the rig’s trailer in an abandoned warehouse is always the final stop. Same warehouse for years. Right next to a cement factory where you can scream and shoot a gun all day and no one would ever hear. So if we can clean up this piece of garbage along the way before it’s just Petra and me driving off into the sunset, all the better.
Following the guy gets easier but more obvious once he takes the turn-off I know so well. The driver’s side window goes up and he picks up speed. The gravel road forcing me to slow down some instead of speed up to keep the pace with him.
“Son of a bitch…” I murmur, feeling Petra’s already jangled nerves kick up a notch as the whole rig starts to sway and slide on the uneven surface beneath us. My own pulse starting to hammer in my ears as I feel my hands sliding on the wheel. A nervous sweat breaking out all over me as I have the terrible thought that maybe I’ve been working for the suits all along.
No! I won't believe it… It can’t be true.
