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“Take the off-ramp to the airport. The guys in the other car are getting closer,” Shane said and Rachel turned the wheel just in time to take the exit.
Rachel weaved through traffic with the pedal mashed to the floor, but the guys following them still gained ground. “What are you doing?” she asked as Shane folded down the back seat so he could reach into the trunk.
“I’m seeing if the previous owner of this car had anything that might be useful in a situation like this one.”
Rachel felt like an idiot. She’d never thought to check the trunk when they’d been stopped at the gas station.
“And bingo,” Shane said.
Rachel kept one eye on the road and the other on Shane as he pulled a hard-shell black suitcase out of the trunk and opened the lid. He had a rifle put together almost before she could blink.
“Umm, Shane,” she said nervously, looking at what was coming up.
“A little busy right now, sugar. Just keep driving.”
“Tollbooth,” she said softly.
“What?”
“There’s a freaking tollbooth in front of us!” she screamed. “And I’m a little short on change right now.”
“You’ll just have to wing it. Try to keep the car in a straight line. No sudden movements,” he ordered.
Rachel was beginning to miss the concussed Shane who couldn’t open his mouth. She growled low in her throat and kept the pedal pressed to the floor. The booths were all manned and the gates were slowly letting people through the line. She found a lane with no cars and did as Shane said.
He grunted as he lifted the rifle so it was propped on the back of the seat. His shoulder was bleeding again, and she knew he had to be in a tremendous amount of pain. If they got out of this alive, she swore she’d play Florence Nightingale without any complaints.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked as the gate got closer. Panic and fear rose in her throat, but she kept driving, both hands steady on the wheel. A man stuck his head out of the tollbooth and waved his arms, gesturing for her to slow down. But when she didn’t comply he opened the back door of the booth and ran away. Rachel didn’t blame him. She wanted to run away too.
She squeezed her eyes shut at the last second and they crashed through the gate. Cars swerved and horns blared, but she kept the car moving forward in a straight line. The black car was through the gate seconds behind them. She heard two pops from the rifle in Shane’s hands and the squeal of brakes. The black car’s tires blew out and it flipped into the air, rolling across four lanes of traffic.
Rachel let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Right there,” Shane said, pointing to a parking garage. “That’s long-term parking. We’ll make a quick car switch and get out of here. We’ve got to get back to the main road before they get smart enough to close all the airport exits. It’ll take them at least another ten minutes to get things organized. The police don’t have the authority to shut down the airport. It has to go through federal channels.”
Rachel pulled into the long-term parking lot and into the first empty spot she came across.
“Stop!” she said as Shane tried to get out of the car by himself. “You’re bleeding too much. Let me help you get out.”
“I can take care of myself,” he said. “Pop the trunk and get whatever’s in there while I find us a car.”
Rachel blew out a breath of frustration and did as he said. There’d be plenty of time to argue with the stubborn man later. She gathered a couple of duffle bags that were in the trunk and stood by, silently arguing with herself, as Shane struggled to stand upright and pick the lock on an old Honda Civic.
The car door opened and Shane slid behind the wheel, his hands clumsy as he took the plastic off the underside of the wheel and stripped the wires. Rachel threw the bags in the back seat and waited outside the car until she heard the purr of the engine.
“Don’t even think about driving,” she said. “You wouldn’t make it down the block.”
Shane scooted across to the passenger side and leaned his head back against the seat. He closed his eyes for a second and caught his breath. Sweat beaded on his brow and his hair was damp with perspiration. His skin was pale and his breathing labored.
Rachel pulled the stolen car back out to the main road and was glad to see Shane had been right about the authorities not being organized enough to shut down the airport in a timely manner. Too much red tape. God bless it.
“Give me the map,” Shane said. “I’ll see if I can find a back road to get us to the safe house. The less visible we are the better.”
Shane navigated her down one-lane dirt roads and what looked like cow pastures. She never would have found her way to the little town without his help. It was barely a speck on the map with a total population of less than five hundred.
“There it is. County Lane 245,” Shane said, pointing out the window to a wheat field.
“There what is?” Rachel asked. “There’s nothing out there.”
