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“—away from the windows,” he shouts, and a bullet hits the side of the house. I would know that sound anywhere. Another one slams against the siding. “Hercules. Tell me where you are. Get away from the windows. Get away from the fucking windows.”
I’m already on the floor, Daisy in my lap, no memory of having gone there.
“What the fuck is happening?”
“Guy on the beach. He ran a speedboat up onto the sand.”
“He got two shots into the siding. You know the windows are bulletproof, right?”
“I don’t want either of you in sight. He’s—fuck. Fleeing on foot.”
“Are youfuckingkidding?Shoot him. Put a bullet in his head.”
The call cuts out for a second or two. “—cars on the street. Might be more than one person. The house is surrounded, but—”
“We have to go.”
“What?”
“Daisy can’t stay here. She’s seizing again. Some motherfucker isshooting at the house. We have to fucking go.”
“Hercules. Stay in the—”
“Does the SUV have bulletproof windows?”
Stunned silence. “Yes.”
“Drive it onto the porch. We’re leaving. We’re leaving right now.”
“There could be an active—”
“Shane, I don’t give a fuck who’s out there. If there’s traffic, if there’s chaos, we’ll use it as cover. I’m not waiting until every asshole with a sniper rifle has a clear shot to pick us off.”
“I—”
“That includesyou, prick. If you can’t drive the SUV over here, then get your ass inside so I can go get it. We have to go.”
“I can’t recommend that, given the—”
“Shane.” I shout his name at the top of my voice. “The seizure startedwhile she was asleep.”
He lets out a long string of curses, because the man is stubborn, but he’s not foolish. Anybody who’s spent more than a week with Daisy can’t help but know that it’slightthat sets off pain, which sets off seizures.
We’re in a dark room. She wasasleep.
She was having a nightmare.
We were having a nightmare?
“I have her. I need you on the porch, ready to drive, in three minutes.”
I don’t need three minutes to get my bag. The kit goes in it. Daisy’s phone. I leave the pistol in the bottom of the duffel bag and carry Daisy into the laundry room.
She’s not the first unconscious person I’ve had to transport and dress. Our laundry is mixed together on the folding table. I drop my phone on the floor, flashlight facing up, and get her into one of my sweatshirts. Panties. A pair of her sweatpants. I get myself into jeans and a T-shirt.
It’s been three minutes exactly when I stick my feet into my shoes at the front door. The bag’s slung over my shoulder. Phone in pocket. Daisy’s in my arms.
Her SUV rolls up onto the porch, taking out part of the railing. Shane shoves the door open, pistol out, and rushes toward the door.
