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She sniffed. “So what do you propose?”
“What’s wrong with my car?” he asked, plaintively. “It’s beautiful. Fast. Comfortable. And I have a key to it. And the legal right to use it.”
“Your car is death,” she snarled. “Sudden, certain death.”
“God, you’re harsh,” he complained. “A cab, then?”
“They’ll be listening. There will be a public record of where we went. They’ll be watching anyone you know. Friends, family. Everyone.”
“They? Who the fuck is this ‘they?’”
Her mouth shook. “I don’t know. I hoped to God you might have a clue, but you don’t. I drew attention to you, and if they kill you now, it’ll be all my fault. It was all a stupid…fucking…dead…end!”
“Hey!” He scowled. “Who you calling a dead end? I resent that!”
Snorting giggles vibrated against his chest. “Don’t make me laugh, or I’ll start to cry, and then you’ll be in really deep shit.”
“I believe you.” Bruno stroked her slender, trembling back. Amazed at how delicate she was. Running for over a month from those goons, if what she said was true. And still kicking.
“You know, you’re a pretty good fighter,” he said.
She snorted. “Yeah? For a girl, you mean?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said quietly. “But yeah. You’re strong and quick, and you have nerve. Do you have martial arts training?”
“A little,” she said. “Years ago, in college. Some of it stuck.”
Which reminded him of something. “Hey. How’s your shoulder?”
“What about it?” she muttered, soggily.
“You took a blow to the shoulder meant for my head. Let me see.”
She flinched away as he reached for her lapel. “No, those blows were meant for me. You were just in the way. And you wouldn’t have been, if I hadn’t hunted you down and pinned a target to your chest!”
“Let me see it,” he persisted.
She shoved him away. “We don’t have time for a fucking tender moment, Ranieri!”
He held up his hands. “Wow. You’re one tough bitch.”
“Yeah!” she flung back. “That would be why I’m still alive!”
He pondered that. “Do you really know how to hotwire a car?”
She sniffed. “Theoretically.”
He looked dubious. “You do or you don’t.”
“I’ve studied how to do it on the internet. I’ve seen diagrams. I know the principles. I’d figure it out. Eventually. I’m quite bright.”
He was grinning, which clearly pissed her off. “Eventually,” he repeated. “While the alarm squeals, and the owner comes racing out with a baseball bat. Come on. There’s a gas station a few blocks over. We can clean up. Buy a burner phone.”
“To call who?” she demanded.
“If you want my help, you’re going to have to trust me, OK?”
* * *
