Chapter Eighty-Four
Bree
My lungs stopped working after the first bullet hit the van. Nathan looked optimistic, as far as I could tell from where I clung to the passenger seat. Out of context, he would have looked like any other man who’d jumped into the car to run a quick errand. If only I could have blocked out the rest.
From where I slumped low in my seat, I could still see the churning desert dust and hear the peppering pings of the bullets hit the van.
We sped away, quickly outdistancing their range, but soon it was clear that each bullet had kicked off a new rattle. The van had chortled and creaked as the men had driven us blindfolded into the desert. Now it hissed and gurgled, and strange knocking sounds came from the undercarriage.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked.
Nathan glanced down to where I huddled on the floor of the passenger side. “Ten more yards, and we’ll be completely out of range. After that, the plan is to head north.”
“Back to Ciudad Juarez?” I asked.
It didn’t matter what Nathan would say. The last bullet whizzed by and, despite the van’s new rattles, I felt the peace.
“It’s our best bet,” Nathan said. He never once let off the gas.
I clung to the seat as I pulled myself up. The van bounced and complained as we barreled onto some sort of dirt track. It led us over a forgotten section of ranch land and onward to wilder terrain.
When we met up with a gravel road, Nathan slowed down and listened intently.
“Are we going to make it?” I asked.
The van lurched a few times then picked up speed again. I put on my seatbelt and tried not to look at the hot stretch of desert outside the window. Instead, I focused on Nathan.
His lips tightened as he listened. The van was definitely in bad shape. “We’ll be fine,” he said.
I snorted. “Liar. Shouldn’t we stop and see what happened? Maybe it’s something you can fix.”
“With what?” Nathan snapped.
I dug under the passenger seat and pulled out a roll of tough, gray tape. “Duct tape?”
It was supposed to be a joke. I thought Nathan would crack a smile. I thought he might even praise me again for the way I was handling myself. I was combat-tested and feeling quite proud of myself.
“Whatever it is, tape isn’t going to fix it,” Nathan said. “And why would I stop when we’re being chased?”
“Chased? On foot?” I asked.
Nathan pressed on the gas harder. “We’ve got to keep going.”
I frowned at him. “Fine, I get it.”
“What now?” Nathan barked.
I was sure it was just residual adrenaline, but his tone made me angry. “I think I’ve earned a say in our plans. You should realize by now that my questions and suggestions have helped get us this far. Or do you still think you could have done all of this alone?”
Nathan gripped the steering wheel. “Like you said, this is all my fault. I should have cleaned it up myself.”
“So, I wasn’t any help at all?” I asked.
“Yeah, you helped. So, what? It’s still my fault. It’s all on me that we’re racing across the desert while who knows how many cars converge on us. And it’s my fault that the van is about to fail.”
My hand itched to slap him. “Oh? Were you supposed to magically know there wouldn’t be an armored car meeting us? I didn’t know you were psychic, too. Is that part of the Navy SEAL training now?”
Nathan’s jaw flexed, and he fell silent.
My blood hummed with adrenaline and irritation. It was just like Nathan to think so highly of himself that he took the blame for things entirely out of his control. Was he going to speed up the sunset so we’d have better cover?
I opened my mouth to ask that, but the van coughed and sputtered.
“Hang on,” Nathan muttered.
He slowed down but the van lurched and threw us forward then back. We bumped wildly over to the side of the gravel road, and Nathan aimed for a large clump of brush. The engine cut off as we hitched off the road.
In the silence, I could hear the tires crunching over the rough desert. Then Nathan let out a long and very creative string of curse words.
The van shuddered to a stop just outside the long shadow of the brush. Even after he put it in park, Nathan sat with his hands wrapped around the steering wheel.
“We can push it,” I said.
Nathan swore again and tore open the driver’s side door. I had to scramble across and jump out after him because the lock wouldn’t release on my door. He waved me back into the driver’s seat, and I rolled my eyes. Of course, he wanted to push the van all by himself.
I steered as Nathan pushed. The van inched forward and then jammed against a rock. There was more swearing and foot-stomping as Nathan removed the offending rock and shoved the van farther on. I turned the wheel and steered the van behind the large clump of dry bushes.
When I got out, Nathan was already walking back the way we came. He whipped one foot back and forth over the tire tracks until they were erased. I copied him and worked my way up the other track. Once we reached the road again, the tire tracks were all but erased.
Nathan waved me back to the van and took his time covering our tracks further.
I shook my head and left him to work out the rest of his adrenaline. I wondered if his Navy SEAL team had put up with his mood swings after each mission.
Inside the van, the only productive thing I could think to do was dig through the glove compartment and center console. When I found a fat wad of cash, I grinned.
“See?” I jumped out the van and waved the cash at Nathan. “You can’t say I don’t contribute.”
Nathan scowled, walked past the van, and kept marching off into the desert. I had no choice but to follow him.