Evan pulled Joey around the side of the building. They stood on the browning grass beneath the window of the men’s room, peering around the corner at the travel plaza’s entrance. A good vantage.
“That truck,” she said. “Kept time with us for at least forty miles.”
He thought of her bobbing in her seat, singing along to the radio. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”
“That’s my superpower.”
“What?”
“Being underestimated.”
The men’s-room window above them was cracked open, emitting the pungent scent of urinal cakes. Through the gap they heard someone whistle, spit, and unzip. Evan set the shopping bag on the ground.
They waited.
The 4Runner finally came into view, cresting the rise.
It crept along the line of parked vehicles, slowing as it passed the Civic. The driver eased forward, closer to the pumps, and stopped with the grille pointed at the on-ramp below.
“Hmm,” Joey said.
Evan leaned closer to the building’s edge, Joey’s hair brushing his neck. They were thirty or so yards away from the 4Runner.
Leaving the truck running, the driver climbed out, scratching at the scraggly blond tufts of his beard. Cowboy boots clicking on the asphalt, he walked back to the Civic, approaching it from behind. As he neared, he untucked his shirt. His hand reached back toward his kidney, sliding under the fabric. He hooked the grip of a handgun, slid it partway out of the waistband.
It looked like a big-bore semiauto, maybe a Desert Eagle.
Not a law-enforcement gun.
The man approached cautiously, peering through the windows, checking that the car was empty. Then he let his shirt fall back over the gun and entered the travel plaza.
“He didn’t see us,” Evan said. “Not directly, not from behind us on the freeway. At best he could tell that we were a man and a young woman. He’s trying to confirm ID.”
“So what do we do?”
“You don’t do anything.”
“I could handle that guy.”
“He’s bigger than you,” Evan said. “Stronger, too.”
In the bathroom a toilet flushed, the rush of water amplified in the cinder-block walls. A moment later they heard the creak of hinges and then the hiss of the hydraulic door opener. A sunburned man waddled into sight around the corner and headed off toward his car.
Joey snapped her gum. “I could handle him,” she said again.
“We’re not gonna find out,” Evan said. “Stay here.”
“You’re going into the plaza?”
“Too many civilians. We’ll let him come to us. He’ll check the bathrooms next.”
Sure enough, the driver emerged from the plaza and started their way. They pulled back from the corner.
Evan moved his hand toward his holster. “Don’t want to use the gun,” he whispered. “No suppressor. But if I have to—”
She completed the thought. “I’ll have the car ready.”
A crunch of footsteps sounded behind them. Was there a second man? Evan put his shoulders to the cinder block, flattening Joey next to him, and switched his focus to the rear of the building.
A Pomeranian bobbed into view, straining a metal-link dog leash. It sniffed the grass, its rhinestone-studded collar winking.
Evan came off the wall.
The little dog pulled at its chain, producing an older woman clad in an aquamarine velour sweatsuit. She frowned down at the dog. “Do your business, Cinnamon!” She looked up and saw Evan. “Oh, thank God. Excuse me. Can you watch Cinnamon for me just for a second? I have to use the ladies’ room.”
Evan could hear the driver’s boots now, tapping the front walkway behind him, growing louder. “I can’t. Not now.”
Creak of hinges. Hiss of hydraulic door opener.
The woman said, “Maybe your daughter, then?”
Evan turned around.
Joey was gone.
He tapped his holster through his shirt.
Empty.
He hissed, “Joey!” and leaned around the front corner.
He caught only a flicker of brown-black hair disappearing through the men’s-room door as the hydraulic opener eased it shut.
The woman was still talking. “Teenagers,” she said.
Evan stood at the corner, torn. If he shouted Joey’s name, he’d give her away. If he barreled in after her, he could alert the driver and get her killed. As it stood, she had Evan’s gun and the element of surprise.
On point, he strained to listen, ready to charge.
The woman misread his agitation, her face settling into an expression of empathy. “I raised three of them,” she went on, holding up three fingers for emphasis. “So believe me, I know. It’s hard to learn to let them go.”
The dog yapped and ran in circles.
“What with the driving and drinking,” the woman said. “Making choices about their bodies.”
Through the cinder-block walls, Evan heard a thud. A grunt. In the window just over the woman’s shoulder, a spatter of blood painted the pane, and then the man’s face mashed against the glass, wisps of beard smudging the blood.
The woman cocked her head. “Do you hear that?”
“I think they’re cleaning the bathroom,” Evan said.
Another pained masculine grunt and the snap of breaking bone.
“Deep cleaning,” Evan said, as he shot around the corner.
He shouldered through the men’s-room door.
The first thing he took in was Joey facing away, her tank top slightly twisted, arms raised, shoulders flexed. He couldn’t see her hands, but his ARES pistol was tucked in the back of her pants.
The man was on his knees, his cheek split to the bone, his front teeth missing, his chest bibbed with blood. One arm dangled loosely at his side, broken. The other hand was raised palm out, fingers spread. Evan took a careful step forward, bringing Joey into full view. She was standing in a perfect Weaver stance, aiming the man’s own Desert Eagle at his head, the long barrel made longer by a machined suppressor.
Joey’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Evan held out a hand calmly, stilling the air. “Joey,” he said.
The man ducked his head. Blood dripped from his cheek, tapped the floor. The acrid smell of his panic sweat hung heavy.
“Lower the gun,” Evan said. “You don’t want to cross this line.”
“I do.” Her eyes were wet. “I want to prove it.”
“There’s nothing to prove.”
The barrel trembled slightly in her grasp. Evan watched the white seams of flesh at her knuckle.
“It’s just one more ounce of trigger pressure,” Evan said, “but it’ll blow your whole world apart.”
“What’s the difference?” she said. “If I do it or you do it?”
“All the difference in the world.”
She blinked and seemed to come back to herself. She inched the gun down. Evan stepped to her quickly and took it.
He faced the man. “A directive came from above to have me killed. I want to know where it came from.”
The man sucked in a few wet breaths. He didn’t answer.
Evan took a half step closer. “Who’s Van Sciver taking orders from now?”
The man spit blood. “He keeps us in the dark, I swear.”
Evan shot a glance at the bathroom door. Time was limited. “How’d he find you? Are you former military?”
The man tilted his face up to show a crooked smile, blood outlining his remaining teeth. “Now, that would give away too much, wouldn’t it? But it’s your lucky day, X. I can help you. I’ll send a message to Van Sciver.”
“Yes,” Evan said. “You will.”
He shot the man in the chest. The suppressor was beautifully made, reducing the gunshot to a muffled pop. The man jerked back against the tiles beneath the window and sat in a slump, chin on his chest, head rocked to one side.
Eleven down.
Fourteen to go.
Evan dropped the gun, took Joey’s arm, and walked out. No one at the gas pumps had taken notice.
He flipped Joey the keys to the Honda. “Get your rucksack and the laptop.”
She jogged off to the right, and he veered left.
When he stepped around the corner to check on the woman, she was bent over the dog, scolding it. “Do your business, Cinnamon. Do your business!”
She sniffed at him. “You know, there was a time when strangers helped each other.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, picking up his shopping bag. “It’s the teenager. Unpredictable.”
Her face softened. She returned her focus to the Pomeranian.
Evan walked swiftly past the gas pumps to the 4Runner, which waited for them, motor still on, already angled downslope for a quick getaway. Joey met him there, climbing in as he did, tossing her rucksack ahead of her.
She was still winded from the fight and the adrenaline rush, her clavicles glistening with sweat.
He said, “You are a powerful young woman.”
He pulled out onto the freeway and headed for home.