Shadow Soldier

He grabbed his cell phone, flipped it open and dialed. “We had an incident at the Devon Farmers’ Market. Shooting. She’s fine. Brown van, 1990 Ford Econoliner. New York plates.” He glanced at his phone and punched a button then read off a plate number from the screen.

When did he have the time to get that?

“Still in pursuit, going north on Route 202. Got anything open?” He paused. “Will do.”

“Who was that?” she asked as he hung up the phone.

“My boss.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a safe house, once we lose the tail.” He swerved to the left.

It sounded utterly ridiculous. He looked the opposite of safe. She considered opening the door and hurling herself onto the pavement.

The passenger side mirror blew out, and she slid further down in the seat.

“The main body is bulletproof but the rest isn’t.” He swerved again. “I’m going to have to pick up some speed to get rid of them. Don’t want to give them a chance to shoot out the tires.”

He took a sharp turn and she slammed against the door, the seat belt cutting into her stomach.

He barely spared her a glance. “Nothing to worry about. I work for the United States government. I’m here to ensure your safety.”

For a second, confusion so overwhelmed her she couldn’t process his words. Then in an awful moment of comprehension it all began to make sense. She would have preferred a kidnapper. “Does my father know about this?”

“Senator Barrington is aware we’re in a situation where something like this may develop.”

Of course he was. He was bloody aware of everything. He handled everything. Behind her back. Who cared if it concerned her life? At that moment she hated him more than she hated the men shooting at her.

“I don’t want your protection.” She despised the idea of getting sucked back into her father’s life again.

“Let me take you someplace safe, bring you up to date. Then, if you still want, you’re free to go.”

“I am?” She stared at him, the wind taken out of her sails. He was logical and had given her the freedom of choice, two things she valued above all others.

“You’re not a prisoner.” He looked at her, and for the first time she noticed his eyes. They were black or nearly so, bottomless pools devoid of emotion. She looked away first.

“Where are we going?”

He crossed two lanes of traffic, ran off the road, crossed the few yards of grass that served as divider and got on Route 202 going the opposite direction without once putting his foot on the brake. “Lancaster.”

She looked back just in time to see the brown van follow and nearly flip over as it hit the divider. Unfortunately, the vehicle slowed for only seconds before resuming the pursuit at full speed. Her fingers fused to the edge of her seat. “To the Amish?”

“Kind of.” Swerving across lanes, he executed one evasive maneuver after the other, with the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

He probably liked his job. The thought seemed incomprehensible, but must have had at least some truth to it. People usually chose occupations they enjoyed.

Oddly, the smile did not soften his formidable looks. Neither did his worn jeans that stretched over his well-muscled thighs, nor the long-sleeved black T-shirt. He looked very different up-close-and-personal, the deliciously intriguing image of him she had developed during their morning workouts forever ruined by the handgun resting on his thigh.

Her girlish daydreams of him seemed ridiculous now. He was probably a Secret Service agent, everything she didn’t want in a man. The bullets bouncing off the hatch window were a good reminder.

The car swerved to the right. He swore in Spanish as he brought it back to the road and steadied the vehicle. “They got the tire.”

Her brain held only one thought—it bounced screaming inside her skull. I am going to die.

The two men were close behind them, with two guns and a van that would now easily outspeed Alex’s SUV. And Alex couldn’t even shoot back, it took both hands to keep them on the road with the flat.

“Can you take the wheel?” He threw her an assessing glance.

What other choice did she have? “Yes.”

She grabbed on, and they swerved for a moment when he let go and the vehicle jerked to the right. She corrected and brought it back straight and steady.

Alex still had his foot on the gas and kept the speed, much faster than what she would have been comfortable with even if it weren’t approaching rush hour, and they didn’t have a flat tire and she weren’t driving from the passenger seat. Nicola gripped the wheel. She had to handle the car. Their lives depended on it.

Alex rolled down the window and leaned out, his foot steady on the gas pedal. He fired one shot, then sat back inside and took the wheel from her.

She turned to see the brown van come to a halt in the ditch, its front window shattered.

“How long can we go on a flat?”

“Over thirty miles on these tires.” He drove by an exit.

“Shouldn’t we get off the highway?”

“Next exit. They’ll expect us to take the first.”

“You think they’ll still come after us?” She felt the blood leave her face at the thought.

“He. The driver is out.”

She watched her hands tremble as she rolled down the window a finger width to gulp some fresh air. It didn’t help. Nothing would, short of waking up and realizing all this was a dream.

“Are you okay?”

No! She wanted to scream, but was in too much shock to even speak. A couple of seconds went by before she could respond. “You must feel even worse than me. You had to kill a man and it doesn’t even have anything to do with you.”

Another exit came up, and he took it at the last second without signaling. “You don’t have to worry on my account.”

His tanned face never flinched. His sharp gaze was fixed on the road before them, but the muscles in his jaw were relaxed, as was the rest of his body. She was having a heart attack and he looked as if he was on his way to breakfast. Of course, the driver of the brown van was probably not his first casualty. The thought did nothing to settle her stomach.

“If they caught up with us, they would have done the same.” He spoke to her in an even voice, much like an EMT or policeman trying to calm an upset citizen.

“I know.” She closed her eyes, trying to get a grip on what was happening to her life. “It’s just that—I’m not used to people getting killed in connection with me.”

He nodded as he turned on the global positioning system and rolled onto a narrow country road, raising a billowing cloud of dust behind them.

“How close are we?”