killed them both. Refusing to think about that, she swallowed again. Hills ran close to the building along the back side. If they went that way, their odds of getting stuck in the fresh powder were much, much greater. “Front,” she finally said, knowing it was their only hope.
“Front,” he agreed with a nod, staring into her eyes.
For a second, she felt the connection they’d shared earlier when he’d kissed her spark up again, the same one they’d had in Cairo.
“Then we pray like hell you can drive this damn rig so we don’t end up spinning our wheels,” he added.
He eased off her slowly, in increments so their movements wouldn’t be heard. Pushing up to a crouch behind the tool cabinet, gun lifted near his head, he waved for her to get up.
Kat was rattled as hell, and she knew she was going to be sore from hitting the cement floor, but she forced herself up and somehow managed to get to the side of the truck with barely a whisper. When she glanced back at Pete, though, she gasped. Blood stained the back of his torn sweatshirt in several places.
She bit down hard on her lip to keep from calling out to him, then prayed the fresh spots of blood were only shrapnel wounds and not bullet holes.
He’d used his body as a shield for her.
The heroics were so at odds with what she knew of him. But she couldn’t think about that now. She had to get into the truck and get ready for whatever it was he had planned.
Using both hands, she reached up and lifted the door handle, pausing when the soft click seemed to echo through the vast garage like a cannon exploding on the horizon.
“Katherine Meyer!” Busir yelled again. “This is your last warning. Come out now peacefully or we come in after you.”
Kat didn’t waste any more time. Busir was a man of his word. She’d learned that a long time ago.
She pulled the door open and quietly rejoiced when the hinges didn’t creak. In jerky moves, she crawled across the seat and slid behind the wheel. Her pack with the pendant of the crouching pharaoh nestled inside was already secured under the seat—a precaution she’d made earlier, just in case. She glanced up to let Pete know she was in position, but by the time she looked he was already gone.
Fear iced her veins. She had no idea where he was or what his diversion was going to be.
An explosion from within the small studio apartment rocked the truck and entire garage. Flames shot out of the doorway. Kat ducked her head and stifled a cry just as gunshots whipped through the air again in rapid succession.
The world felt like it had caught fire. But from somewhere far off, she heard a familiar voice yell, “Go, go, go!”
She twisted the keys in the ignition and revved the engine. Just as she was about to step on the gas, Pete threw himself into the cab of the truck and yelled, “Now!”
She gunned it. Their bodies jerked back at the sudden momentum. The Ford’s tires squealed on the cement. Seconds later they crashed through the wooden door at the end of the garage and tore off through the snow.
Two bodies Kat barely saw leaped out of the way of the truck. The tires slipped, and the back end whipped around on a thick layer of fresh powder. Miraculously, they somehow gained traction.
Gunfire ignited behind them. Pete rolled over the seat, gripped her head and pushed. “Stay down!”
Kat tightened her hands on the wheel, leaned down as low as she could and tried to focus on getting to the road without killing them both. When a blast of cold air rushed through the cab, she realized Pete had opened his window and was firing back. She couldn’t spare a glance to see if he’d hit anyone. They were about to reach the road.
“Hold on!”
She pulled hard on the steering wheel to make the turn. Pete fell into the seat, rammed into her shoulder. The back end slid again, this time as if the tires were on an ice rink. And in the split second that followed, Kat realized in a moment of utter clarity that unless a miracle struck, they weren’t going to make it.
They were going to spin. Right there in the middle of Hwy 249. Before they could correct, Busir would be on them.
Oh, God. This was it.
After six long, lonely years,