Page 28 of Peace Under Fire

The hood of the Accord was a giant silver bug in his rearview mirror. He could clearly see the reflective sunglasses of the two men in the front seats and the flash of silver as the bastard in the passenger seat lifted a gun.

The sedan swerved into oncoming traffic.

Horns blared. Cars swerved, bumping up onto the sidewalk.

As the Accord roared up beside him, the passenger window slid down. A hand—gripping a gun—braced itself on the top of the door.

Squish ducked, keeping his head as low as possible while still seeing out the windshield.

Sirens wailed in the distance. But they were too far away.

“Stay down and hold on,” he barked. He slammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel hard to the left.

The shooter got off one shot, which shattered both the driver’s and passenger’s windows, missing his head by inches before the sedan shot past them and the hatchback started to spin.

Mandy let loose with a squeak of a scream and pressed hard against his thigh.

The hatchback spun one hundred and eighty degrees and bumped up onto the snow-slicked sidewalk. He eased it out of the spin and back down to the pavement between two cars until he could enter the left lane. Car horns blared all around them.

In the rearview mirror, he saw the flash of taillights as the Accord driver slammed on the brakes.

Once the hatchback was steady beneath them, he gunned the accelerator. Or tried to. The car plodded forward. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed the sedan was swinging around, ignoring the stalled traffic and blaring horns.

While the sirens were closer, the cops were still too far out to provide any assistance. And the bastards behind them weren’t backing off.

The clinic entrance loomed ahead. They needed to get back inside the clinic, hide until the cops showed up.

That’s when an insane idea hit. But insane or not, it offered them a chance at survival. A slim chance—but he’d take it.

As he swung the rust bucket into the clinic parking lot, a giant silver missile roared up behind them.

The passenger was already leaning out the window with his gun. His heart racing, his mind cool, Squish shoved Mandy’s head flat and ducked as low as he could while still seeing the road ahead.

Four rounds punctured the windshield in front of him in a tight cluster, missing his head by inches again. Pieces of upholstery floated down like confetti.

Mandy quaked against his thigh. He tightened his hand in her hair to brace her.

“Hang on,” he said tightly. “It’s about to get bumpy.” And loud.

Another cluster of holes appeared in the windshield above him. But the shatterproof glass did its job. Both the front and rear windshields remained intact.

Crash. Screech.

The sound of grinding metal pierced their ears. A painful jolt shook them and the hatchback surged forward. The bastards had rammed them from behind. The sedan slammed into them again and the hatchback flew forward even faster, sliding on the icy pavement. Squish wrestled with the wheel.

He chanced a quick lift of his head to get a better look at his target, then ducked down again. The cluster of shots came as he’d expected, but he’d seen what he needed to see. There was nobody on the ramp leading up to the clinic entrance. Nor was there anyone beyond the glass doors. Thank Christ.

He ground his foot down on the gas pedal as hard as he could. The hatchback responded with an unexpected burst of speed.

The shriek of sirens was everywhere now. Red and blue flashes bounced off the rearview mirror.

The cops were in position. So was the hatchback.

Another quick lift of his head revealed there were still no people on the ramp. No people behind the sliding glass doors either.

Thank Christ.

He braced himself.

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