Page 39 of Peace Under Fire

It wasn’t as though brown eyes were chopped liver. She sure hadn’t found his eyes lacking during the past year. Not that he gave a flying fuck about her opinion of his eyes. And redirecting her infantile crush Brick’s way was a relief.

“A Goddamn relief,” he snarled insistently.

He cast a quick look around the parking lot as he stomped his way back to the truck. It had been five minutes since he’d pulled into the lot. If someone had slapped a tracker on his rig, unwelcome company could be seconds away. They needed to get out of here. He’d tend to Mandy’s head once Brick ferried them to a safer location.

He opened the back door and leaned across the cooler, his hand extended. “I need that gun back, Mandy.” When her mouth tightened and her face folded into lines of rebellion, he fought for patience. Maybe he could appeal to her common sense. “Do you know how to use it?” Her head remained steady—no nod, no shake—but he could see the truth in her eyes. “Look, if things go south, we need those weapons in experienced hands. All our weapons. That means the Sig you took needs to be available to me or Brick. We’ll protect you, Mandy. You don’t need the gun.”

She looked surprisingly mulish. “How do you know I’m inexperienced with guns?”

A fair question. “Are you?”

Instead of answering, she reluctantly dug into her pocket and handed the holstered gun back. He did a quick weapons check, relieved to find the Sig’s safety was still on. Thank Christ she’d grabbed the Sig and not his Glock, which didn’t have a safety. With his current luck, she would have probably shot herself. Or him.

With the gun in hand, he climbed into the front passenger seat. He’d already noticed that Brick had an OWB holster with a Smith and Wesson 340 PD. At least their escort was armed too. No surprise, though, considering Brick’s former career.

“Let’s go,” Squish said, setting the Sig on the drink console and dropping the first aid pack between his feet. “We could have company any moment. I’ll treat Mandy’s head once we’re in a secure location.” He slammed the car door and looked over his shoulder toward Mandy. “Lay down across the seat. If anyone is cruising around looking for us,” or hacking into the traffic cameras, “we don’t want them to see you.”

Mandy drew her legs up and curled up on the seat as Brick started the SUV and backed out of the parking space.

“They’ll be looking for you too,” Brick reminded Squish with a sideways glance. “There’s a plastic bag back there with a scarf and sunglasses for her and a ball cap and new sunglasses for you.” He frowned at Squish’s face. “You need to dump the coat and swap out the shades. That sheepskin jacket and the reflective lenses are too distinctive.” He raised his voice and glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sweetheart, toss that plastic bag at your feet up front.”

Sweetheart? Squish’s mouth tightened. When the hell had those two become so chummy? For fuck’s sake, he’d only left them alone for a minute or two.

A black plastic bag sailed through the space between the bucket seats, landing on the plastic drink console. Squish pulled his coat off, dumping it at his feet, and rummaged through the bag. Soft, woolly fabric brushed against his fingers. Definitely not a ball cap. He peeked inside the bag and a rich purple shawl with tiny white flowers met his disbelieving gaze.

Purple? Flowers? Mandy was going to get orgasmic over the damn thing. Christ, of all the shawls to choose from, how had Brick known to pick this one? She was going to take the scarf as some kind of sign, he just knew it, and turn all lovey-dovey toward the bastard.

Scowling, he shoved the scarf back in the bag and pulled out a gray ball cap. He snugged the hat over his head, then swapped out his sunglasses for a boring, black rimmed pair that was maybe two tints darker than a normal pair of glasses. Brick was right—his shades were too distinctive, they’d be easy to identify—but this cheap pair barely cut the sun’s glare.

That earlier migraine had taken a hike, which was unusual. Maybe the adrenaline from trying to outrun their attackers had chased the sucker off. But when the headache returned—and in his experience, it would—these damn sunglasses wouldn’t do a damn thing to protect him from the sun’s rays.

He dropped his reflective shades next to the Sig, where they’d be within reach when he needed them. Once they were out of town and on their way to the Refuge, recognition wouldn’t be as much of a worry. He’d swap back then.

Brick drove for several miles before pulling into a Home Depot parking lot.

“We should just keep driving,” Mandy said, from where she was lying curled up across the back seat, her sneakered feet pressed against the cooler. “My head’s fine.”

“You need to get some ice on it. You’re getting quite the goose egg,” Brick said in a soothing voice as he drove around to the back of the building.

The location he’d chosen was perfect. Deserted, except for an empty freight truck parked at the back of the lot. Plus, the huge building would block them from searching eyes—or cameras—out on the boulevard. Mandy sat up as Brick parked the SUV and cut the engine.

As soon as the car stopped moving, Squish kicked his coat out of the way, grabbed the first aid kit and exited the front seat. The bare skin of his forearm instantly pimpled beneath the chilly breeze.

The lump was on the right side of her head, so he yanked open the door behind him. The seat was bench-style with gray leather and blocked by the large, red cooler. He dropped the pack on the ground next to the open door, transferred the cooler to the front seat he’d just vacated, picked the pack back up, then slid in next to Mandy, slamming the door behind him to keep the heat inside.

“Here.” The black plastic bag landed on the bench seat beside him. “Wrap her up in the shawl and glasses once you’ve finished checking out her head.”

Squish grunted an acknowledgement. The leather seat squawked beneath him as he shifted to face his patient. “You need to face me so I can assess that lump on your head.” He paused and added a grudging “Please.”

“You don’t need to do this.” Her shoulders stiff, she turned to stare stubbornly out the passenger window. “My head is fine.”

“Sure, it is. That’s why you flinch every time you move it,” Squish drawled.

He frowned as he stared at the back of her head with its long, borderline greasy ponytail. Mandy had always taken pride in her appearance. While she’d never gotten all dolled up with caked on makeup, hairspray, and revealing clothes, she had kept herself clean and her hair washed and shiny. Yet here she sat, her jeans and t-shirt stained, her face oily, her hair greasy, the sour smell of body odor surrounding her.

Something was seriously wrong in Mandy’s world.

“My head hurts, that’s all,” she said without looking at him. “All I need is some aspirin.”

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