Page 13 of The Marriage Auction 2: Part 4

“Done. And?”

“We need a way to get to that safe house. We were just shot at in our home by a sniper in a tree.”

“Sounds about right. There will be more than one sniper. Angus doesn’t do anything by halves,” Diego shared.

I directed my next words to Moreau. “My friend says that there will be more than one shooter. Have your men look again.”

“Who’s your friend?” Moreau asked.

I looked at Christophe and listened to Diego breathe through the receiver, not saying a word. Now was the time to choose sides. Who did I trust to keep me and Christo alive? Someone who followed every rule in the book, or someone who threw the book out and wrote their own.

“None of your business. Please have your men do another check of the premises.”

Moreau scowled and his nostrils flared. “You know, I can’t keep you safe if you don’t tell me the whole truth,” he growled and then left the room, barking more orders into his radio.

“Wise decision,amiga. Six blacked-out identical SUVs will arrive within an hour. Each one will pull into your garage for a total of three minutes a piece. Get into the fourth vehicle. Do not take a minute more or less before exiting. We’re going to play the shell game with Sokolov’s men. Two of the SUVs will go in a different direction at the same time. You and your husband will be driven to a parking garage where both SUVs will go in and come right out. The two of you, however, will get out in that garage and enter the trunk of another vehicle. That car will leave thirty minutes after the SUVs depart and head to another garage where you will do the same thing. Are you listening?”

“I’ve heard every word. Do you really think this will work?” Fear pressed against my temples making my head throb.

“There’s only one way to find out.Vaya con Dios,señora.” He said and hung up.

Quickly I explained all that Diego planned to Christophe.

“Well, what do you think?” I asked my husband.

“I don’t think we have any other option than to trust the mafia boss. He helped our friends.”

“Yeah, and a lot of people died,” I reminded him about the situation with Joel and Faith and the warehouse full of men that lost their lives when they were trying to save Faith.

“Our only other choice is going along with the authorities,” Christophe explained, and he was right. Either we go with the advice of Inspector Moreau or the mafia boss with a positive track record for handling terrifying criminals.

“I’d rather take my chances with Diego,” I whispered.

“Me too,” Christophe said and then pecked me on the lips as though sealing the deal.

As outlined by Diego, an hour later, six SUVs showed up. The authorities still hadn’t found anyone else on the property, but I believed Diego. He had no reason to lie to me. I explained the plan to Inspector Moreau. He didn’t like it, but I gave him no alternative. He couldn’t make me go with the authorities, but he could help make sure we got away, which is what he agreed to do.

When the first black SUV pulled into the garage, we waited the three minutes as instructed and watched it leave while the second SUV rolled in. Before the first SUV even reached the gate to exit, we could hear bullets flying.

It took everything I had not to get into that second SUV. Still, we stayed strong, hidden in the corner of the garage no one could see from any direction as the second left and the third, and finally the fourth SUV rolled in. The moment the garage door came down, we bolted over to the back of the vehicle and Christophe and I climbed inside with our small suitcases.

“There’s a blanket back there. Cover yourselves,” the driver demanded in heavily accented English. “The car is bulletproof. The tires are not. Cross your fingers we make it out the gate,” he said and then waited for an alarm to go off before we heard the garage door go back up.

The gunshots slamming into the vehicle were like golf-ball-sized hail hitting the SUV as the driver backed out of the garage at top speed just like the others had before him. He swung a U-turn as though the car was driving on rails and then punched thegas, jolting forward at top speed. I was too afraid to be seen so I kept my eyes closed, my head covered by the blanket and held my husband’s hand. Christophe whispered words of comfort against my cheek. His breath was hot and his cheek sweaty, but I clung to those words with my entire spirit.

Soon we were racing down the country roads.

“We’ve made it out. That’s step one,” the driver announced. “Stay hidden.”

We did everything we were told. Even got into the terrifyingly small trunk of a Peugeot and waited in the pitch-dark trunk for thirty minutes before we felt the car start and head out onto the road again.

As promised, we were driven to another carpark where we were let out of the Peugeot and instructed to get into the trunk of a new blacked-out SUV. This time, we didn’t have to wait. It was getting dark, and I knew by the time we arrived wherever the safehouse was, it would be well into the evening. My stomach rumbled and Christophe squeezed my hand.

“I’m sure we’ll be there soon,” he murmured.

A full hour later, after what felt like endless twists and turns, the SUV finally came to a stop. We were let out into a huge warehouse sized garage with at least a dozen extremely expensive European cars all lined up, shining under the bright fluorescent lights above.

“Come,” the driver instructed.

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