Page 37 of Burn

“Tell me something, Firecracker,” Voodoo said as if we were just out for some casual Sunday drive and not driving at some reckless speeds. “What do you like to eat?”

“What?”

“Food. You have to have a favorite. Like I’m partial to caribou steak. Can’t really get it in many places, but when I can—nothing like it. Pair that with a huckleberry slump, and, let’s just say, there won’t be much I wouldn’t do for that combo.”

What was a slump? “Um… I’ve never had caribou.”

“No? What about bison?”

I shook my head. “Red meat’s a luxury. I don’t usually have it that often. Mostly steamed chicken, some fish—also steamed—and sushi. Love sushi. But I have to be careful on the calories.”

The SUV seemed to be getting closer. Unnerving when you considered the warning on the mirror said that objects may be closer than they appear.

“Not sure I like the idea of red meat being a luxury. Steamed chicken sounds terrible.” He actually cut a glance toward me which was more terrifying than the car approaching. Why was he taking his eyes off the road? “Is that a biological—you know health requirement? Like Gluten-free?”

Like gluten-free. A semi-hysterical laugh slipped out of me.

“Not exactly. Red meat can make you puffy. Cameras already add ten pounds. My job is to look my best for both video and still photography. There’s also not a lot of time to fix outfits, so they have everything sized to specification and it’s important to stay in that range. That means steamed foods, vegetables, controlled calories, low to no carbs with the occasional splurge.”

My mouth was so dry.

“Huh, do me a favor…”

“Sure.”

“When it’s time to explain to Lunchbox that you only want your chicken or fish steamed, make sure I’m there. I want to see the look on his face.”

That pulled my attention from the side mirror. “Why?”

“He likes to cook andsteamingeverything will be an insult to his culinary soul.” His grin held not even an ounce of malice. His amusement translated with his chuckle. “That will be popcorn worthy.”

A laugh escaped me before I could suppress it. “That seems mean.”

“Mean would be saving the information untilafterhe prepared you something gourmet. Just remember, the man loves chiles on everything.” He shook his head. “Though I have to admit red chile in hot chocolate is way better than I ever expected it to be.” He made a little hum of sound. “Brace.”

Brace?

I barely processed the word when something hit us. The other SUV was right there, on our tail. They’d not only closed the gap, they were right on top of us.

“Hold on, firecracker.” He turned the wheel hard as he lifted the safety brake. The spin sent up a stream of smoke from his tires and the sound was jarring.

He turned into the swerve, until we were heading the other way and he crossed the green median to the other side. The vehicle jolted across the uneven ground, and then we bounced as he cleared the edge of the road and then we were racing back the other direction.

I twisted in the seat, heart racing, but I didn’t let go of the “oh shit” handle. No way I was letting it go. There was no sign of the SUV.

It couldn’t possibly be that easy.

Apparently, Voodoo felt the same way because we didn’t stay on the highway. He took the next exit to—a state route that was just a number and not a name. The road itself was empty. As soon as we were off the road, he turned left and headed south.

“But let’s get back to your favorites,” Voodoo said. “You eat a lot of steamed food, meat, and vegetables. But when you get to splurge—even if it’s just a one bite splurge, what do youhaveto have?”

Pulling my gaze from the mirror, I looked at him. “What?”

The words just weren’t processing. It didn’t help that I had no idea where we were and I kept feeling like any moment that SUV was going to pop up out of nowhere.

Maybe it would T-bone us. Or it would be blocking the road ahead.

They could even have flamethrowers.

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