Page 48 of Out of Sight

I didn’t usually carry a lot of cash, but I did still have that wad of bills from the night Mario Costa was murdered. I felt guilty about it, but I never mentioned the money to the police or FBI—not on purpose, it just never came up during my brief questioning. Then we left the station so fast when Antonio Conti arrived that I never got a chance to turn it in. Now that we were in hiding it felt good to have a feeling of independence by having my own money. I took some of it with me today, hoping to have the ability to splurge on Claire, if only this once.

“Do you have cash?” she asked again, head tilted to the side in confusion. I was taking too long to answer her simple question.

“I have a little.” My voice sounded strained to my own ears; I could only imagine how it sounded to her. I shouldn’t have tried to use the money. It felt really wrong now that I was actually considering it. “No, I don’t have any, you’re right. It was just habit to ask, I guess.”

“Okaaaay.” Her eyes narrowed for just a minute and I thought I ruined it all, but then her features relaxed. “Let’s head back up to languages and see if we can understand each other with foreign language dictionaries.”

I forced out a laugh and gave her my signature grin, trying to bring the charm back. I felt like I was lying to her and I hated it.

“Come on,” she smiled, holding her hand out to me. I took it, letting her lead me back up the stairs. I’d tell her everything after Jim finished yelling at us. I wouldn’t ruin this moment.

When we got back upstairs I picked up the thickest dictionary I could find, an English-to-Finnish sucker with enough heft to use in a workout. “Alright honey, now is there a Finnish-to-English so we can play your game?”

“Will.”

Claire’s voice was all wrong. The panic in her eyes made me pause as I reached for the matching dictionary in question, but she wasn’t looking at me at all. I turned around to look where her gaze was fixated.

A man stood at the far end of our aisle—dark hair, dark eyes, fake-tanned skin. Gray leather jacket.

Oh shit.

Antonio Morelli Conti was here to finish what he started.

He was at the front of the aisle and we were trapped at the far end, bookshelves on three sides. He lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers in a little wave to me, that maniacal grin on his face.

He took two steps toward us and I didn’t think, just grabbed the shelf next to me and pulled with all my might. I heard a couple rusty bolts creak as they gave way, collapsing the path down the aisle and freeing an escape for me to push Claire through before I crawled over the wreckage behind her.

Antonio followed and blocked the next aisle, several steps closer to us by the time we made it through. I destroyed another bookshelf.

In the third aisle he was close enough for me to take inspiration from my first official introduction to Claire andnailed him in the head with a book. That English-to-Finnish dictionary wasn’t heavy enough to knock him out, it was enough to give us a head start into the next aisle to get ahead of him.

I pulled Claire out of Foreign Languages and through Metaphysics, pausing to decide between Military and Anthropology. Anthony emerged from Romance Languages, his gun already in his hand like an idiot, so we just ran through Feminist Studies to the stairs leading down a level.

Shit, we were in the children’s section. Antonio might not care that kids were around and fire his gun anyway.

“This way!” I told Claire, leading her through Comics and into Bestsellers, right next to the exit.

“Can I see your receipt?”

“What?” There was someone standing in our way. Didn’t they know this was life or death?

“Your receipt. Did you purchase anything today?” It was just a kid with a badge, someone who worked at the shop, trying to do her job. I bet her parents would make her quit after this; no way would they want their kid working in a place where she risked her life during for a receipt check.

I heard screams from the direction we came, so I turned back around to see Antonio brandishing his weapon. I pulled Claire and the unknowing teenager down just as a couple shots rang out. The glass storefront shattered and drywall dust fell over us, lightening Claire’s honey-colored hair to platinum.

A couple would-be heroes jumped at Antonio to try and disarm him, giving me the distraction I needed to grab Claire’shand again and drag her past the stunned teen and into the street.

“We need to call Jim,” Claire said, her voice wavering.

“We can’t risk it,” I told her when she paused to take the cell phone Jim gave her days ago out of her purse. I took it and threw it to the ground, stomping it for good measure. “We need to ditch traceable communications. We’ll go to the house and look for him. We need a car in case he’s not back yet.”

“What car?” she asked, some fire coming back into her eyes as I continued to drag her down the street. “Jim has the car, and Jim isn’t with us because you wanted to sneak away!”

She was probably just reacting to the situation. I tried not to take her anger to heart. I had to go by instinct to keep her safe now.

“This car,” I said, stopping only long enough to pick up a solid metal trashcan at the entrance of a local coffee shop and swing it into the driver side window of an older model car parked on the street.

“What the hell are you doing?” Claire seethed when I reached in and unlocked the door.

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