Page 106 of Fiona and the Fixer

They just didn’t know it.

I kept my grip gentle and ran my thumb along the inside of her bicep.

Leather Jacket Guy opened the back, and I helped her in. She gave us all a grumpy look and sat with her back against the side of the van.

“I’m up front,” I told him. “I can’t give directions from back there.”

The other guy realized he’d have to sit in the back and wasn’t happy.

Too fucking bad.

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FIONA

We only drovefor about fifteen minutes before Dax told Leather Jacket to pull over. The vinegary scent of pickles was strong, but I crinkled my nose when Backup Singer farted. The smell was so bad I was actually glad we were at the top of some random Colorado cliff, and I could get out and get fresh air.

We were parked in a pull out on the two-lane mountain road. It was similar to the spot I’d seen these guys dumping the pickles, but even more remote, if that was possible out here in the sticks. Steep mountains with pines and orange-toned rocks blocked the sun, even this early in the day. A guardrail was all that separated the parking lane from the drop off. I had no intention of getting close enough to it tosee how far down it went. I wondered if Dax had told the truth about the dead bodies being at the bottom.

No other cars came by. All was quiet–even for my ears–except the wind through the pines and a far-off bird squawking.

“Thisisa good spot,” Leather Jacket said, looking around as he pushed me toward the guardrail. This was the first time I resisted. I wasn’t going over. I had my gun in my purse, and I’d shoot him first. I knew that Dax knew that I had my weapon. But what was his plan? I was only a few feet away from changing it.

“Not now,” Dax hissed at Leather Jacket. “Jesus, put the gun away. We’ve got company.” He tipped his head to the left.

We glanced at the car parked further down the pull out and the couple who was staring at the view with such awe that they had to live somewhere flat like Nebraska.

Guns were tucked out of sight.

It was my turn to stare in awe. That couple? Hannah and Jack.

Okay, then.

They walked toward us, Jack’s arm slung over Hannah’s shoulder, chatting and doing a really good job of faking a couple taking a drive in the mountains and enjoying the scenery.

“Hey, will you take our picture?” Hannah asked, all smiles and perky as they approached. “We just got engaged and need a good one. This guy here takes horrible selfies.Every time he does, my face is cut off. Oh, do you sell pickles?”

“Sorry. We don’t sell pickles out of the back of the van,” Leather Guy said.

“Only drugs, right?” Jack replied.

I’d only known him for a few minutes, but this voice was smooth and deep. He had a calmness about him that reminded me of the eye of a hurricane.

“Huh?”

“Now?” Hannah asked Jack. Her face was turned up to him with such hope, one would think she just asked if she couldfinallyopen her gifts from Santa.

He looked at her indulgently. Even kissed her on the lips. “Now, gorgeous.”

“Now, what?” Leather Jacket asked, annoyed.

Hannah stepped out of Jack’s hold and went over to the side of the pickle van, squatted down, grabbed hold of the bottom of the frame and… lifted.

Oh. My. God.

Like a huge football linebacker who flipped refrigerators in TV commercials, Hannah picked up the driver’s side of the van and tipped the thing over. By over, I meant over the fucking cliff.

Axles squeaked, the entire van smashed and thumped. Once, then twice as it must’ve tumbled down the ravine. Then crashed like in bad eighties TV shows, without the fireball explosion.

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