Page 10 of A Shot in the Dark
“Boots?”
“Boots,” he repeats in precisely the same fuck-you-for-pressing-the-point attitude.
I stifle my annoyance and choose to take the high road. “Nice to meet you, Boots, I’m?—”
He holds up a gloved hand, cutting me off as he demands my silence. “No offense, ma’am,” he grinds out between gritted teeth, “but I’d rather not know.”
“Nice.”
“It’s safer for everyone involved,” he states, every word crisp with military efficiency.
“Oh.” I can’t help the aloof tone lacing my words as I reluctantly concede, “I guess that makes sense.” It’s probably better that way anyhow—what name would I even give him? The one the police and everyone in the city knows me by: Marlyn Jenkins? Or my given name? The name connecting me to the small town of Greenbriar, the place that holds my best shot at survival, and the name I tried to distance myself from years ago?
Sylva Waters.
I don’t even know who I should be right now…
“But—”
That gloved hand comes up again. “I’m not here to make friends. My job is to deliver you on or before my deadline, nothing else.”
The car takes a sudden turn and my phone nearly launches out of my hand. “What the hell?! What are you doing up there?” I snap, clamping my fingers fiercely down on my phone, my heart hammering as the car’s wheels shimmy into another sudden turn.
“Donotquestion my judgment,” the driver barks. “Just hang on for the ride.”
“I willabsolutelyquestion your judgment and everything else I want to! Your job is to keep me safe and right now—” I grab the seat in front of me as we turn again, my bracelets clanking “—it seems likeyou’rethe one trying to kill me!”
“Standard operating procedure for avoidance.”
The word whispers out of me before I can stop it, “What?”
He says it like I’m stupid: “Evasive maneuvers: a key to our survival. If anyone’s following us, this makes their presence obvious. They turn when we turn, even if the turn is one people generally don’t take.”
I spin around in my seat, the seatbelt tugging against me. “Did anyone turn?”
“Two cars. So now we”—he taps the brakes then launches us to the left — “turn again.”
My breathing hitches and I brace just in time. “And?” I spot the top edge of his sunglasses in the rearview mirror as he scans the traffic behind us.
“All clear.”
I begin breathing again.
“At least for now.”
Not reassuring. “Okay.”
“Tighten your seatbelt,” he instructs. I do, Newbuck’s earlier suggestion of “Do whatever he tells you to—he won’t steer you wrong,” echoing in my ears.
“Officer Newbuck mentioned ‘rules of the road?’”
He groans. “No food, drink, smoking, or sex in the car. No interrupting my calls. No questioning my judgment.”
“Sounds like it’s going to be a really fun trip.”
“Nothing about this is going to be fun,” Boots responds in a monotone.
Boots turns up his music. The rhythms of some strange band punctuate the bizarreness of my situation. A singer wails in a language I don’t know and I realize I’ve forgotten my earbuds in my haste to leave. I lower my window, letting the air snarl my hair and drag it towards the buildings we vault past as Boots takes twists and turns that seem unnecessary and could definitely throw someone off our trail. Before we’re ready to exit the city, I ask him how far he’s willing to drive me. I may not likethe man, but—damn it—he can drive. “How far are you willing to pay me to drive you?”
