Page 120 of Luck of the Devil
I realized that not only were my lips inches from his, but my chest was pressed firmly against him, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could feel it. My instinct was to jerk away, but I liked the feeling of his body pressed against mine, and something deep inside me said to stay, especially since he wasn’t complaining.
Not the time, Harper.
“That wasn’t the first thought that came to mind,” I said, reaching down to release his seatbelt. “But I hadn’t ruled out all my options.”
His grin spread, but his eyes were unfocused, further proof he was suffering from a concussion. “You plannin’ to kiss me somewhere other than my lips?”
It took me a second to realize he was talking about my hand resting on his thigh. “Not right now. We need to go.”
Movement out of the corner of my eye through the driver’s side back window caught my attention, and I turned to see a man in dark clothing walking down the hill toward us, about thirty feet away.
I doubted he was a good Samaritan coming to help us.
“Where’s your gun?” I hissed, shoving James down so he was lying across the console.
“What the fuck?” he grunted, but he didn’t resist.
“James! Gun?” I demanded, my voice barely above a whisper but sharp with panic. Then I remembered he’d told me his handgun was in the glove compartment. My hands shook as I fumbled with the glove compartment latch, offering a silent prayer of thanks when I saw it was loaded with a full magazine. I saw the spare magazine and pulled it out, the stuffed it in my front jeans pocket.
“What’s goin’ on?” he growled, trying to rise but swaying like he was fighting vertigo. His movements were sluggish and uncoordinated.
“Stay down!” I grunted as I practically threw myself on top of him while searching for the button to turn off the interior lights.
“Where do you think you’re doin’?” he asked, but the weakness in his voice made it less threatening.
“Taking care of a problem.”
“Takin’ care of problems is my job,” he mumbled.
“Not this time.” I found the button for the interior lights under the rearview mirror and pressed it, hoping I’d actually turned them off. I lifted my head slightly, hoping the gunman wasn’t about to peer through the window. I could see him moving with predatory caution. He was taking his time, probably assuming we were either dead or too injured to fight back.
He was wrong on both counts.
I slunk down in the passenger seat and put my face in front of James’s. “James,” I said sternly. “Listen to me. We were run off the road and we rolled over a few times down a hill. A man with a gun is headed this way, probably to finish us off.”
“Let me take care of it,” he growled, as he tried to lift up again.
I tugged him back down. “Stop!” I hissed. “You’ve suffered a concussion. You’re probably seeing double, so you’re not in any position to take care of anything right now. I found your gun in the glove compartment, and I’m going out the passenger door to try to draw him away from you.”
His eyes widened. “You’re gonna do what?”
“James!” I shook his arm. “Listen. Stay down and let me handle this.” I flashed him a tight grin. “I’m actually a pretty damn good shot.” I cracked open the passenger door just enough for me to slip out, the hinges groaning softly in protest. I froze, listening for any change in the gunman’s approach. My heart was hammering so loudly I was sure it would give me away.
Thankfully, the interior light stayed off, so James wasn’t a sitting duck. “Stay down!” I whispered to him one last time.
For a split second, our eyes met in the darkness. I saw something that looked almost like fear in his eyes, and I knew he wasn’t afraid for himself.
I gave him a tight smile. “I’ve got this.”
I slipped out the door feet first, staying low to the ground. Once I was out, I carefully pushed the door closed but not enough for the latch to click. Hopefully, the gunman hadn’t seen me slip out, and if my luck held up, he was still a good distance from the driver’s window.
Crouching low, I crawled to the back of the car and peered around the side. The man was about ten feet away, close enough that I could hear his boots crunching on broken glass. Each step was deliberate, calculated.
“Freeze where you are,” I called out. “Put your hands in the air.”
He turned toward my voice, and two shots cracked through the night air. I threw myself sideways as one bullet whined over my head and the other punched into the back panel with a thunk.
I had every right to defend myself now that he’d shot at me, but I was going to do everything I could to keep him alive. I needed answers, and dead men didn’t talk.
