Page 70 of Stolen Goods
No.
She pushed the tent away. A bullet would go right through the thin fabric, and she wasn’t fast enough to get around the corner before he yanked it off his head.
Think, Addy. Think.
“What’s taking so long?” He poked his head inside, finding her in the back.
Addy snatched the tent and held it up. “I’m sorry. He—he must have moved it.”
“You don’t have the painting?” The man’s brows pushed together and he lifted the gun. His gaze flicked back and forth between the empty street and her head.
“No!” Addy held up her hand. “No, there was another spot he hid it. I just need another minute. Please. I— I can find it. I swear.”
He frowned but nodded.
As Addy climbed back over the seats, she tried to envision what was going on inside the house. There’d been no gunshots—at least, she hadn’t heard any. And it didn’t look as if they had silencers, if silencers were even a thing. In movies, they were always large cylinders at the end of the barrel, but was that only in Hollywood? Did all guns have silencers now? Were they built in? Oh, God, there was so much she didn’t know. What if Jo had been shot inside the second Addy left? What if she was alone? What if—
“Did you find it?”
“I— I see it. One second,” Addy called over her shoulder as her heart raced. Her fingers shook, but she couldn’t delay any more. He was getting suspicious. He might shoot her. He—
The letterAin pink cursive poked out from beneath the passenger seat. A single beam of light shone through the window, illuminating the magenta embroidery, leaving the rest in shadow.
My apron.Addy froze.My apron!
She gasped and reached for the neatly bundled fabric, remembering what she’d stuck in there days ago, when her mistrust of Thad was still ripe—a pair of scissors. Addy ripped the canvas open and glanced over her shoulder. The man wasn’t looking at her. He was focused on the house. She wrapped her fingers around the scissors, amazed at how much stronger she felt with some sort of weapon in her hands. It wouldn’t do much against a gun, but it was something. She wasn’t helpless anymore—not entirely. Addy lifted the edge of her shirt and tucked the scissors into the waistband of her leggings, along the side of her hip so he was less likely to notice. Then she pulled the painting out from underneath the seats.
“What—”
“I have it!” she shrieked and held it up. “I have it.”
I hope that was enough time, Jo. I hope— I did everything I could.
Addy crawled backward out of the car, wriggling her shoulders as the gun returned to its position at the base of her spine.
“Give me the painting.” His tone was absent of anything human.
Addy gulped. What choice did she have? She lifted the art tube over her shoulder and stretched it back. He relieved her of the weight. The gun eased off her skin. But a creep spread from the spot, itching up her spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand. It was too silent. Too still. He breathed heavily, right over her shoulder. As though she had eyes on the back of her head, Addy could see the gun rise, could feel the path of the barrel along her skin.
Oh, God.
He’s going to shoot me.
I don’t know where Thad is. I gave him the painting. I’ve seen his face.
I’m of no use anymore.
He’s going to shoot me.
She reached for the scissors beneath her shirt.
If I’m going to die, I’m going to die trying. I took out a Russian with a rolling pin. At least this time I have something sharp to work with.
Addy took a deep breath and thought of burning amber stone, sparkling sapphire skies, and a carpet of evergreen forest. She thought of cool air and bare skin and Thad’s searing hands all over her body. Her only adventure. But it was one more than she’d had a few days ago when her life flashed before her eyes barren of color. Now it was bright. It was vibrant and painted with all the brilliant hues Thad had taught her to see. Maybe one adventure was enough for a lifetime. Maybe it would last her an eternity.
The moment stretched.
She kept the image strong and gripped the plastic handles.
