Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

T he small and slightly dingy store was empty—not even an employee in sight. Derrick found a display of trucker hats and snatched a couple at random. He glanced at the many snack options but decided to let Jasmine and Rabie use the bathroom first and then pick out what they wanted.

Approaching the register, he called, "Hello?"

"Be right with ya." A woman came in from the back hauling a cardboard box twice as wide as she was. "Sorry 'bout the wait. Workin' on stockin' the shelves." With her deep Southern accent, she made shelves a two-syllable word.

After dumping the box at the end of an aisle, she moved behind the counter. She seemed barely old enough to have a job. What was she doing working the all-night shift at a place like this? All alone, it seemed.

She rang up the hats, and he handed her cash. "The bathrooms are unlocked? My family's in the car."

"Help yourself. You need a sack for your things?"

"No, thanks." He took his change, pushed out the door, and rounded the building .

He froze at the corner. It took a half second to get a read on the situation.

A man was dragging Jasmine away from the car, one hand over her mouth, the other around her waist. She was fighting, dragging her feet, trying everything to keep him from taking her.

Another guy nearly had Rabie to an SUV half-hidden behind the store. But he'd stopped to watch the other man wrangle Jasmine. Maybe he thought it was funny, the way she struggled. Maybe he thought his thug-buddy would need help.

Rabie was pummeling the man's back with his fists, but the guy wore a thick jacket, and the kid's punches were having no effect.

Derrick didn't think. Didn't say a word.

He dropped the hats, yanked the handgun from the holster, aimed at the thigh of the man holding the boy, and fired.

The guy went down, dumping Rabie on the concrete.

Derrick aimed at the other thug, who'd let up his grip on Jasmine to reach for a weapon.

She ducked away, and Derrick fired, hitting him in the chest.

He staggered backward and fell, his gun bouncing beside him.

Jasmine hurried toward Rabie.

"Get in the car!" Derrick started toward the boy as Jasmine ran to the sedan.

The first thug turned over, handgun raised.

An instant before he got a shot off, Derrick ducked behind a trash can against the building, bumping against something sharp. He ignored the pain in his side and squeezed the trigger. His bullet missed. Crouching, he set his feet, peeked around the can. The guy was aiming elsewhere—toward Jasmine? Rabie? Their car ?

Derrick didn't wait to find out. He lined up his shot and fired.

The guy flopped back on the pavement. Dead?

He didn't know.

Rabie stood unmoving a few feet from the waiting SUV, eyes wide, jaw dropped in a soundless scream.

That was the strangest thing about the whole situation. Except for the echo of gunshots, all was quiet.

The clerk didn't come outside. No sirens rang in the distance.

In the movies, there'd be music and sound effects.

But the world had gone silent.

Derrick bolted toward Rabie, scooped him up, and turned toward the car.

Jasmine was behind the wheel. She backed out of the spot and braked hard.

He dove into the passenger seat, the kid on his lap, and slammed the door.

She hit the gas and drove toward the interstate.

"Go east," he said. "Turn left, under the highway, then back the way we came."

She didn't respond, just did what he said. Not that he had any idea what he was doing. Just going on instinct now. That was all that had been—instinct.

"You hurt?" he asked her.

She shook her head. Maybe she wasn't hurt, but she was definitely terrified. Traumatized.

"You sure?" At her nod, he said, "Get off at the next exit." There'd been a couple between the busy, brightly-lit one and the one where they'd stopped .

He just needed a second to think. To breathe. To figure out what to do.

He turned his attention to the kid, who was way too big to be sitting on his lap. "How about you, buddy? You okay?"

Rabie babbled something in Arabic.

Jasmine responded, also in Arabic.

So helpful.

Derrick felt moisture on his jeans. Was Rabie bleeding!

And then Derrick noted the scent of urine. Oh.

The kid had warned him he had a full bladder. Now, he was probably embarrassed. Derrick wasn't sure how to play it and decided best to pretend he didn't notice.

"You were wicked brave," he said. "Those guys were huge."

Rabie backed away, shaking his head. Then, his eyes popped wide. "You are hurt!"

"I'm fine, buddy. I'm fine."

But Rabie touched Derrick just below the armpit, and…

He sucked in a breath. Yikes!

What in the…? He saw a small hole in his sweatshirt—and a dark stain that had to be blood.

That sting he'd felt had been a…bullet?

"What?" Jasmine was barely going the speed limit. "Do we need a hospital? What happened?"

"Can you pick up the pace?"

"What is a pace?" she asked. "Where is?—?"

"Go faster!" he snapped. "I just shot two people. I'd rather not get arrested."

"Oh, sorry." She pressed down on the gas.

"You were hit!" Rabie's voice was too loud and too close.

Now that he'd pointed it out, holy smokes, it smarted.

"It's nothing." He managed to grind out the words. "Crawl in the back, bud. "

Rabie did, barely missing using Derrick's wound as a foothold.

When he was buckled in, Derrick lifted his sweatshirt and checked. The bullet had grazed him. Blood dripped from a gash on his side a couple inches below his armpit—and beside his heart.

They'd need a first-aid kit, but it could've been so much worse. He bunched his sweatshirt and pressed it against the wound, holding it in place with his upper arm. With his free hand, he grabbed one of the phones and dialed Michael.

When his brother answered, his voice was too loud over the car's speaker. "Everything okay?"

"They found us." Derrick turned down the volume. "I was inside buying hats. I managed to…" He could see it, the men falling. Not moving. Don't think about it. "I shot them. Two men at a gas station just west of Wheeling, West Virginia."

"Are you all right?"

"I was… I'm fine." Nausea worked its way up his throat.

"He was shot." Jasmine's voice was weirdly calm.

"What!" Unlike Michael, whose shout had Derrick cringing.

"I'm fine. It grazed me. I just…I don't know what we should do. Go to the police, or?—"

"No. No, absolutely not." Michael took a breath. "Where are you now?"

Jasmine was angling off the highway.

"We're on I-70 about ten miles west of Wheeling, just stopping to breathe. Jasmine's okay." He looked at her. "Right? You're okay? He didn't hurt you too badly?"

"I am unhurt."

Derrick twisted to Rabie, wincing again at the shocking sting in his side. "And you? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

The boy shook his head .

But Derrick barely noticed, his focus pulled to headlights.

A black SUV angled down the off-ramp after them.

He faced forward again. "There's someone behind us."

Jasmine checked the mirror. "How? They were down? How could they have?—?"

"I don't know!" Derrick searched the darkness ahead. They needed to get back on the highway, but where was the onramp?

No time to find it.

"Don't stop at the stop sign." There was nothing but forest all around. "Just take a left and gun it."

She did, and Derrick braced himself to keep from slamming into the door.

"Where are you exactly?" Michael asked.

Derrick zoomed out on the phone's map. There was nothing anywhere nearby. Nothing but this lonely stretch of two-lane road that went for miles in both directions.

The on-ramp had been in the other direction.

"Derrick!" Michael said. "Where?"

He told his brother the highway.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do."

But Michael wasn't going to be able to get them out of this.

"Hit the gas, Jazz." Derrick should be the one behind the wheel. "Go as fast as you dare."

"But I'm not a good?—"

"You have no choice."

She did as he said, leaning over the steering wheel as if that might help. The road twisted and turned, and Derrick needed to know—had to know for certain—if the driver of the SUV was really following them.

Was it thugs behind them, or just a family who happened to live in this direction?

He prayed for the second.

But no matter how fast Jasmine moved on the winding road, the SUV was still there, the glow of its headlights bouncing off trees behind them.

"Rabie, move to the other side." Derrick's voice was unnaturally calm.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked through the speakers. "Just give me a second. There's got to be a place?—"

"Be quiet, Michael. There's no time."

His brother stopped talking.

"Put your seatbelt on, son." Derrick heard a click, then launched his too-tall body over the seat, trying—and failing—to keep a grunt of pain from escaping.

"What are you doing?" Jasmine's voice was too high and too loud in the small car.

Derrick took a couple of deep breaths, waiting for the pain to pass.

He'd brought the phone with him and now studied the map.

"Jazz, you're going to have to turn the car around, fast. As fast as you can. There's no time for a three-point turn. You understand?"

She nodded, hands white-knuckled on the wheel—ten and two, just like he'd taught her.

She'd only learned to drive a couple of months before. Please, God. Guide the car.

"There's a left turn up ahead. You can use it to give you a little more space. I don't want you take the left. Just do a U-turn. You have to do it in one shot. It doesn't matter if you go off the road. Just don't crash. As soon as you're facing the other way, flip the lights off."

Michael said, "What are you?—?"

"Quiet!"

Again, Michael fell silent, though it had to be killing him.

Her voice shook. "I can't do it."

"Think about it, Jazz. Why was he taking you? Why you ? "

He only gave her a moment to ponder that, but he'd already worked it out.

Dari shouldn't care about getting Jasmine. He should have left her. Why risk it?

The thugs could've taken Rabie and been gone. Jasmine had been the one slowing them down, putting up a fight.

"You want him to catch you?" Derrick asked. "There are obviously more of them than us. We're outmanned and outgunned. And I'm injured. This is our shot. Can you do it or not? Because if you can't…" Then he had no idea what to do.

"I will. I will do it."

Derrick twisted. The headlights glowed. "Gun it. Go as fast as you dare. I'll tell you when the road is coming. As soon as you're turned around, flip the lights off. You see where the dial is, on the dash on your left?"

A pause, then, "Yes."

"Okay. Whenever you're ready."

She floored the accelerator, and the headlights behind faded.

He watched the map. "Coming up… About ten seconds."

"I see it." She took her foot off the gas, then shouted, "Hold on!"

Like some sort of stunt-car driver, she barely braked before she whipped the car into a tire-squealing turn, using the narrow—too narrow—road to give her a little bit more space.

The car bumped off the road, slid.

For a split second, Derrick was sure they were going to crash and die.

And then, she straightened the wheel.

He was already lowering his window, calling, "Lights!"

They went out.

"Rabie, on the floor. As soon as you see them, Jazz, hit the gas and get as low as you can." Derrick leaned out the window .

Headlights glowed up ahead, and then the SUV came around a bend.

Derrick aimed at the front passenger tire and fired.

The SUV jerked toward the narrow shoulder.

Jasmine hit the gas.

"Duck!"

The rear window was going down. Derrick aimed that way and fired, then shot out the rear left tire. He aimed at the gas tank and squeezed the trigger again, but the gun clicked.

He stifled a curse, shouted, "Go, go!"

Rabie climbed back up and peeked out the back window.

Derrick launched himself over the kid as gunshots sounded from behind.

Jasmine sped toward the highway.

And then, aside from the engine noise, all was quiet.

He sat up, collapsed against the seat back. Pressed his hand to the wound that suddenly throbbed again. Took a few deep breaths.

"Everyone all right?" He rolled up the window, slowly comprehending the cold, cold air.

Jasmine said nothing.

Rabie seemed too stunned to speak.

"Jazz?"

"Yes, yes, I think so. I think…" She checked the mirror. "There is no one there."

Somehow, they'd gotten out of it. They were all three safe and alive and…

"Good-flipping-night!" Michael's voice was way too loud over the speaker. "You just took ten years off my life! What did you…? What just…?"

"We lost them," Derrick said. "Can't figure out where they came from. We left two guys down. The SUV at the gas station didn't follow us. If there'd been anyone in it… "

There couldn't have been. They'd have returned fire or at least given chase right away. They'd have snatched Rabie for sure, wouldn't they?

"Must've been a different vehicle," Michael said. "Maybe another group coming to meet the guys you took out."

Maybe. "Anyway, we lost them, thanks to Jasmine's wicked skills at the wheel. Right now, that's what matters. Could you direct us to somewhere safe? And tell me how in the world they found us."

"Been thinking about that," Michael said, "and there's only one logical answer. You obviously missed something in your search. Toss the kid's backpack and everything that was in it. Now."

Rabie's eyes rounded and filled with tears that probably would've broken Derrick's heart under any other circumstances. But his side was throbbing, his hands vibrating with tension, and his ears ringing with the echo of gunshots. He could have lost Jasmine tonight. He could have lost them both.

And it would've been his fault because he'd missed something. And he'd been too soft-hearted to do what he should've done when he'd first gotten the kid.

"Sorry, son." He grabbed the backpack and tossed it out the window.

Rabie twisted, watching the backpack get smaller and smaller on the lonely road behind them.

"Was there anything else?" He directed the question to Rabie, searching the pockets on the backs of the seats. "Anything you stashed?—?"

"Those things were mine!"

He found no toys. "Jasmine?" He worked to keep his voice even. "Are any of his things in your bag?"

"He carried them all. He insisted. "

"Okay, good." He ruffled the kid's hair, but Rabie ducked away. "I'll buy you whatever games and puzzles you want."

"There were gifts from my brother in there."

"Yeah?" Derrick's irritation spiked. "Those men who nearly kidnapped you? Who nearly kidnapped Jasmine ? Those thugs were also gifts from your brother. I think I've dealt with all the gifts from Dari Ghazi I can handle."

Rabie turned to the window and crossed his arms.

Right back at ya, kid.

And yeah, he was being a jerk.

But at the moment, he didn't care.