Part 45 (2/2)
”You're sure-”
”Misty and Seth are dead. Shoot.”
She was practically screaming. He straightened. Through the wind and the night, he raised his weapon.
Jo raced through a red light. Trees and office buildings swept past under the streetlights.
Vance shouted, ”Call Riva and tell her to stop this. Negotiate.”
Talk about denial. ”I can't reach the phone. Cut me loose.”
”How'd she get such good aim?”
”She has a shooter. Cut me loose.”
Misty said, ”Seth, keep your head low.”
Seth piped in. ”Who's shooting? Is Murdock... is he... where's Dad?”
Jo said, ”Vance, help me or we'll all die.”
The hard marble sound slapped through the Tahoe again.
Vance screamed. ”It's Kanan, isn't it? He's got a gun and he's-Riva warned us about him and... ohh, G.o.d.”
”It's Ian? Are you nuts?” Misty said.
How nuts, and what kind? ”The live kind, and pray we stay that way,” Jo said.
Above the trees in the sky ahead, a descending jetliner approached the airport perimeter fence, landing lights blazing. More jets were lined up on approach behind it.
Seth said, ”Why is Dad shooting at us?”
Jo knew why. ”He doesn't know you're in the car.”
”He's shooting at us?” Seth said.
”He knows you've been kidnapped. He's trying to rescue you.”
Misty gaped at Jo, her mouth slowly opening.
Seth said, ”I knew Dad would come and get us.”
Kanan would never deliberately harm his family. If Jo was certain of anything, it was that. He would put himself on the line for his wife and son. He would kill to defend them.
And he wouldn't riddle their kidnappers with bullets before they told him where his family was. He might kill them, though, if he thought his family had been rescued.
She was never going to outrun Kanan. She might outrun the pickup, but not a high-powered rifle. Through trees and industrial buildings she saw the runways and the blazing lights of the airport's commercial terminals. At the airport were armed San Jose cops and maybe some quick-witted young national guardsmen standing watch. She had to get there.
”Misty. What did Ian do in the army?”
Jo glanced in the mirror. Misty was lying low, trying to hold Seth below the tailgate window.
Her eyes were flinty. ”He was a scout sniper.”
He definitely might kill the kidnappers if he thought his family had been rescued.
Voice rising, Misty cried, ”Seth, keep down.”
With a splintering, liquid crack, a bullet hit the back window.
* 38 *
The marble sound spit through the Tahoe. The plastic around the stereo splintered, sprayed, and hit Jo's right arm. She flinched but couldn't pull her hands from the wheel.
She was a target in a shooting gallery. Let's play cowboys and psychiatrists.
From the floor behind her came a dribble of curses, Vance's sniveling plea to a stunted and foul little G.o.d. When the dust flew through the vehicle, he screamed.
His arm came up, waving his pistol. ”Drive faster, b.i.t.c.h.”
”Then cut me loose,” Jo shouted again.
She raced down Coleman and burned past another car. Maybe they'd call 911. But even if they did, and even if the police responded within a minute, a bullet needed only a second to do its work.
Like a berserk rat, Vance scrambled into the front pa.s.senger seat and grabbed for the door handle. His jeans were falling down on his skinny b.u.t.t. He clawed at the handle. Got it open. The wind rushed in. Then, with a piggy squeal, he launched himself out, kicking off the driver's seat like a swimmer off the blocks, clouting Jo in the face with his shoe.
Her head snapped sideways. Stars flared in her eyes. The Tahoe's back wheels rolled over an obstacle. It felt like hitting a log, or Snoop Clodd.
Misty clambered into the front pa.s.senger seat. In her right hand she held a pair of scissors. The blades were long, sharp, and b.l.o.o.d.y.
”You stabbed him?” Jo said.
”In the a.s.s.”
Affection bubbled in Jo's chest. ”Please, be my best friend.”
Hunching low, Misty reached across the car with the scissors and tried to cut the zip ties that bound Jo to the steering wheel.
”Hold still,” she said.
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