Chapter 4

Scarlett’s POV

“You can’t outrun a professional sharpshooter in an automobile.” As I was talking, he abruptly stopped me. “A sniper’s worst enemy is silence. Casualties. It makes them feel like they didn’t measure up, like they’re a failure even in life (or in death, depending on how you look at it).”

He led us right into the thick of San Francisco’s bustling crowds, and I followed suit. I had yet to learn who he was; losing him would be disastrous.

Then, madness took over my chest. The only thing I could do was look around anxiously, my heart racing faster with each turn of my neck because I had no idea who he was.

I was whimpering in the middle of the crowd when suddenly, a firm hand seized my arm and pushed me through the crowd. When we got away from the crowds, we approached a vehicle that looked far nicer than the one I rented with caution.

“Oh, no. I won’t discuss that here.” I put some space between us again and shook my head angrily. This person wasn’t somebody I knew. He could be an organ trafficker trying to trick me into giving him access to my body so he could sell or donate my organs. I’d seen videos of actual occurrences like that.

“Listen up, Kate; I can’t deal with this right now. The sooner we leave, the better off you’ll be, and the sooner I’ll be able to relax.” He made a painful sound.

“You’re talking about all this as if I can just…” I began to complain, but it suddenly occurred to me. “Wait. Who’s Kate?”

He looked at me with disdain and laughed dryly. “If there weren’t people with machine guns on our way to kill us right now, well, kill me and take you; it would be a lot funnier.”

Following his gaze, I saw two black cars barreling down on us at full speed from behind. If there’s one thing that Hollywood got right, you should always run when you see two cars approaching you.

“I’m going to hop in the car,” I said softly and crossed as quickly as possible.

We hopped in the car together and quickly reached speeds of over a hundred miles per hour as we sped out of the parking lot and onto the streets of San Francisco, far from them.

“So, Kate. The challenging portion is over. Please help me out by doing the simple stuff now.” As he went to reload his gun, he said.

I was baffled and wanted to know, “Who are these guys? And why the heck do you keep calling me Kate? My name is Scarlett.”

“Put your head down and plug your ears till further notice. We can discuss your existential angst at a later time.” He grunted and lifted his rifle to prepare himself to check behind him. I did what he instructed; the shots flew shortly after that.

“Please, God.”

***

Gage’s POV

The trip to Sacramento was likely to be a lengthy one. Kate had no notion of the length of our journey or the difficulty of the terrain we would encounter. Nonetheless, she listened to me and ducked her head under the seat as the first shots rang out. Fortunately, the FBI thought highly of me, so they gave me a bulletproof car.

I could tell by the scream from her mouth that she had never experienced this. This was strange because she knew details about the West’s deadliest d**g cartel. She must have led a life that justified her being shot at least twice to have obtained such valuable information. Not the kind you might find by chance.

“Now is the time to put your hands over your ears,” I told her when the gunfire subsided, presumably because the adversary needed to reload, and she curled back into the fetal position as far as the seatbelt would allow. Being in the front seat at nearly one hundred miles per hour was not a position I’d advocate, but I was the one driving. The risk was zero.

They were employing machine guns because of the rapidity they were firing. I had roughly three seconds to move before we came under fire again, assuming they did it professionally. This was all I required. After calculating how far I could drive without leaving my seat, I lowered my side window, aimed carefully, and fired. She may have been short, but her scream carried a remarkable distance. It blended nicely with the steady pops and cracks of the gun’s firing and the wind whipping through my ears from the fast-moving car to create that aura of danger I seemed to enjoy.

Bullets sliced through the air and landed on the first car’s driver’s body as if drawn by a magnet, even though it was now more challenging for me to miss than it was to hit my target.

That was the most modest statement I could make.

The following sequence of events involved the autonomous car flipping over and doing somersaults down the incline of Filberts Road, a lovely sight to behold. Whether they were both hit by a gunshot (an absurd coincidence) or the driver had bad brakes, the two cars were now in a precarious position to roll toward each other.

To which you could respond, “Well, I hope they make it out alive, somehow.”

I just shrugged when I saw the carnage in the rearview mirror. Kate looked up and back at the disaster with a gasp before we had even moved far enough away to stop studying it.

“Good job, Kate. You really did do the bulk of the work for me.”

Indeed, she did her part by humbling herself and covering her ears. More noncompliant people had been placed under my protection than compliant ones.

“Seriously, dude,” she snarled at me, “I’m not Kate.”

“Listen, I’m not the villain. Just calm down. I get that you want to keep your privacy, but…”

She gave a firm head shake. “No, really. I’m not Kate.”