And I didn’t see any other exits. “Jameson—” I began uncertainly, but he was already turning to face me.
“Pick a store and wait inside,” he ordered. “I’ll go back out and lead them away from here.”
“You can’t just—”
“I’ve got the vest and the gun; I sure as hell can,” he said firmly. “Wait here as long as you can stand it, okay? Then go back to the Strip.”
I started to argue, because even in life-or-death situations, I am me. “What if they—”
Jameson bent his head down and kissed me.
The kiss was forceful and intense, like he—we—were trying to fit something a lot bigger into fifteen seconds. My arms went around his neck, and I felt him wrap one arm around my waist, pulling me tight for better access.
Then he was stepping away, moving back toward the entrance. “I’ll find you, Letts,” he promised, and he turned on his heel and was gone.
For a moment, I thought about following him. What if the three men we’d seen had wanted us to run in this direction? What if they were herding Jameson into a trap? I needed to think, so I ducked into the first business I saw, a gourmet hot dog joint. It was too early for lunch, and the place was empty except for a grouchy-looking clerk refilling the napkin container. There were windows on two connecting sides, and I could see the entrance to the container park.
So I had a great view of the paramilitary guy I’d seen on Fremont Street, as he looked up at the sign and decided to step inside. The rifle was gone, probably hidden under his jacket, but his right hand was in his pocket, and I would bet money there was a handgun in there.
“Shit!” I said out loud. I shrank back, lining up my body with the supporting beam in the corner, between the two windows. Of course one of the skinners would stop and search the container park. There were enough of them that they didn’t need to all follow Jameson.
“Hey. Lady.”
Startled, I turned and saw the bored-looking middle-aged clerk eyeing me. Without realizing it, I had drawn a knife from my boot, though it was still hidden behind my body. “What can I get you?” she said pointedly, motioning toward the menu. “Or you meetin’ someone?”
“Um, you could say that. My ex is out there, and he looks pissed.”
“Oh.” Her face softened a little. “You need me to call the cops?”
“That’s probably not a bad idea,” I said in a voice that came out more like a squeak. I had literally brought a knife to a gunfight, and Jesse wasn’t here to back me up.
The clerk picked up a phone, but then her eyes widened. “The brother in the long coat? That your ex?”
“Yeah. And I think he’s got a gun. You see him?”
“He’s looking around the park.” She sounded scared. Smart woman.
“Don’t talk to me,” I warned her. “Don’t look at him. Just act like there’s no one in here and everything’s normal.”
She chewed on her lip but started fussing with the condiments, lining them up by color. I looked around the store, which really was just a frickin’ shipping container: a long rectangle with tables on one end and a little partition behind the clerk. That had to be the kitchen, although it couldn’t be much of one; the whole place was tiny. “You got a back exit?” I asked her. “If you do, move the ketchup.”
She leaned over and shifted the ketchup closer to the mustard. Her hands trembled.
The exit had to be behind the partition that was at her back, which meant I couldn’t get to it without crossing one of the giant windows. “Calm as you can, turn around and walk out the exit,” I instructed her, “like you are going for a smoke break or something. When you’re safe, call nine-one-one.”
“What about you?” she murmured, trying not to move her lips.
“I’ll be fine. Please, go.”
The woman turned around and darted toward the partition separating the counter from the kitchen. As she went, though, she accidentally knocked the metal napkin dispenser off the counter. It fell to the floor with an enormous clang. If the skinner was still standing in the mouth of the container park, there was no way he hadn’t heard that.
I cursed and squatted down so I was more or less hidden from the door by a small table. I pulled a second knife from my other boot, listening intently. There was a little bit of muted conversation, probably from the container next to this one, and a few screams of children in the playground area. The air smelled of sausage and charcoal. I waited, afraid to pop my head up to look out the window. Afraid to do anything, really.
Then the tiny bell over the door jingled.
Fuck. Why hadn’t I told the woman to lock the door before she left? But it was too late now.
A heavy, booted foot stepped onto the hardwood floor. “Hello?” a deep male voice called. “Anybody here?” A little bell rang on the counter.
Which meant he was facing away from me. I snapped my body up, knife in position, but it had been a trap: the guy was standing with his gun pointed right at me.
His pockmarked cheeks split in a grin. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”
“Yeah, well, me neither,” I muttered.
“Drop the knives,” he said, advancing on me. “Do it now.” I let them clatter to the floor. He smiled. “Look, we don’t want you, princess. We’re lookin’ for that fella you were with. Tell me where I can find him, and I’ll be on my way.”
Had to doubt that. This guy had proved he was willing to kill, and there was no reason to leave me, a witness, alive.
“The fella I was with?” I said, feigning confusion. “You mean last night? Or two Thursdays ago, that guy? Because he was—”
“Cut the shit,” he said in a growl, and I had to fight off panic. He was nearly within arm’s reach.
“I don’t know where he was going, really,” I said. “He just wanted to lead you guys away from me.”
“Why?”
That was actually kind of a good question.
“I don’t know!” I wailed, dredging up some tears. “I just met him last night, and we . . . you know . . . and now he like doesn’t want me to get hurt, but I don’t know who you are or what’s happening!”
Without warning, he drew back his arm and cracked me across the face with the gun. I felt the blow reverberate through my cheekbone and into my skull as I fell to the ground.
He’d actually fucking pistol-whipped me.
“Don’t lie to me, bitch,” he said conversationally.
God, that hurt. Apparently my acting skills were not as impressive as I’d hoped.
My knives were on the floor somewhere, but I couldn’t organize my thoughts enough to look for them.
From outside the container, I heard the sudden crack of gunfire. Had the skinners caught Jameson? I flinched, but when I looked up the thug was swearing and holding his shoulder, his attention fixed on the window as he ducked in between the panes. I automatically followed his gaze and saw a bullet hole in the window.
“Who the fuck is that?” he snapped, not turning to look at me.
That confused me—it wasn’t Jameson? The skinner raised his gun and squeezed off two shots, infinitely loud in the small metal space. The window splintered with the first shot and shattered with the next.
This might be my only chance, so I ignored my throbbing head and scooped up one knife by its handle. The guy realized his mistake and swung the barrel of the gun back around at me, but he was too late. I flung up an arm and threw the knife straight into his neck.
He dropped the gun, gurgling, and brought both hands up to his neck, trying to hold in the blood that was spurting from the artery. “I can’t believe you fell for that,” I said sarcastically, but he didn’t hear me. He was already dropping to the ground.
I looked out the empty window frame for Jameson, but he wasn’t there. Instead, I saw Cliff lying on the ground, surrounded by a rapidly expanding pool of blood. And I heard the sirens.
Oh, shit.
Chapter 20
Please don’t let him be dead.
I pulled my knife out of the dead guy and raced outside, dropping to my knees beside Cliff. When I rolled him onto his back, he gasped in pain, and something in my chest loosened.