For a scintillating instant, she saw the world: Allen’s grief and worry, Steiner’s anger and frustration, the guards’ confusion . . . and Jack’s confident pleasure that she was going to save his ass again.
This is not for you, she thought, and then the blue sparkles flashed, obliterating everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Whoa, look at that,” the driver said, and Peri lurched, catching her balance as the van holding Jack swerved. They were back outside WEFT. The only people who would know they were rewriting time were she, Allen, and Jack. Her pulse hammered as her plan held firm. She was going to manipulate Michael into killing Bill. She had a week to do it if she could slip WEFT and reach LB.
Her eyes went to Allen, his hand still in hers, cold from that ice pack. “Take care of yourself,” he said, and then he bellowed, throwing himself at Steiner standing in the aisle.
The man cried out in shock as he went down, falling in between the two front seats.
She moved, her foot slamming into the rising guard to send him flailing back to smack his head against the wall of the van. Peri lurched into him, using her elbow to send him crashing back again, this time falling unconscious.
“Peri!” Harmony exclaimed, wide-eyed as she tried to stand, falling when the van swerved wildly.
Peri’s hand was already on the guard’s Glock, and she ripped it from his slack fingers. “Steiner knows. If I go behind those walls, I’m never coming out.”
“We’re in a draft?” Harmony said, and then she became angry. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t tell him.”
“Look out!” the driver shouted, and Peri fell as the van swerved to avoid crashing into the vehicle ahead of them. Pain lanced through her knee as she hit the floor, and she ignored it. Her grip tightened on the Glock, refusing to let go even as the van lurched to a stop. Eyes wide, she watched out the front window as Jack’s van careened into one of the trees strategically placed to line the drive to the gate. Muted gunfire sounded from inside it, and their driver reached for his sidearm.
“Firefight!” the driver said, reaching for the door even as he turned to look behind him for permission to leave, his eyes widening as he saw the guard out cold and Steiner down under Allen. He scrambled to bring his weapon to bear, then froze as his buddy in the front seat already had, Peri’s Glock pointed at his head.
“Not happening,” Peri said, still on the floor, and she shot them both in the arm.
The twin pops and kicks jolted her. Adrenaline was a sweet drug, and she rolled, knee throbbing, to the sliding side door. As the men in the front howled, she opened the door and slid to the ground. Guards were coming out of the nearby gatehouse, and they all had weapons.
“Peri!”
She turned at Allen’s demanding call, and he threw a phone at her. She caught it, feeling the warmth of the guard he’d taken it from.
“Call me,” he mouthed, pantomiming a phone with his thumb and pinky, and then he went down under the two guards she’d shot in the arm. “Go!”
Grimacing, she ran for the surrounding trees, her knee throbbing as she fired into the air to keep everyone where they were. She was free and moving. For the moment. Not a sound came from Jack’s van as she passed it, and she wondered whether she wished he was dead.
“Someone get her! Beam!” Steiner bellowed from inside the van, and Peri dodged behind the trees lining the road, headed for the nearest industrial building and the cars in the lot, praying the men in the guardhouse were not good shots. It was a good half mile. Not fast enough, she mused. A gun fired, muffled from the van, and she hesitated. Allen.
But then she heard him screaming obscenities, and relief spurred her on. “Go! Run!” Allen shouted as he stumbled out of the van and was downed by the first guard to reach him. Steiner lurched into the van’s door, his face ugly in anger.
“Shoot her! Bring her down!”
Peri zigzagged into the thicker cover of the trees, hearing branches break from bullets.
“Peri!” a familiar voice called, and she stumbled, her heart seeming to stop as she turned, arm shaking as she pointed her Glock.
It was Jack.
He was free, a rifle beside him as he knelt behind a tree and used a paper clip to unlock his cuffs. She froze, the sound of men organizing behind her meaning nothing. And then he tossed his hair out of his eyes, smiling up at her as his cuffs came free and he stood, rifle in hand.
Emotion plinked through her, anger at his betrayal, anger that she’d loved him, anger that not all of those feelings were dead. That he was not a hallucination left her unexpectedly scrambling. He was real, from his torn and dirt-smeared suit to his too-thick stubble, and she was suddenly scared. I don’t love him. You can’t love someone you don’t trust.
“I wouldn’t have shot you in the back if you hadn’t turned it on me,” she whispered, her arm holding the Glock falling, and his smile became quirky as he ran his eyes up and down her in assessment.
“Isn’t that the truth. Are you hit? Can you run?” he asked, his attention lingering on her knee, now sporting a bright red as something bled out. Even so, she nodded, almost in shock as his fingers circled her wrist and he pulled her into motion, headed for the nearest manufacturing building. Behind them, the sound of men grew loud. “Thanks for the draft. It was exactly what I needed, when I needed it. Damn! I miss working with you. Right like clockwork, almost as if we’d planned it.”
This is so bad for my asthma, she thought. “I didn’t draft to help you,” she said, but her gaze went to the two vans as more gunshots rang out. Allen was fighting, buying her time.