Page 38 of Shane
She’d failed, and her sweet daughter was still alive somewhere, but only because Shane had sent her pretty, “Infidel!” screaming mother to her eternal reward with a precisely placed double-tap.
He always wondered what eternal reward Muslim women received after orchestrating their own martyrdom and murdering their babies. Zealous Muslim males who waged war against alleged enemies of Islam were rewarded in the afterlife with seventy-two virgins. What did mothers get out of sacrificing their children in the name of Allah? Besides dead? What on earth could possibly be worth that kind of sacrifice?
Damned if Shane knew, but he was going to Google that one of these days, maybe when he actually gave a shit. The heinous crimes committed in the name of Jesus Christ and Allah were the real sins.Thosetruly used the Lord’s name—or names—in vain.
When the Uber driver rolled into the parking lot in a silver Toyota Camry sedan, Smart’s head came up. She’d caught Shane studying her. He turned toward Everlee to catch his balance. He wasn’t looking for love in all the wrong places, and he wasn’t dumb. There was just something about Ms. Smart that sparked the protective instinct in him. That had to stop.
“I don’t have shoes,” she said softly, bringing his attention back to her. Her eyes seemed bigger and sadder than they’d been before. They were red-rimmed, her eyelids swollen, and there was a good-sized scrape on her chin, probably from when Everlee took her down. “Would you mind stomping my phone for me? I don’t want anyone to find me, not ever again.”
See? Right there? She said the right words, but was that softly spoken, innocent-sounding plea just a bait-and-hook tactic to get him on her side? Did she see him as just another mark to manipulate, or was she sincere? Shane wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to care. Ms. Smart was a job. Just a job. He didn’t have to like her to get her safely back to DC.
But he did care, and that was a problem. He was beginning to like Tuesday Smart. God bless him if she really was the child-killer, Tuesday Bremmer.
“Sure.” He replied gruffly to reinforce his indifference. “I’ll take care of it.” Letting his cell fall to the ground beside hers, he mashed both in a boot crunch of shattered plastic, lost contact lists, and photos. That hurt more than he’d expected. He should’ve removed his SD card first, damn it. Oh, well. He had the Cloud. Guess he’d have to learn how to use it.
He opened the rear door of the sedan and, like a gentleman, gestured for Ms. Smart to climb inside. She’d no more than ducked her head like an obedient child to enter the car, when a white boat of a 1970 Lincoln Continental careened around the corner on two wheels, tires squealing, and streaming black smoke behind it. Someone in the car yelled a mouthful of blistering, racist profanities. Two AKs bristled from the front and rear side windows. Thunder and death spewed across the parking lot in crystal sharp rat-a-tat-tats.
Ms. Smart stood frozen in shock. “He found me! See? Just like I said he would!”
Shane dove for her, flattening her to the asphalt beside the sedan. He covered her quivering body with his. Made sure no part of her was left exposed. He was big enough. Greater body mass. He could take a hit and probably live through it. She couldn’t.
Another flurry of bullets blistered the storefront. Plate-glass windows shattered. An alarm screamed from inside the store. More random shots kicked up dust and concrete shards. The screaming profanity continued. Nothing definitive. Nothing that singled Ms. Smart out. Just random, “Die motherfucker!” and other senseless crap.
The Uber driver took off like his pants were on fire. Smart man. But that left Shane and Ms. Smart in the open. Even Everlee had left them. Like a maniac, she was chasing after the damned Lincoln, returning fire with practiced skill. She hit the car. The rear window shattered, and she might have hit one of the punks inside. But the Lincoln didn’t slow down.
“He’s going to kill me,” Ms. Smart whimpered, her body racked with hiccups and sobs. “You have to believe me, Agent Hayes. He wants me dead, but I don’t know why. I don’t even know who he is.”
Out in the street, Everlee dropped one empty magazine and slapped another home without taking her eyes off the fleeing vehicle or missing a beat. Shane was smitten all over again. But not with the one whimpering in his arms. Nah. His heartbeat raced for the one in the street swearing a blue streak at the asshats who’d gotten away. The spunky woman who so obviously had his six. The bossy, gutsy one. Everlee was definitely something else. And the way she handled her piece? Sexy as hell. There was just something about a woman who knew how to handle firearms and swear. The vicious Jiminy Christmases she was flinging at the gangbangers were cute as hell.
But he still had a job to do. He palmed the back of Ms. Smart’s head and forced her to stay flat against the still warm-enough-to-fry-an-egg asphalt beneath them. Less chance of a body getting hit that way. Less elevated body mass meant less of a target if those gangsters circled back. And him without his pistols.
Heat radiated into his kneecaps as he crouched protectively over Ms. Smart. She was damned small and trembling and crying, and shit. He couldn’t help it. She was still a woman, and he was an idiot. Shane rolled to his side and pulled her into his arms, putting her back to his front, and his back to the street, making him the bigger target. Her head fell against his biceps, and stupid caveman that he was, he put his cheek next to hers and whispered, “Shush. No one can get to you while I’m here.”
She shifted around until she faced him. “B-but you believe me, don’t you?”
Her stammering nearly did him in. Damn, as smart as he was, she might just be smarter. “Not my job to believe or disbelieve you, ma’am,” he told her with as much indifference as he could muster. Which wasn’t much at the moment. “My job is just taking you back to DC and turning you over to the FBI.”
Her lower lip quivered. It took her a minute to settle under his chin. He felt the soft flutter of her eyelashes like frightened butterflies on his neck. Her breath was warm over his skin and she smelled of feminine sweat and breath mints. As much as he knew this was one helluva stupid mistake, Shane wanted her there now that the immediate danger was past. He could and would keep her safe, damn it. This—she—washis sole purpose, and all he was doing was his job. Tuesday Smart, Bremmer, whatever, was mission one.
“He said he’ll kill me,” she whined, her fingers knotted into the front of his polo and her heart pounding hard. He could feel each hammering beat through the soft, plump breasts pushing against his chest. It truly felt as if she were trying to crawl inside of him to hide.
God, if she’d only be honest, just once. “Who?”
“The guy who called me. The guy I told you about, the one with the robot voice.”
“Whoever he is, he can’t get to you while I’m here,” Shane assured her gruffly. He’d meant to include Everlee when he said,‘while we’re here,’instead of just‘while I’m here.’But he’d said the first thing that popped into his dumb head and, unfortunately, it ended up making this interaction sound more personal than businesslike. And too damned kind. Apparently, his big brain wasn’t in sync with his little brain. In another time and place, this position with a woman could’ve led to a night of sex and pleasure. Yeah, right. In another time and place, the woman in his arms wouldn’t have been a murderer.
There was no way to know if that drive-by shooting had even been meant for Ms. Smart. It could’ve been a warning or a payback aimed at the convenience store owner. Or just the neighborhood gangsters flexing their muscles to prove how tough they were. By then, sirens were again headed in their direction.
“We need to move. Now, big guy. Get up,” Everlee snapped at Shane.
“Copy that.” He pulled Ms. Smart to her feet as he stood. “We should talk to the police first. Alex will under—”
“Nope,” Everlee bit out. “Not talking to the police. Tonight we just do what Alex said. Follow me.”
Well, okay then. She seemed to think she was in charge. Who was he to disagree?
She waved them around the convenience store, past a row of Dumpsters. The stink casting off them reminded him of the obnoxious scents that hit a guy’s nose the second he stepped off the tailgate of the C-130 that dropped him in Afghanistan. Nothing quite like the nose-curdling sting of raw sewerage, rotted animal carcasses, and week-old wet garbage to bring on a guy’s gag reflex.