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the van's passenger window. He tried to sight on their truck through the scope of a hunting rifle. But the movement of the van didn't allow him a clear shot. The gunfire had caused most of the traffic around and ahead of them to pull over or fall back. A pickup right in front of them slowed, the driver craning his neck in a frantic attempt to see where the shots hailed from. D.J. jerked the wheel to the left to avoid a collision. Another blast of gunfire made her duck in reflex. The rear tire of the pickup popped, and the truck skidded off the road, coming to a stop in the ditch. |
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"Sorry," she muttered, jerking the Explorer back into the right lane. D.J.'s arm yelped in pain at the movement, and sweat tickled a trail between her breasts. Too bad she didn't have time to take off her jacket. What had been a necessity for warmth during her trip out into the night searching for McCall had become a liability with the advent of day. D.J. removed her hand from the wheel long enough to swipe at her brow. |
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Odd; her skin felt cold. How could that be when her forehead dripped with sweat? |
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D.J. shifted against the awkward weight of McCall's head in her lap. When he moved as if to sit up she shoved him back, none too gently. |
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"They're shooting at us, idiot. I'm almost to the lake. On the other side I'll exit and lose them. I don't need to worry about you getting your head blown off as well as my own. Just stay the hell down." |
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The warning in her voice must have reached him because he subsided without argument, remaining |
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