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D.J. didn't look to see if the driver hit the brakes and turned to come after them. She punched the gas, leaned into the turn, and shoved McCall off her lap. |
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He sat up, moved over, then turned and frowned at the empty hole where a window had once been. "A little close, don't you think?" |
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"In guns, close is dead or injured. We're both fine, so I wouldn't say it was close." |
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"Oh, well, that's a relief. You had me worried." |
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She ignored his sarcasm and kept driving. |
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D.J. sighed. She'd hoped to avoid it, but they had nowhere else to run now. In the back of her mind she must have been planning to go there all along if things got too bad. Otherwise why had she driven north in the first place? She had sworn never to set foot in her father's hunting lodge again, but now she had little choice. At least he wouldn't be there to ruin the peace and beauty of the place, as he'd done on every occasion they'd spent there together in the past. |
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"We're going to . . ." D.J. began, then stopped and frowned. |
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Her voice sounded funny. Like a tape player with a waning batteryslow, slower, slowest. |
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"What's that?" McCall's voice sounded the same as hers, as though he were speaking from the midst of a thick, syrupy fog. She glanced at him. He wavered before her eyes. She blinked and turned back to the road. The yellow line slithered like a snake, and she jerked the wheel in an attempt to follow the shifting path of the asphalt. |
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