Shiver by Karen Robards Page B

a small foil packet that she’d produced from somewhere, she pulled from it a pair of wet wipes, unfolded them, and proceeded to wipe her face and arms then scrub at her hands. “I’ll drive you to wherever you’re going—as long as it’s fairly close—but then I’m out of this. I have to get home to my son.”
    Something in her tone told him that she thought the tide of power had turned in her favor. Danny frowned. Arguing with her at this point seemed counterproductive, however, since she had professed willingness to drive at his direction; his best bet was to wait until she was no longer willing and revisit the discussion then, when hopefully his head was a little clearer. He was just coming to that conclusion when an alarming possibility occurred to him. Thrusting a discreet hand down into the door pocket at his side confirmed what he already suspected: she’d taken the gun.
    He withdrew his hand slowly. She watched him. From the expression on her face, she knew what was up.
    “We’re both better off if I have the gun.” His tone was even, reasonable.
    She snorted. “I don’t think so.”
    “How about if I give you my word I’m not going to shoot you?”
    “How about if I give you my word I’m not going to shoot you ?” She paused. “Unless you deserve it.”
    “Professional killers are hot on our tail. I need to be able to shoot them.”
    “If they find us, I’ll shoot them.”
    “No offense, baby doll, but—”
    “Just so we’re clear, I’m not your ‘baby doll,’” she broke in. She was busy untying the cord around her waist as she spoke. Concluding that since she hadn’t bolted while he was unconscious she probably wasn’t going to anytime soon, he merely watched as she undid the knot and, with a hard look at him, gathered up the jumper cable and dropped it into the back, where it landed with a clatter on the floor. “And you’re not getting my gun back, so you might as well give up trying. Where do you want me to drive you? If I were you I’d make up my mind fast, before I decide my best bet is straight to the nearest police station.”
    “The police can’t protect you. Even if they threw you in jail you wouldn’t be safe. These people can get to you anywhere.”
    “So you say. I just have your word for that.”
    They exchanged measuring looks.
    “Let’s get out of here. Head for the expressway.” With that, he tacitly conceded that he wasn’t going to be wrestling her for possession of the gun anytime soon. Staying on the move was vital if he wanted to keep them one step ahead of Veith. His original intention had been to head across the river into St. Louis. The breached safe house, as well as the other nearby house where Crittenden’s group was based, was located over there, in the Riverview neighborhood. But then he remembered that Marco would know nothing of the second house, or hovering FBI agents. All Marco would know was that the U.S. Marshals guarding him hadn’t been able to keep him safe, that Veith and the cartel had found him, that he’d escaped by the skin of his teeth, and that he was running for his life.
    So what would Marco, badly wounded and panicking, aware that it was just a matter of time until Veith or somebody else equally lethal caught up with him, do?
    If he were smart, he’d turn himself back over to the marshals. First of all, he needed medical attention. The patch-up job on his leg wasn’t a long-term fix by any means, and if the way he felt was any indication, he needed to get it, as well as his other injuries, seen to pronto. Plus there was the girl, whom his version of Marco was determined to keep safe, which in his present condition he wasn’t going to be able to do on his own. All things considered, and tonight’s fuck-up notwithstanding, the marshals were probably Marco’s best bet for staying alive. And the thing about a fuck-up was, it looked bad on the records of everyone involved. The marshal’s office would be pissed,