Page 19 of Taken With Trouble

Liam. Of course it is. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, looking completely at ease. How did he get a car so fast?

“I’d rather take my chances with the gunmen,” I say.

“In that case, you might want this.” He dangles my 9mm out the window.

“Hank!” I dive for my beloved gun, but he pulls it into the car.

“Get in.”

I have no other choice. Scratch that. Idohave another choice, but I’d fare much better with Hank at my side.

I jump into the car and snatch my gun out of Liam’s grasp.

Liam shoves the car into drive and takes off. Bullets pelt the metal of the car and Liam speeds up, dodging around an old van.

“So, you name your guns?” he asks as if we aren’t in the middle of a killer car chase.

“Shut up and drive.”

“I’ve heard that song before. Reminds me, should we play some tunes for this riveting adventure?” He pushes the buttons on the dash, and French pop blares through the car speakers.

“I won’t hear the shots,” I shout over the noise.

“That’s the whole point,” he shouts back. “Makes it more exciting, does it not?”

Two more bullets lodge into the trunk, but barely make a sound.

I refuse to agree with him, but I’ve got to admit, there is something cinematic about this moment. The music makes everything feel less real, and it helps immensely with my nerves.

“Hold on,” Liam shouts a split second before flying over a bump in the road. My head smacks the window, but I blink away the stars.

Engines thunder behind us, and I turn around, observing the situation. “They found motorcycles.” I warn him, calculating the risks in my head. Easier to take out, but much quicker to catch us on a busy road. “One’s coming up on the left.”

Liam’s jaw clenches and he checks the side mirror. He turns right, but the man on the motorcycle stays on our tail. The man raises his gun.

I shoot first. The bullet goes through the back window and into his shoulder. He loses his grip on the handlebars and flips off the bike.

“Nice shot, killer.”

“He’ll live,” I mutter, then train my gun on the next motorcycle. It’s fifty feet behind, but the distance isn’t stopping him from taking shots.

“Can’t you go any faster?” I screech as a bullet flies past my face, shattering the glass behind my head.

“Want to trade places?”

“Gladly.” I’d drive him right off a cliff.

The hitman is thirty feet away now and closing in fast.

“I’m going to do something crazy,” Liam shouts.

Bullets pelt the back of the car, and I duck. “Stop talking and do it.”

At that moment my stomach drops, and the papers in the backseat begin to float. Uh oh.

We’re airborne.

I should have asked more questions.