Page 61 of The Vigilante's Lover

The gun rests in my lap, blue and cold.

I’m terrified of it.

The car rumbles lightly at my feet. I wish it were electric and silent instead of gas powered. I want to disappear. If anyone notices me, comes after me, then I have to use the gun.

My breathing speeds up just looking at it.

I think about what Jax said. There’s no antidote to a bullet.

Why didn’t he just give me a dart shooter?

I’m going to find one myself.

I turn around and reach for his knapsack.

The inside of the car is dark and I don’t dare turn on the light. I hold up the bag so the lamps in the parking lot will shine on it.

There are a lot of things inside. I reach my hand in. Out comes one of those wands they seem to use a lot. They detect stuff, but I have no idea how to use one.

I reach for something else.

The dart binoculars. Now I DO know how to use those. I wonder what the range is. It might not be good. And the tiny dart might not do much. That might be why Jax didn’t give it to me. It’s probably hard to aim.

Gah. I need training. I’m going to make him teach me.

I feel around in the bag and my hand closes over something small and cold. I pull it out.

The onyx ring. How interesting that he brought it. I slip it on my thumb. I wonder how it ended up in my aunt’s pantry stash, and why Jax found it important enough to carry with him.

It spins on my finger. I don’t want to lose it, so I take it off and put it back inside the bag.

That’s it. All he brought.

Gun it is, I guess. When I turn to put the knapsack back, my knee bumps against the steering wheel base.

“Engine off,” the dash voice says.

What?

The car rumbles to a stop.

Shoot. I set the gun on the passenger seat and look at the controls. I can’t read anything, plus the screen is off.

“Car?” I ask.

Nothing.

“Wake up?”

Still nothing.

I poke on anything I can see. Buttons, screen, the big round control in the center.

The car stays off.

Shoot. How do keyless cars turn on? I bumped something. It can’t be easy to turn the car off while it’s running. It must be a feature of when it’s parked. I feel along the steering column. I find several buttons and press them all.

Nothing.

Great.

I lift myself up off the seat and then sit down again.

Nope.

Maybe I have to get out of the car and get back in.

I pull on the handle.

Locked.

Whoa. What?

I jerk on it harder.

It doesn’t open.

I put the gun on the floor and crawl over to the passenger seat. That door is locked tight too. I try the windows. They don’t roll down.

I’m locked in.

And the car is off.

I breathe so hard and fast that I fog up the window on my side. I wipe it with my fist. What if Jax comes out? What if he’s running?

I can see more buttons low on the dash, so I push them. Everything is dead except the slow blinking red light indicating a car alarm. I keep thinking if I hit the window hard enough, that will set off the alarm, but then what would that do? It’s not like that would unlock it.

I want to scream with frustration. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I’m incompetent!

As the minutes pass, I force myself to calm down. I’m behaving like a civilian. Like I’m helpless.

I’m not. I’m getting out of here.

I start looking around the interior of the car. There has to be something in here I can use to escape. Think, Mia!

I crawl over the console to look out the driver-side window.

I can’t see below it, but I spot a faint reflection of a glow.

That cellophane thingy. That’s what has this car on lockdown.

Jax probably didn’t realize he was locking me in.

Of course, he probably didn’t anticipate my foolishly turning the car off.

I close my eyes, remembering all the times Jax used that special key. He blew that lid off the silo hatch with it. So it has some explosive power. And he broke into this car. There weren’t any keys. It runs off a code. So it can descramble those kinds of locks.

I can’t reach it with the window up, so it’s useless to me. I need a way out from the inside.

I struggle to think of a way. I could break a window, I guess. But the alarm would surely go off and attract attention.

I glance at the gun. Then I might have to use it.

Think, Mia, think.

Don’t fancy cars have a valet mode? Maybe that could circumvent that code descrambler. Do something manual to pop the door.

I feel under the dash well below the steering wheel. I find a button and press it.

A faint click outside the car tells me I just opened the cover of the gas tank. Not helpful.

I find another one, and the hood pops up an inch. Great, I’m booby-trapping the car if we need a quick getaway. I’ll fix it once I’m out.

The next one makes the hazard lights start blinking. I quickly shut them back off.

Then I find another small lever. I pull it.

The car chimes. The electronics come on for a second. My heart hammers like mad.

A female voice says, “Valet mode initiated.”

I tentatively tug on the door handle.

It opens!

I step out onto the asphalt. I did it! I got out! On my own! I dance in a little circle. Go, Mia. Go, Mia.

The exit opens at the back of the arena and I drop to the ground. Shoot. Excessive celebration. Not very Vigilante.

I crawl forward, thankful for the jeans. A drop-dead-gorgeous black-haired woman comes out, walking too fast to be normal. Is it her? I can’t tell in the uneven light of the parking lot.

Maybe this woman is just late for something.

She heads toward the rows of cars. I close the door quietly and move to the back of a delivery truck as she passes by about four cars down.

Her hair swings like a shiny curtain. She’s petite but everything about her is like a panther, strong and stealthy.

It’s her. I would bet on it.

And the gun is in the car.

Crap.

Something on her wrist lights up. A watch! She starts talking into it.

A Vigilante watch?

Maybe. I mean, there are ordinary watches you can talk to. They have Internet, as well as remote controls for cars and house functions. Those have been around for years.

But they’re not popular accessories. Particularly not for stylish women.

This has got to be her.

I crouch down and run alongside the cars, staying as near as I dare. She stops for a second to growl into the watch. Now I can hear her loud and clear.

“He just showed up here! Jax! Klaus is taking care of him.”

Shit! She said Jax!

My breathing speeds up. The menace in her voice could scare paint off a wall.

I try to think what to do. This woman looks strong, like she’s trained to take people down. But she is dressed well, in a short skirt, a button-down top, and heels. I don’t care how good you are, heels make you less stable and an easier mark.

“Sutherland, are you cutting me out?” she asks. “Nobody told me Jax survived the blast.”

Sutherland? The creepy dude in Colette’s car? The head guy? I scarcely dare to inhale, trying to listen to every word. This is the most important conversation of my life.

“All right. Fine,” she says. “I’m coming to the Washington office. I can’t get there until tomorrow night.” She jingles her other wrist with its collection of bangles. She’s agitated. “Don’t avoid me like you did in Chicago,” she insists and smacks the watch. The light goes out.

I glance around. She’s walking again. I have to get to her before she gets to her car.

And do what? Attack her? Shit. I need Jax. I don’t know what he wants with her.

Then I remember.

She blew up my HOUSE.

Bitch.

I don’t think for another minute but take off in a dead run. I’m going to enjoy watching her pretty face skid across the asphalt.