Chapter 12
"Again. Faster this time." Sam kept his hands on the steering wheel, giving me a once over behind his silver sunglasses.
"I've already shown you twice, Sam." I yanked down my sports jacket.
"Again. And make it look good. I wanna see lots more flesh."
"You are so demanding when you're in charge."
"You haven't complained yet." The lines of his mouth turned up in that wry smile that said he loved yanking my chain for his personal thrill.
"Fine, but this is the last time, so get an eyeful."
Sam considered his rearview mirror. "Okay, here he comes. One, two...go."
A semi roared up on our right, his hood pushing into my peripheral view.
I shifted in my chair, grabbed the handle for the seat-back and shoved my heels into the floorboard. The chair flattened backwards as the semi whooshed past. And I was suddenly looking up at Max, who panted with his tongue still in his mouth. In other words, laughing at mama's dumb trick. I scratched him under the chin, giggling, and he nuzzled my head.
Sam grunted. "Three seconds. That's two seconds too long. Bullets fly fast, so I need to know you got this down. Like it's natural." Sam tickled my tummy, which showed every time I flattened the seat back and hiked up my top. "Nice to hear you laughing again, though."
Yanking the lever, I popped the chair upright. I practiced the lever's release a few times to see what caused my delay. "The lever catches before releasing, so I tend to push back twice."
"If you know the lever catches, then find the rhythm and push once. Get in synch with the mechanics, so you don't double your efforts. A split second counts in this game."
"And here I thought we were playing the 'night out on the town without gunman' game."
"For a woman who hates violence, playing safe doesn't come naturally to you. At home maybe you were a shut-in, but in the field..." He spit out his breath. "You're a moth to every inferno. No wonder your fiancé wanted you out of the war business. Frankly, I'm not sure I could've handled your job either."
I sucked in my bottom lip and stared out the window at tips of fir trees and boulders rising from the white mantle covering the Adirondacks. So much of the landscape was buried, frozen. Talking about Luke, especially since I'd learned he'd died in a car bombing meant to kill me, felt not just depressing but indecent. After all, he wasn't the one who'd taken photos of Goliath members and the Mafia's men shaking hands and cutting under-the-table deals at the 9/11 site. Or been the one who wanted to exit our engagement. Those were my sins.
Even more disturbing: Sam spoke as if he could have been my fiancé, which for about sixty seconds he was the night he got shot.
I wrapped my arms around myself, the cold landscape penetrating my bones. "Seems like I'm still in the war business, frankly."
With a sigh, Sam said, "Point taken." His voice sounded deflated, and he leaned against his window onto his fist. His cell buzzed before I could squeeze in an apology. "Fields." He pushed back his sunglasses and mouthed "Mallory," but I could hear her whiskey voice for myself. "Rabbit's right beside me, why?"
"Roy and I were taking bets as to what you two were doing."
"Evasive maneuvers," said Sam.
Mallory snorted. "Is that what you kids are calling it these days?"
Catching Sam's smirk, I said, "Wait, she thinks I was giving you...in the truck at seventy miles an hour?" I practically hissed.
Sam closed his eyes a second, probably imagining me face-down in his lap. "That would be a negative, Trace. What's our ETA?"
