The Runner’s back cameras and radar were working great, though. Good enough to see that those bastards were gaining on her.
She should have never come out alone.
Under no circumstances.
She should have called in backup when she first heard the Coyotes’ howls. But her cousin Linc was manning communications and he would have ordered her back.
She’d already been in the area when she picked up the radio transmissions earlier that night that the Cerveses’ young daughter had been taken from the compound by suspected Council Breeds.
How the Coyotes managed that, she couldn’t imagine.
Checking radar and cameras again, she calculated the distance to the compound and saw a glimmer of hope. She was actually closer than she’d thought she’d be. Not much farther.
Not that she would be exactly safe once she arrived at their compound—if she arrived. The Cerves family had brutal reputations. The Cerves criminal cartel didn’t wait to ask questions. They killed first.
As she checked the monitor again, her jaw tightened. Shifting gears with fierce, quick movements, she heard power build in the motor as she pushed it for more speed, gritting her teeth and restraining a curse as the first bullet struck the side of the Runner.
The desert vehicle wasn’t bullet resistant and the Coyotes knew it.
Fire flashed in the cameras and the sound of automatic gunfire behind her, pelting over the Runner, had her using every trick she knew to push the motor harder, faster.
Gunfire still erupted behind her, but the pinging had stopped. She estimated she was staying just out of reach of them. But she and little Louisa weren’t home free yet, and she was running straight into an armed force that would already be prepared to shoot at the first sign of a threat. A Runner crashing the gates would definitely be seen as a sign.
The night sped by as adrenaline pumped fast and hard through her body and the Runner raced through the desert.
She had to keep both hands on the steering wheel. At the speeds she was pushing the Runner to, she didn’t dare take one off to comfort the baby.
Louisa was only eight years old, though, and Chelsea knew
that comfort was something the child could have used.
Eight years old.
If she survived, would her young mind ever pull free of what had happened tonight?
Twenty minutes.
She’d been racing through the night for twenty minutes.
The temperature gauge on the Runner was edging higher. It wasn’t meant to run this hard, this fast, for this distance.
She was close, though. Any minute she should see the glow of the lights that lit the estate like a damned airport runway.
Guards had surrounded it earlier in the day before Louisa’s disappearance. Surely they were still there.
What if they weren’t?
What if the estate was deserted?
As she flew over the next rise, those lights glowed in the distance. Rather than pulling back, the Coyotes were firing again, and another ping to the side of the Runner had Chelsea quickly twisting the wheel, fighting to keep the Coyotes behind her. The chance of a bullet hitting her was slighter there. There was no protection to the side.
As she drew closer to the estate, she could see men running, automatic weapons in their hands. The gates weren’t opening and there was no time to stop. If she stopped, her side would be exposed as the Coyotes raced past her. She’d be easy to pick off.
Praying the reinforced metal of the Runner’s front guard held up, she pointed the Runner toward the gates, her teeth locked tight, her eyes narrowing on that point. If she could just make it to those gates and crash through . . .
As long as the Cerves guards didn’t shoot her first.
She prayed they glimpsed the Breed Underground insignia she hurried to flip on. The bright red BU on the front guard was all she’d have to alert them that she wasn’t some dumbass just hoping to break through and cause murder and mayhem.