“Hold on,” he told her, breathing the words into her ear. “Just a few more minutes...”
Air rushed into the van. Someone had opened the back door! Were they crazy? Why not just invite the shooters to aim at them and—
Three fast blasts of thunder—gunfire. Only, those shots came from the van. The men weren’t just waiting to be targets. They were taking out the shooters after them.
Three bullets. Then...silence.
“Got ’em,” Texas said just seconds before she heard the crash. A screech of metal and the shattering of glass.
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The van lurched to the left, seeming to race away even faster.
Juliana looked up. Her eyes had adjusted more to the darkness now. She could almost see Logan’s features above her. Almost.
“Uh, Logan, you can probably get off her now,” that same drawling voice mocked.
But Logan didn’t move.
And Juliana was still barely breathing.
“Missed you.”
The words were so faint, she wasn’t even sure that she’d heard them. Actually, no, she couldn’t have heard them. Imagined them, yes. That had to be it. Because there was no way Logan had actually spoken. Logan Quinn was the big, strong badass who’d left her without a backward glance. He wouldn’t say something as sappy as that line.
Backbone, girl. Backbone. She’d survived her hell; no way would she break for a man now. “Are we safe?”
She felt, more than saw, his nod. “For now.”
Right. Well, she’d thought they were safe before, until the gunfire had blasted into the back of the van. But Texas had taken out the bad guys who’d managed to follow them. So that had to buy them at least a few minutes. And the way the woman was driving...
Eat our dust, jerks.
“Then, if we’re safe...” Juliana brought her hands up and shoved against his chest. Like rock. Some things never changed. “Get off me, Logan, now.”
He rose slowly, pulling her with him and then positioning her near the front of the van. Juliana was trembling—her body shaking with fear, fury and an adrenaline burst that she knew would fade soon. When it faded, she’d crash.
“Once we get out of Mexico, they’ll stop hunting you,” Logan said.
Juliana swallowed. Her throat still felt too parched, as if she’d swallowed broken glass, but now didn’t seem the time to ask for water. Maybe once they stopped fleeing through the night. Yes, that would be the better moment. “And...when...exactly...do we get out of Mexico?”
No one spoke. Not a good sign.
“In a little over twenty-four hours,” Logan answered.
What? No way. They could drive out of Mexico faster than that. Twenty-four hours didn’t even make—
“Guerrero controls the Federales near the border,” Logan told her, his voice flat. “No way do we get to just waltz out of this country with you.”
“Then...how?”
“We’re gonna fly, baby.”
Baby. She stiffened. She was not his baby, and if the guy hadn’t just saved her, she’d be tearing into him. But a woman had to be grateful...for now.
Without Logan and his team—and who, exactly, were they?—she’d be sampling the torture techniques of those men in that hellhole.
“We’ll be going out on a plane that sneaks right past any guards who are waiting. Guerrero’s paid cops won’t even know when we vanish.”