LITMIR.BIZ

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felt like he could almost place the man’s voice. “I mean, do we even know where Hank is?”

      “No, but Sully does.”

      “I thought he was gone. In the wind.”

      “Doesn’t mean we can’t get him back. The sorry SOB has a lot of problems, but his worst one is how he feels about his people. We find that boy he took a bullet for, and I bet we could smoke him out.”

      “If Sully hasn’t already bought a one-way ticket to the great fire pit in the ground.”

      The first man laughed. It sounded like nails against a chalkboard.

      “He may be soft, but Sully isn’t about to let a bullet do him in.”

      Car doors shut in the distance. An engine turned over.

      “And what if he doesn’t know where Hank is? Heck, what if Hank is already on his way out of the state with the boy?”

      Zach, the boys and the man with the Southern twang must have been leaving. James tried to split his attention, to see if he could hear if one or two vehicles were driving off, but he very much wanted the same answers as the unknown third man did.

      “You may not have been in for long enough to know about Hank, but I used to run with him a few years back. He’s not a stationary man, and definitely not a fan of the state. He came back for a reason. He won’t leave until he’s done whatever he needed to, and my guess is it wasn’t being the father to Gardner Todd’s kid. Now, let’s start with his old woman in—”

      Music—the chorus of the song “It’s Raining Men,” to be precise, courtesy of James’s sister and how hilarious she thought it was to try to embarrass him when she called—filled the attic around them. He and Suzy both reached for his coat pocket and his phone, lit up and blaring.

      “What the—”

      James wrapped his hand around the phone and pulled Suzy up and farther into the darkness, just as a shot sounded up through the attic door.

      “We need light!” she yelled. No point in trying to pretend no one was home when The Weather Girls were belting out one of their most famous hits.

      James held up the phone, giving them some light. Another bullet embedded itself in the roof above them. As soon as Suzy could see, she was playing hopscotch across the ceiling beams. The last thing they needed was to fall into the bedroom.

      “Whoever you are, you’re screwed!” yelled one of the men. James didn’t have the time to figure out which one it was. He canceled Chelsea’s call and used the phone as a flashlight.

      The attic ran the length of the house and was by no means spacious. They hunched and clung to roof beams as they hurried to get out from above where the men were.

      Not that that would make much difference when they decided to walk into the living room and unload a few more rounds into the ceiling.

      “How close is the truck to the house?” Suzy asked James. A ripping sound pulled his attention to her dress just in time to watch the tear that was already there split all the way up to her hip. Lord have mercy—if they weren’t running for their lives, James would have had to really think on the lacy number she was wearing beneath it.

      “How close is the—” he repeated.

      Suzy cut him off. “The vent!”

      James followed her line of sight to the attic vent at the end of the house. With a jolt of excitement, he understood.

      “Close enough,” he said.

      Another two bullets shot up behind him, too close for comfort. Suzy must have sensed it. The moment she got to another beam, she turned toward him, brandishing her gun.

      “Move!” she yelled.

      James didn’t have to be told twice. He hurried around her and kept going toward the vent while she did some shooting of her own. He counted four shots by the time he made it to the beam closest to the vent.

      Two bullets answered from the men below. James turned, worried she’d been hit.

      “Hurry!” she shouted at him.

      Holding two roof beams to steady himself the best he could in the small space, James pulled back his leg and then kicked out at the attic vent with all he had. The planks of wood splintered beneath the force. Suzy sent another few rounds beneath them while he kicked out again. Before he could clear the last two planks, he could already see the truck beneath them.

      “This is going to hurt,” he called over his shoulder. He moved his phone to allow more light to help her get the rest of the way to him.

      “Not as much as getting shot,” she bit back. “Trust me.”

      He wasn’t about to argue.

      He broke the last board, until all that was left was a hole they’d have to squeeze through. But, like Suzy said, it was better than the alternative.

      “As soon as you hit the truck bed, I’m gunning it. So make sure you buy us some time with those bullets,” he said.

      “Yes, sir.” Suzy nodded, turned and unloaded her clip into the floor.

      As soon as the last bullet left her barrel, James moved through the hole that used to be the attic vent, grabbed on to its sides, said a quick prayer and pushed off.

      * * *

      WHEN SUZY WAS FIFTEEN, she had dared Billy to jump off the Wendigo Bridge on their way home from school. It wasn’t that high above the water, but tall enough that Billy wasn’t having any of it. By the time she’d decided to stop ragging him about it, Tommy Wexler and his cute older brother had shown up. The way Suzy had seen it then, she’d had no choice at that point. She had to jump.

      She still remembered how her stomach had turned to nothing but butterflies as she stood on the old railing and looked down at the water. Billy had still been spouting concern, but promised he’d try to fetch her if she started drowning. The Wexler boys weren’t as concerned, but said a few things that made her believe they’d be impressed if she did, indeed, go through with it. So she’d taken that first step without hesitation.

      What Suzy never told Tommy Wexler—or Billy, for that matter—was that she’d seen her friend Melanie do the same thing the previous summer on a dare. It was a scary drop, but as long as she tucked her legs in and held her nose, she’d be fine. But Melanie had told Suzy that the real secret was in knowing you’d be fine before you ever did it. Confidence was key, she’d said.

      Now, no longer a teen trying to impress a boy, Suzy realized that the key had never been confidence. It had been youthful stupidity.

      And, boy, did she feel stupid jumping off a house in an attempt to hit the back of a truck with a nine-or ten-foot drop in between the two.

      She felt a slight fizzle of confidence spring up when James hit his target and none of his bones snapped in half. At least, none that she heard.

      James landed in the truck bed on his feet, and a second later he was out and over the side. The moment he flung open the driver’s-side door, Suzy held her breath and followed.

      If she hadn’t abandoned her high heels in the attic, she was certain her ankles would have twisted something awful. As it was, when her feet connected with the metal, a jarring jolt of pain radiated up through her. However, nothing felt terribly wrong. Though she was sure she’d be feeling it the next morning.

      That was, if they made it to the next morning.

      It wasn’t like two full-grown adults landing in the back of a pickup were exactly quiet. If the gunmen hadn’t already left wherever they’d been seeking cover when she’d shot at them, they’d leave soon to find them.

      On cue, a man yelled from inside of the house. “They’re outside!”

      Suzy was whirling around, trying to get James’s status on driving them away, when

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