Getaway Girl
Imay not always know where I'm going—or even why—but that's fine. It's the journey that rocks my world.
The back door of the car I sat in, a charcoal Audi A8, swung open. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I eyed the masked face that popped inside the backseat. Two dark eyes sought my calm stare.
"Pickup?" the urgent male voice questioned. His French accent made it sound like peek-up.
"Three passengers?" I volleyed back.
"Oui," he gasped. "La lapine?"
"Yes. Are you being followed?"
The hiss of a gunshot zinged past the passenger side window at the same time that the man snapped, "Oui!"
Behind him, still on the sidewalk, a female's nervous squeal prompted his resolve. He slammed an insistent palm against the headrest of the passenger seat. "Get in!" I urged.
The man slid across the leather backseat. A woman clothed in a pink velour running suit followed. Her face was masked with a black hood, and her hands were bound before her with thick, dirty rope. Shoved into the center of the seat by another masked man, she murmured frantically.
Another bullet ping ... read full excerpt from: Getaway Girl ebook
