Page 23 of Scout’s Honor

“Yeah, when and where?” His pulse quickened. Jameson was feeling him out. Dallas was ready. He wanted to be useful.

“Soon, at Shady Pines hospital. I’m heading out now.”

Dallas got up. “Okay, I’ll meet you there. I’ll leave now.”

“Good.”

Jameson hung up.

Dallas hurried out of his room to the garage to his parking spot—marked with a cat’s paw print—and climbed into his rental car, which he could drive with any prosthesis, even if he sometimes had to use his left foot. He started the car, then eased out of his stall. The back wall of the massive room glittered, sparkling lights on his rearview. The garage and much of the house had been built directly alongside and under Lightning Rock, which was a massive outcropping of natural minerals that lit up when light struck them.

The gargantuan garage door that led to the tunnel out was closed for the first time. He honked. Something fell on the seat next to him and he picked up an ordinary garage door opener. He pressed it, and the triple-wide garage door began to roll up and disappear into the ceiling, while sparkling lights played over it.

Cool. Like a disco Batcave.

He started through the tunnel, then reached the dirt road and slowed. The sun was dropping fast to one side, lighting up the underside of sparse clouds with peaches and pinks. He drove down the road into the valley, heading for the highway.

“Take a left at the next exit,” the GPS intoned.

(no) a voiceless voice inside him said, and in his mind’s eye, he saw himself speeding right past the exit. Dallas slowed, trying to work it out. He wrestled with himself, wanting to meet Jameson on time, but he also thought he was feeling the call of Instinct, and that should never be ignored.

He wasn’t sure though, his Instinct had never spoken up before, not like this.

He eyed the turn as it came up, then he coasted past it, just driving, unsure what he was doing.

Bonhi didn’t know a lot about guns, but she knew the guy was holding a handgun, and he didn’t seem comfortable holding it. It had a long tube that extended out of the barrel—a silencer. The sight made Bonhi’s legs weaken and she reached out a hand to steady herself.

“Come out,” he demanded.

“My purse is in the car,” Bonhi replied, shakily. “There's money in it. I can't see your face. Take it and go. I won't call the cops. You can have it.”

“Come out,” he snarled. He twitched, a real full body shake that made her think he was on drugs.

“The car is unlocked,” she said. “Take it. It’s yours.”

“Come out!” he bellowed, gesturing with the gun.

“No fucking way,” Bonhi whispered.

She took a step back, meaning to jump behind the desk.

POP.

He shot—a flat, unimportant sound. The glass shattered. Bonhi screamed. He kicked the broken glass and barreled through the door and grabbed her, yanking her out. He maneuvered her to her car.

He ripped open the passenger’s door and pushed her inside, all the way over to the driver’s seat, while he sat in the passenger seat. “Drive,” he shouted.

Bonhi found her purse and took her keys out, tears of fear and anger leaking down her face. She tried to fit the key in the ignition, but her hands were shaking. The guy shoved the gun into her side.

“Ow!” she cried, shrinking away. “You’re hurting me.”

The gun dug into her side harder. “I’ll hurt you bad if you don’t drive right fucking now.”

Somehow, she managed to get the car started and drive. At the highway, he told her to turn right. Bonhi turned right, unable to believe what was going on. A light rain started, soft drops hitting her windshield.

Functioning on autopilot, Bonhi pulled her seatbelt on, glad when the guy only moved the gun and let her do it, then the gun jabbed back into her side.

This was so bad.