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Sure enough, Bulldog and Rex disappeared into his armored vehicle and peeled out of the lot, chasing the vintage Chevy.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” His mind registered the lucky development, but his heart still pounded in his ears and he consciously unclenched his fists. “I’ll explain on the way, but for now, we’re heading north. Take 94 to 85.”
“To 85.” Veronica completed the sentence with him, and a wave of nostalgia hit him sideways, making it all too easy to forget they were only safe for this moment, that Rex wanted Veronica’s head on a pike. He was transported back to when their futures were unknown, when he’d assumed they’d serve on RGPD together long enough to take their close friendship to the next place. To something more. Something lasting.
He’d blown that chance to smithereens.
“Hang on.” Veronica’s two words of warning broke his mental trip onto the neighborhood of his mind—always a scary place to visit—a split second before Veronica pushed the ignition button, put the truck into gear and peeled out of the field with the confidence of a Hollywood stunt person.
An hour later, Veronica yawned as she kept driving on Highway 85, heading north. They’d both remained silent since leaving Red Grove, for which her jangled nerves were grateful. She imagined Dylan was coming down off his own adrenaline high, too.
The monotony of the highway at night grew wearying, and she cast a glance at him. He remained ramrod straight despite the luxurious leather bucket seat he—and she—sat in. “Relax, Dylan. We got away from Rex and Bulldog. We’re safe.” She couldn’t say the same for the Camaro driver. Had they caught up to them, figured out it wasn’t her or Dylan?
“I don’t need to be talked off a ledge, Veronica.” His words were clipped. “Just drive.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you’re unhinged. Just trying to be a supportive partner. I know I’m finally feeling more myself.” She patted the top of the truck’s dashboard while keeping one hand on the wheel. “This is a lot of fun to drive, by the way. Where did you get it?”
“It’s a recon from a Los Angeles cartel.”
She snorted. “Figures. And you drove it up here?”
“I didn’t but my team sent several different vehicles that I’ve used as needed, to keep my cover.”
“So you thought we’d be mowing down some bad guys tonight?”
“No, I didn’t think about anything except getting here as quickly as I could once I found out that Rex sent Gus and Will back out. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I had no time alone, no chance. What did you do to Gus and Will, by the way?”
“Nothing, but I slashed their tires on the way in to Frisky. Just in case.”
“Smart.”
“More like prudent.”
She remembered the conversation with Hank, about him suggesting she go away with Hawk. “Any chance your men suggested you go away with me, take a break?”
“Hank, too?”
They shared a laugh.
“We have to give them credit for their industriousness, don’t we?” Dylan’s smile was evident from a flash of white illuminated by the dash lights.
“Hmm.” She didn’t trust herself to say anything, suddenly choking back tears. Oh, jeez. It had to be the adrenaline letdown and not how Dylan’s use of “we” sounded so familiar. So right.
As if he sensed her sudden change in mood, he used the handle over his window to shift in his seat, stretch.
“On to more practical matters. There are clothes for you in the back, and some toiletries. Fair warning—I had to guess at what you’d need, and the dollar mart was limited in its selection.”
“No frets. With the few items in my go bag, I’ll be fine.” She didn’t ask how long they’d be gone, because she knew there wasn’t an answer. Evading Rex and Bulldog was but a road bump to the final endgame. Hopefully, the endgame. As long as they stayed alive to accomplish it.
“I take it you’ve been in a lift truck before?” He gazed at the road ahead as she continued to drive.
“Yes, but only once when I took an advanced defensive driving course a couple of years ago. Trust me, that was enough. There’s fun in it but I’m not a fan of the high center of gravity. Rollovers aren’t my idea of relaxing. It was our reward from the driving instructors for making it through the intense training days. I imagine the FBI has put you through plenty of the same kind of training?” Probably a lot more, she thought.
“They have, and while it pains my ego to admit it, defensive driving has never been my strong suit. During my one-week course I managed to crunch the front of a sedan against a light pole, and I T-boned a pickup into a concrete barrier, much to the dismay of a veteran driving instructor who prided himself on making a great driver out of the bottom pick of the Bureau’s barrel.”
He chuckled and she was surprised that the warm sound allowed her to melt against her seat, let go of the tension in her lower back. She’d selected the highest setting for her seat’s heater a few miles back. October in North Dakota often meant snow and damp weather, foes of aching joints from the heavy pounding police work often required. Veronica took comfort for her aching bod wherever she could.
