Second Honeymoon

Chapter 91

I COULD BARELY see Sarah across the cabin, but I could hear her scrambling over to the sofa. Was she setting up behind it?

No.

“Got it!” she said, slapping something against the palm of her hand. One of the flashlights.

There was no time to discuss strategy. I took it on faith that we were thinking the same thing. If she saw the night-vision goggles over his eyes, she’d blind him with the light. If not, the flashlight would remain off and we’d have a fair contest. No one could see.

All I could hear now were the footsteps getting closer. The door of the cabin was to my right; the window—or at least what remained of it—to my left. I had my back jammed hard against the knotty-pine paneling, almost as hard as I was gripping my gun.

Breathe, O’Hara, breathe.

A split second—that’s all Sarah and I would have. Crouched down low, I felt like a defensive lineman trying to anticipate the snap count of the quarterback. Time it right, we’d win.

But time it wrong?

I kept listening, the footsteps getting louder and louder. Then it was the strangest thing. It caught me so off guard all I could do at first was freeze.

The footsteps stopped getting louder. They were softer now. No; that wasn’t the right word.

They were disappearing.

He wasn’t running at us, he was running past us. And now he was getting away.

Sarah and I both jumped up, bursting out of the cabin with the light of her flashlight leading the way. We couldn’t see him; he had too much of a head start. But we knew where he was heading.

About a hundred yards down a dirt trail was a small clearing off the access road where our Jeep was parked. The glove compartment even had a registration in the name of my alias, Zach Welker. We presumed we’d thought of everything.

“Damn!” I yelled as we heard the sound of the engine at the end of the trail. He was already at his car. The son of a bitch probably parked right next to us.

“You have the keys, right?” asked Sarah, midstride. She was booking along ahead of me and barely breathing hard. She was obviously no stranger to a treadmill.

“Got ’em,” I said, double-checking they were still in my pocket. I was huffing and puffing. My chest was burning.

In my head I was already behind the wheel, the car chase in full swing. The setup was perfect, a winding and narrow road at night lined with unforgiving trees. I’d cut my headlights and follow his taillights, and if he tried to do the same I’d still have his brake lights to guide me. What he’d have, though, would be the broad side of a pine tree.

Let’s see if you drive as good as you shoot, asshole.

Sarah and I reached the small parking lot. Our Jeep was sitting there waiting for us. I pulled out the key fob to unlock the doors when, even in the pitch-black darkness, I noticed something.

Sarah saw it, too.

The Jeep was too low to the ground.

Sarah shined the flashlight on the front tires. Then on the back two. Each was flat to the rims.

I kicked the shit out of the door in frustration while Sarah looked up to the night sky.

“Dammit, not again!” she screamed.