Hold Me

“They’re thinking you’re a VIP, Dad,” Nora says with forced cheerfulness. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it must be like for the President, always traveling with the Secret Service?”

“No, I can’t say I have.” Nora’s father turns back to face us, his expression softening as he looks at his daughter. “How are you feeling, honey?” he asks her. “You should probably be resting instead of dealing with this craziness.”

“I’m fine, Dad.” Nora’s face tightens. “And I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, honey,” her mother says, blinking rapidly—I presume to stop herself from crying. “Whatever you wish, my love.”

Nora attempts to give her mother a smile, but fails miserably. Unable to resist, I reach out and drape my arm over her shoulders, pulling her against me. “Relax, baby,” I murmur into her hair as she nestles against my side. “We’ll be there soon, and you can sleep on the plane, okay?”

Nora lets out a sigh and mumbles into my shoulder, “Sounds good.” She seems tired, so I stroke her hair, enjoying its silky softness. I could sit like this forever, feeling the warmth of her small body, smelling her sweet, delicate scent. For the first time since the miscarriage, some of the heaviness in my chest lifts, the dark, bitter grief easing slightly. The violence still pulses in my veins, but the awful emptiness is filled for the moment, the painful void no longer expanding within.

I don’t know how long we sit like this, but when I glance across the limo aisle, I see Nora’s parents watching us strangely. Gabriela, especially, seems fascinated. I frown at them and position Nora more comfortably at my side. I don’t like that they’re witnessing this. I don’t want them to know how much I depend on my pet, how desperately I need her.

At my glare, they both look away, and I resume stroking Nora’s hair as we get off the interstate onto a two-lane highway.

“How much longer until we get there?” Nora’s father asks a couple of minutes later. “We’re going to a private airport, right?”

“Right,” I confirm. “We’re not too far now, I believe. There’s no traffic, so we’ll be there in about twenty minutes. One of my men has gone ahead to prepare the plane, so as soon as we get there, we’ll be able to take off.”

“And we can depart like this? Without going through customs?” Nora’s mother asks. She still seems to be unusually interested in the way I’m embracing Nora. “Nobody will prevent us from re-entering the country or anything?”

“No,” I say. “I have a special arrangement with—” Before I can finish explaining, the car picks up speed. The acceleration is so sharp and sudden that I barely manage to remain upright and hold on to Nora, who gasps and clutches at my waist. Her parents aren’t so lucky; they fall onto their sides, nearly flying off the long limo seat.

The panel separating us from the driver rolls down, revealing Lucas’s grim face in the rearview mirror.

“We have a tail,” he says tersely. “They’re onto us, and they’re coming with everything they’ve got.”

Chapter 33

Nora

My heart stops beating for a second; then adrenaline explodes in my veins.

Before I have a chance to react, Julian is already in motion. Unbuckling my seatbelt, he grabs my arm and drags me off the seat onto the limo floor.

“Stay there,” he barks, and I watch in shock as he lifts the seat, revealing an enormous stash of weapons.

“What—” my mom gasps, but at that moment, the limo swerves, knocking me against the side of the stuffed leather seat. My parents cry out, clutching desperately at each other, and Julian grabs the edge of the raised seat to prevent himself from falling.

And then I hear it.

The rat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire.

Somebody is shooting at us.

“Gabriela!” My dad’s face is stark white. “Hold on to me!”

The limo swerves again, causing my mom to let out a frightened scream. Somehow Julian remains upright, bending over the stash as the limo accelerates even more. From my position on the floor, all I can see through the windows are the tree tops flashing by. We must be flying down this highway at breakneck speed.

Another burst of gunfire, and the trees flash by faster, the greenery blurring in my vision. I can hear the drumming of my pulse; it almost drowns out the squeal of tires in the distance.

“Oh my God!” At my mom’s panicked screech, I grab onto a seat and rise up on my knees to look out the back window.

The sight that greets me is like something out of a Fast and Furious movie.

Behind our guards’ seven SUVs, there’s a whole cavalcade of cars. About a dozen are SUVs and vans, but there are also three Hummers with giant guns mounted on their roofs. Men with assault rifles are hanging out of the cars’ windows, exchanging fire with our guards—who are doing the same. As I watch in shock, I see one of the pursuers’ cars gain on the last of our SUVs and smash into its side in an apparent effort to force it off the road. Both cars waver off course, sparks flying where their sides scrape together, and I hear another burst of gunfire, followed by the pursuers’ car careening off the road and flipping over.

One down, fifteen-plus to go.

The math is crystal-clear in my mind. Fifteen cars versus eight, counting our limo. The odds are not in our favor. My heart beats wildly as the high-speed battle continues, the cars smashing together amidst a hail of bullets.