Identity Crisis

Mallory stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing another couple to step around her. Lost in thoughts of Alyssa, Gage followed too close and smacked his chin on her head.

“Ow.” She rubbed the top of her head. He hastily backed up, putting at least a foot of space between them. “This is so frustrating. I’m walking along like I should know where we’re going, but I don’t.”

“Over there.” Gage nodded toward his truck, parked a few car lengths down the street. “The blue pickup.”

“What about the rest of them?” She waited for several pedestrians to pass by before gesturing toward the scattered cars parked along the street. “Do you think my car is here somewhere?”

“You drive a three-year-old red Mustang convertible.” He didn’t see the car, and that was strange. Where would Mallory have left it? Near the spot where the ambulance picked her up?

“Maybe someone stole it.” Mallory scowled.

Gage didn’t answer. An old-model beige Cadillac moved slowly down the street. Odd, how it didn’t accelerate. Especially with no stop sign in sight. The clouds shifted from the sun and something glinted brightly from the partially open window of the backseat.

Long and narrow, he belatedly recognized the barrel of a gun.

“Get down!” Gage grabbed Mallory and shoved her down behind the parked cars. He dropped on top of her, protecting her body with his. Within seconds a storm of bullets showered the area around them.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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