“Naomi, what is it?” Lash diverted his attention to sounds in the vicinity, and he heard the familiar sound too.
A screech of tires tore through the parking lot. Gunfire popped several times and, before Naomi could register what was happening, Lash snatched the car keys from her hand and pushed her into the trunk. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lurch back and groan before he slammed it shut.
“Lash!”
The car engine sprang to life, and she rolled around the tiny compartment, banging her knees and elbows as the car swerved. She prayed it was Lash driving and not the shooter. If it wasn’t Lash, then that meant he was dead, and the thought was unbearable.
She banged on the trunk lid. “Lash. Lash! Is that you?”
She heard more gunshots and, as their speed suddenly increased, she was tossed against the back of the trunk. He’s alive.
Frantically, she pulled a cell phone from her jean pocket. The car jolted and she dropped it as she banged her head against the wall of the trunk. Then there was silence, and the car drove smoothly. A few minutes later, the car finally rolled to a stop.
The trunk lid flew open.
“Are you alright?” Lash peered into the car.
Naomi rubbed her head. It felt tender. “Yeah, I think so.” She took Lash’s hand and climbed out of the trunk. “Thank God Chuy fixed up the car last week.”
They were in the outskirts of the city at an empty rest stop. Insects swarmed around a street lamp, the only light source in the parking area. The grounds were littered with empty beer bottles and soda cans.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”
“Well, don’t get snippy with me. I was—”
She paled as she watched Lash wince and clutch his side. He slumped slowly to the ground—a red stain blossoming on his shirt.
Chapter 14
With a cup of espresso in hand, Jane looked out the bay window as rays of orange peeked out of the horizon, meeting the dark sky of the early dawn. It was much too early to be up, but the nightmares had kept her tossing despite the luxurious bed in her hotel suite. It was the same nightmare she’d had ever since the plane crash: the trembling of the plane, the screams, the heat, the smoke, the feeling of suffocation. As time passed, she had the dreams less often. Strange that, over the last few weeks, the dreams had increased in frequency.
“What are you doing up this early? Our flight to Washington doesn’t leave for another few hours.”
Jane turned in her chair. “Since I couldn’t sleep, I thought I might as well get up and start my day early.” She eyed Luke as he placed a couple of files on the desk and crossed the room to the kitchenette. “In all the years I’ve known you, you hardly sleep either.”
“It’s the secret to my success,” he said as he lifted the silver carafe and poured coffee. “While most people are still sleeping, I’m busy with business.”
“Tell me your secret. How do you keep yourself looking so young?” Jane noted his twinkling eyes and unlined face. “If man can go to the moon, why can’t they invent something for the bags I get under my eyes after a sleepless night?”
Luke laughed. “Perhaps I should invest in cosmetics.”
Jane took a sip of her coffee. “In addition to the fracking your company is doing in the state? Sounds like a lot to manage.” Prescott Oil was the leader in hydraulic fracturing. The process of extracting petroleum by widening rock fractures using chemicals and liquids at a high pressure was a controversial method. Despite that, Luke had been able to expand his business across the state—with the help of her political connections, of course.
“It’s all too easy when you have an army of workers at your disposal.”
“Mr. Prescott?” Sal stood at the entrance to the room, his face stern.
“Speaking of which, come in, Sal.”
Jane watched as Sal headed straight to Luke and whispered something to him that made his smile fade. She was used to Sal and Luke discussing business in her presence, and Luke often asked her opinion on a number of things—especially on his latest venture, which involved taking Prescott Oil’s hydrofracturing business to an international level. Lately, however, the two men’s conversations had been conducted in hushed whispers or held in private.
“Get IT on it, and trace their movements. He can’t get far without his—” Luke glanced at Jane and cleared his throat. “Their travel methods are limited. Call our contacts at the Houston airport and keep me posted.”
She hoped nothing was wrong at the airport. It was bad enough that she had to fly out of the same place where her nightmares originated.
Sal nodded and left the room.
“Problems?” She placed her cup on the coffee table.