Her company didn’t even spring for a coach bus. They’re in a fucking rented-out school bus. No tinted windows. Just clear glass and a front and rear entrance begging someone to hijack them.
The gate guard nods to me, and I nod back as I drive through, but what I really want to do is pull one of my knives out of my bag and throw it through his eye socket. Or at the very least roll down my window and shout ¡Haz tu trabajo, maldito idiota! But I don’t do any of that. Because he obviously is a fucking idiot. But also, his not doing his job makes this easier for me.
I back my rented car into a spot in the middle of the little parking lot.
There aren’t a lot of vehicles here, so hopefully that means they have a vacancy. And if they don’t, well, I have enough cash to create one.
I watch through my windshield as Cassandra’s coworkers drag their luggage off the bus.
Cassandra is next. I can see her red suitcase before I can see her.
A man reaches up to take the heavy bag from her, and I shove my door open.
She smiles at him, and I put a foot outside.
He grins back at her, and I’m reaching for my laptop.
I stop myself and take a deep breath through my nose.
My girl isn’t going to let him touch her. And I don’t want her to have to struggle with her bag. And I can’t just walk up there and join their fucking week of meetings.
My foot stays planted on the blacktop outside my car, but I stay where I am. Memorizing the face of the man helping my girl.
I won’t kill him just for that, but that’s his strike one. And if he reaches three, his punishment will be much different from Cassandra’s.
I rip open one of the bags of Skittles and shove a handful into my mouth.
I chew slowly and wait until everyone is inside.
I wait until the bus parks in a corner of the lot.
I wait for the bus driver to finish his cigarette and enter the hotel.
Then I get out, walk over to the bus, slap a magnetic tracker in the rear wheel well, and finally enter the hotel, requesting a room with a view of the parking lot.
CHAPTER 57
Cassie
“Alright, everyone, work is officially over!” Our VP of sales lifts his arms at the front of the bus.
The cheer is mostly enthusiastic, but I don’t think I’m the only one that is completely over this trip.
I’m over people. It’s hot. My deodorant has been working overtime since before we landed on Monday. It’s Thursday afternoon. We leave for the airport tomorrow morning, and all I want to do is take a cold shower, then lie naked on my hotel bed.
“Just settle in, and we’ll be at the distillery in…” He looks at his watch. “A little over an hour.”
I fight the groan that tries to come out of my throat.
There isn’t air conditioning on this bus. Or if there is, it doesn’t work. So that means I need to sit through the next hour with the back of my thighs sticking to the seat beneath me. Great.
At least our group is small enough for everyone to get their own little bench seat. If I had to sit shoulder to shoulder with one of my coworkers, soaking up their body heat, I’d crawl out the emergency hatch in the ceiling and end it all.
Slouching down, I put my knees against the back of the seat in front of me. My knee-length skirt drapes open beneath me, and the small amount of airflow against my bare legs is worth the risk that Suzanne across the aisle might see my underwear.
The bus rumbles away from the manufacturing plant, where we’ve been every day for training seminars, and merges onto the main road we take to and from our hotel. But instead of turning toward the hotel, the way I desperately want to go, we turn the other way.
I get that they’re trying to do something fun for our last night, but a distillery… How could anyone think that copious amounts of hard liquor the night before we all have six a.m. flights is a good idea?
My stomach roils just at the thought of boarding a plane hungover.
I don’t have anything against drinking. I enjoy it when the mood strikes. But I won’t be partaking today.
It’s the final night. One last night before you get to go home. One more night until you can see Hans again.
Making an effort to push away my sour mood, I watch the scenery beyond the window.
I’m a little embarrassed over how much time I’ve spent thinking about Hans this week. Especially since there’s a chance he’ll go back to ignoring me.
We’re nearly out of the city when the bus jerks to a stop, causing me to slide farther down in my seat.
A few people make noises of displeasure at being jolted, and I struggle for a moment to right myself.
I’m about halfway back on the bus, sitting in the same place I have every other day, but through the big windshield, I can see the top of the van in front of the bus. They must’ve stopped suddenly at the red light, forcing our driver to hit the brakes.
Bad drivers are truly everywhere.
I start to lean back in my seat when someone up front screams.
Like screams.
Then more people scream.
I hear a shout, and then the bus lurches straight into the back of the van, pushing it forward a few feet.
“What—” My words are cut off when a bang rips through the air.
The screaming gets louder. And our bus driver is slouched over in his seat. His foot must come off the gas because we stop pushing the van into the intersection.
My heart is racing.
What the hell just—
Over the screams, I hear the distinct sound of breaking glass before a stranger climbs the steps at the front of the bus. Holding a gun.
I slap my hands over my mouth.
Oh my god.
A second man follows him onto the bus.
Oh my god!
“Stay where you are!” the first man shouts. His accent is strong, but there’s no mistaking his demand.
The second man is reaching for the bus driver.
I press my hands harder to my mouth.
He’s going to drag him out of the seat so he can drive us off. Because that first bang was a gunshot. They killed the driver.
We’re being kidnapped.
The first man holds his gun higher and snaps something at one of my coworkers up front.
This was my fear. And now it’s happening.
The gunman’s still yelling at someone, but then he whips his head over to look past where I’m sitting.
Toward the back of the bus.
He straightens his gun arm like he’s going to shoot.
I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for the loud noise as more screams fill the bus.
But there’s no gunshot.
I open my eyes.
Then widen them.
The gun drops from the man’s hand as he reaches up to his face. His fingers grab at the slender hilt of a knife protruding from his eye socket.
Under my hands, my mouth pulls into a grimace.
The man drops to his knees, then out of sight.
“What the fuck?” I whisper into my palms.
Hands still over my mouth, I turn my head and see another man, a new man, walking up the aisle of the bus from the open rear door.
He’s large. Tall, with broad shoulders wrapped in a black long-sleeved shirt.
His face is covered in a black knit ski mask that makes him look sinister, but the thick material does nothing to hide his defined jawline.