“Yeah,” said Peter. He unplugged the bear and stuffed it into her hands. “Now. Go start the car, I’ll be right there.”
June ran out the front door and Peter ducked back into the garage. The door to the weapons locker stood open. He took off his black topcoat, found a heavy armored vest that fit him over his suit jacket, tightened the straps and shrugged his topcoat back on. It seemed ridiculous to do this in his new black suit, but he didn’t have time to change. He worried briefly about getting gun oil on the suit pants, but that was the least of his problems right now.
He grabbed a pair of Glocks and checked the magazines. They were the big magazines, thirteen rounds each, but only partially loaded to preserve the springs. The master sergeant certainly knew his shit. He shoved the pistols into one deep topcoat pocket and put a box of .45 ammunition into the other. He picked up one of the HK rifles, snapped in another partially loaded magazine, found a spare mag and a box of NATO rounds to fill them, and moved to the door.
It was full dark outside, although the house security lights made the yard bright. The rain was back, a dense, steady drizzle that dampened sound and shortened the sight lines. He listened for a moment, but only heard the sound of the rain and the idling minivan. June had turned the car around in the big driveway so it pointed out the gate nose-first, but she’d left the headlights off. She was definitely a tactical thinker.
Peter stood by her open window and handed her one Glock and its box of ammunition. He kept his voice quiet. “You know how to use this? There’s only a trigger safety, so be careful.”
“Yeah, I grew up around guns.” She turned it in her hand, examined the trigger in its guard, then found the magazine release and dropped it into her hand to check the load. She opened the ammunition box and took a handful of rounds, then looked up at him. “I’ve never fired at a person before.”
“And you’re not going to now,” he said. “But just in case, I want you prepared.”
He began to thumb the fat rounds into the HK’s magazines, one after the other, while June did the same for the Glock in her lap. He’d lost the callus on his thumb from the war years, when he’d carried ten or fifteen mags at a time, sometimes more, filling them two or three times a day when things were really hot. The callus had been stained from the film of oil on every round.
Funny, the things you thought about.
He listened again for the sound of a big engine, coming closer.
“They’re probably not anywhere near here yet,” he said, mostly to make her feel better. “I’m going through the trees to check the street. It’ll take me a little while. Give me fifteen minutes by the clock on the dash.” He took the Glock from her, checked the mag, put it into his jacket pocket, then handed her the second one. “Get this one loaded and ready, put it where you can reach it. If everything’s okay, I’ll wave to you and open the gate and we’ll drive away nice and calm, just another happy couple going out to dinner. I feel like Thai food tonight, how about you?”
She looked at him. He could see the muscles flex in her jaw.
“What if they’re out there?”
“Then you’ll hear some noise. You’ll know it when you hear it. That will be me, protecting you. Doing my job. So you count to sixty and drive directly through the closed gate and turn left, fast and hard, and get the hell out of here. Use that gun if you have to. Now, repeat it back to me. What’s your part of the plan?”
“Wait fifteen minutes. You’ll come back. If I hear some noise, count to sixty and drive through the gate, turn left and punch it.”
“Good,” he said. “It’s going to be fine. But don’t trust my phone until you see me again. If it falls out of my pocket, they could text you.”
If I’m dead is more like it, but he didn’t say that.
“If we get separated, don’t go back to your apartment. Find a cheap hotel, pay cash. I’ll meet you back at that coffee shop. Nine a.m. tomorrow.”
He smiled at her, a genuine smile. He could taste the adrenaline now, copper in his mouth, felt the joy of it rising in him. He wanted them to be out there somewhere. Anywhere. War’s dirty little secret, how alive it made you feel. There was nothing like it.
By the tightness around her eyes, he knew she could see it in him.
He wondered if it made her afraid of him.
But he didn’t think he could turn it off. Not now. Maybe he didn’t even want to.
He bent to the window. “Kiss me,” he said.
She grabbed his head and nearly pulled it off his neck getting his face to hers. The kiss was soft, their lips barely touching, only a slight compression. The tickle of her stitches. But the electricity of it, Jesus Christ.
“You fucking come back,” she murmured without backing off at all. “You understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Most definitely.” He gently disengaged from her hands and stood to his full height. He thumped his fist to his chest, his eyes on her the whole time. Then turned away to the left and into the trees.