"That car behind us, it's dangerous," I said simply. I couldn't give her any more of an answer, keeping my attention on the road in front of me. I knew where we were, and I hoped that I could stay ahead of my pursuers for the next ten miles. After that, there was a rest stop, and maybe I could pull off there for safety.
Melina, realizing that she wasn't going to get an answer, thankfully did the right thing. There are two common responses when people are confronted with a chaotic, unknown situation. One is to shut up and pay attention. That’s the correct thing to do, but sadly, most people don't do it. The other is to freak the hell out, pestering anyone who might have information with an endless bombardment of questions that you aren't really listening to anyway. Usually though, the same people who are trying to save your ass are the people you are pestering with questions. That’s why putting a door between the pilot and the passengers in an airplane is a good idea.
I thought I'd started to put distance between me and the car, when it suddenly closed the gap again, not stopping. I swerved to the left, into the passing lane, whipping around a semi that blared its horn at us as we shot by. The reaction of the car behind me worried me more. It wasn't stopping. "In the glove box, there's a pistol," I told Melina. "If something happens, I want you to use it."
“Cam, what the hell is going on?!”
“Melina, just take it,” I said, pulling in front of the semi and jamming my brakes. I dropped from just over a hundred and twenty down to ninety in a matter of seconds, our seat belts locking up. I was hoping to use the semi to mask the maneuver, but I wasn't fast enough. Instead, the car clipped the back of my truck, spinning it out and into the dirt.
It was the first time Melina lost any of her cool, but even then she didn't lose it totally. Clamping her hands onto the arm rests next to her, she screamed once, shortly, as I fought to keep the truck from flipping over in the desert hardpan. We did a complete three-sixty, coming to rest with our nose pointed almost back towards the Interstate. The semi, which had seen it all, started to slow down. "Now we find out if they're ours or theirs."
“Huh?” Melina gasped, still shocked by the sudden change in situation. I reached over and thumbed the glove compartment, looking for the other car in the dust and chaos.
"The car. If they're ours, they'll drive on, not wanting to be identified. If they're not . . .” I pulled out my pistol, a Smith & Wesson M&P in 9mm Parabellum, and scanned the desert. "If they're not, we're going to have to fight."
Chapter 21
Melina
When Cam jammed the accelerator to the floor, the sudden increase in speed pushed me back into my seat. I looked over at him, and his face had changed from just a few seconds before. He'd been the relaxed, confident man that had taken me shopping that afternoon. Instead, I saw an intensity that scared me, honestly. He looked, for the first time I'd known him, not only dangerous but worried as well.
Don't lie to yourself, he looked dangerous before, remember? A little voice in my head said. I thought back to our dinner date at the resort, when that bitch intentionally tripped me, her boy toy laughing and taunting me all the while. It was only for an instant, but I swore in that instant that Cam could have taken the guy’s head off without a second's hesitation. At the time it’d been electric, arousing. Although I didn’t let him, I loved that he wanted to stand up for me. Now, with that same look combined with concern in his eyes, it scared the hell out of me.
We rocketed down the Interstate, the other car behind us, and I held on tightly. The road was straight and flat, with little curves or anything that would distract from going as fast as we could. At about a hundred, the truck started to shimmy a little, a vibration that started in the soles of your feet before being carried into your tailbone through the seat underneath you. Still, Cam didn't let up, pushing even harder, his grip on the steering wheel going white-knuckled. Without taking his eyes off the road, he talked to me. “In the glove box, there's a pistol. If something happens, I want you to use it.”
The tone of his voice scared me more than anything else. I'd heard it sometimes in the pharmacy, from cancer patients who've been told their disease was inoperable. It was the sound of a man who was getting ready to die. Cam, what the hell is going on?!