“I like your choice in guns,” said Pine.
“Nothing comes between me and first-class weaponry,” quipped Spector.
Pine and Mercy settled into their seats on either side of Blum. As they rode along, Blum began to come around enough to where she sat up straighter and looked at Pine.
“We’re going to be okay, Carol.”
“I know. I will bet on you every time.” She eyed Mercy and put a hand on her broad shoulder. “And you too, Mercy.”
“I hope I don’t disappoint you then.”
“I don’t think you could ever do that.”
“Are you feeling better? Here, drink some more water, keep your fluids up,” said Pine. She helped Blum to drink some water, then recapped it and sat back.
Blum reached out and took each of the sisters’ hands in a firm grip as the SUV roared along.
Up front, Spector smiled as she looked behind her in the mirror and saw nothing except the dark. Then she glanced at the gas gauge and her jaw slackened. “We had a full tank when we left. I’m already down to half. Something’s off.”
“Shit, they must have hit the fuel tank,” said Pine. “Pop the cargo window.”
She climbed back there and peered out the rear window. Pine could see the trail of gas they were leaving behind.
“We’re never going to make that town at this point,” warned Spector.
“No repair places or gas stations along the way?” asked Mercy.
“There is nothing along the way except what you see right now.”
“Don’t you have a phone?” said Pine.
“I do, but this is one of the ‘no coverage’ spots you see on the service provider commercials. We won’t have phone service until we’re about a mile outside of the town.”
Mercy said, “Can we stop and maybe plug the hole with something?”
Pine peered behind them and saw what looked to be headlights.
“I don’t think we can stop,” she said, indicating the headlights far in back of them. “They regrouped a lot faster than I would have thought.”
Spector glanced in the mirror and said, “Well, damn.”
“Yeah,” said Pine, looking at her. “Damn.”
CHAPTER
73
PETER BUCKLEY SAT IN THE REAR SEAT of the Jeep looking grim. He eyed the gun in his hand. It had been a long time since he had personally killed anyone. Right now, he was looking forward to it.
And he intended to torture and then gut Britt Spector for betraying him. He chastised himself for not seeing the clear warning signs. She had been acting funny, distracted—no, not distracted; disillusioned was a better term. As though she were reevaluating things in her life. Well, she certainly had chosen a different path. Maybe it was because they were all women, and two of them were with the FBI. Maybe that connection ran deeper than even she knew.
They had seen evidence of the gas leak, though, and he knew they would not have enough fuel to reach help. The terrain here was rugged and unforgiving. When they ran out of gas, they would run out of heat. And at night, the temps would plunge into the teens or lower. But he expected to catch up to them long before then.
It would not be a fair fight. He had too many men, and they were four women, and one was in her sixties. He appreciated the symmetry because the fight that had nearly killed his father here had not been fair, either. Buckley had not gotten his revenge back at the cage fight. He would get it out here. And out here was where he would bury all the bodies, far, far under the dirt, and cover them with boulders.