Trouble on Reserve (The Hollows #10.5)(3)
Author: Kim Harrison

That is, until he drove right past our turnoff. I spun in my seat, hair flying into my face when I looked back. "You missed the turn," I said, and he shook his head, grim as he rubbed his fingertip.

"Takes too long to get back into the city that way," he said, slowing suddenly to take a sharp right turn.

"Are you kidding me?" I shouted, hands going to grip the dash and door as he spun the little car onto a dirt road that looked as if it was made for donkeys, not beamers. "Trent, it’s got to be like a thirty-degree grade!" What was this? Some way to get back at me?

Trent had one hand clenched on the wheel, the other on the shifter. "Road less traveled."

Okay, this was freaky weird, and I held on as he took the switchbacks, tires spinning on the gravel and the scrub and trees closing in over us. He was tense, preoccupied-thinking thoughts he wasn’t going to share with me. The headlights bobbed wildly, and I couldn’t even tell why they even had this road. It looked as if it went right up to Edden Park-if you could manage the climb.

"Trent!" I cried, eyes widening as the lights found a dip in the road the size of Manhattan.

Jaw tight, Trent swerved. The lights flashed into the scrub, then we bounced off the shoulder and back onto the road. Adrenaline flashed through me.

"Look out!" I yelled, wanting to point but afraid to let go. Someone was in the road. Someone was just standing in the middle of the friggin’ road!

Trent slammed his feet onto the brakes. My head swung forward, and the seatbelt cut into me. The car spun a quarter circle, and with a harsh revving, the engine stalled.

The sudden quiet was like a slap. Heart pounding, I held the car door and dash, trying to figure out if we’d hit the guy.

"Don’t do this to me," Trent breathed, almost frantic as he tried to get the engine to turn over, but the convertible was unhappy at being asked to be an off-road vehicle and refused to start.

The moon couldn’t make it through the trees. It was dark, and as the engine wined and the lights dimmed from the draw on the battery, I tried to see what happened to the guy in the road. I hadn’t felt a thump.

This is not a good place to be. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, but even though we were inside the city limits, we were a good five-minute walk from anything. And where was that man who had caused it all?

The hair on the back of my neck began to prick. "Stay in the car." The seatbelt retracted, and I slung my bag over my shoulder and reached for the door. Trent, though, was already halfway out, his motions smooth with decision.

"Stay here," he demanded, using that voice that usually got other people to do what he wanted. "Stay down."

"Hey!" I exclaimed, affronted. "I’m the one doing security here. Trent!"

But he was gone, the door eased to a clicked shut.

Ticked, I shoved the door open and followed him out. Head up and eyes scanning, I dug in my shoulder bag for my splat gun. The road was silent under me, soft with loose soil. I was leaving footprints. The wind blew up from the river below. We were halfway between nothing and everything. Creeped out, I sent a sliver of my awareness out to tap the nearest ley line.

Energy eased into me, spilling along my synapses and neurons, gathering to a warm pool in my chi. I let it spill over and suffuse me until I spindled enough in my head to blow the top of my church. Heart pounding, I backed off before I accidently fried someone. "Trent!" I hissed. "Get back here!"

Thirty feet down the road, he turned to me, a black shadow among the gray. "I told you to stay in the car."

Why in hell is he acting like this? My eyes widened, and I jerked my arms up, gun pointed at the form rising up behind Trent. The faint moonlight caught a glint of light. Turn take it–gun!

"Down!" I shouted.

Trent dove to the right and into the scrub. There was a flash of light and a pop of a silencer. My heart pounded, and a spike of satisfaction went through me even as Trent’s muffled cry came from the nearby ditch. He’d listened to me. The stupid billionaire had finally listened to me. I think it had just saved him a ton of hurt if not his life.

Stance firm, I stood in the middle of the road. The puff of air from my splat gun iced through me. But he was just out of my weapon’s range, and the splat ball hit and bounced off. It had the desired reaction, though, and the man ran into the woods.

Crap on toast, I was a sitting duck out here. "Trent!" I shouted so he wouldn’t hit me with anything nasty. "You okay?" Frantic, I slid into the ditch and out of the sniper’s sights. Hard rocks pinched the soles of my shoes, and I put a hand out to slow my slide. Stones bit into my knuckles as I slid down, but I refused to let go of my gun. Above came the sound of someone shooting the tires out. It wasn’t a Glock, but that didn’t negate the possibility of Amos being responsible for this. But why kill the golden goose keeping your kid alive? Unless there is a bigger nasty holding a knife to your throat.

My heart caught as I found Trent sitting at the bottom of the ditch. His eyes were pinched and he was holding his shoulder. Shit, what if I got him killed? "My God, are you okay?" I rushed as I crawled to him, trying to stay below the edge of the road. I jerked at the zing thud of another bullet imbedding itself into the dirt.

"I’m fine," he said sourly, letting go of his shoulder to show me it was unmarked. "I landed wrong is all."

Not believing him, I reached for his shoulder only to jerk back when a jump of energy flashed between us. My eyes darted to his, and I tightened my control. It hadn’t felt like our energies balancing, and my thoughts darted back to that static shock at the gate.

Oh, shit. Feeling as if I’d been kicked, I sat back, stones jabbing into my butt. That hadn’t been a static shock from the keypad. Someone had tagged him. Not only had someone tagged him, but Trent knew it. That’s why this stupid, windy road. He had been trying to outrun them and get in a public place where they couldn’t act.

Trent grabbed my wrist, jerking my attention to him. "I’m fine," he demanded, unaware I’d figured it out, but then he hesitated at my horrified expression. "What?

The pop of gunfire brought us both up. He was tagged all right. Every shot was going to the same patch of dirt, guided by whatever he picked up at the keypad. If we hadn’t been in a ditch, Trent would be dead.

"Stay down," I said tightly. This was exactly why I didn’t do illegal stuff. Not being able to call on the I.S. or FIB for help sucked. "I thought you said you had some driving courses. Why in hell did you get out of the car!"

"Because there’s no roof and it stalled?" Trent said, refreshingly sarcastic. Crouching, he made a motion to look up out of the ditch. "Let go of the ley line. No magic."