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I sat up quickly to look through the rear window and saw Morgan and Sophie having sex.

Dear, GOD! There was a time and a place for everything, and this was neither!

I dropped down again to avoid any additional gunfire, and before I had time to consider what a stupid idea it was, I opened the door, shimmied out and back toward the rear of the truck. Hanging on for dear life and realizing this was way scarier than when you see it in the movies, I leaned out and reached for the gun that lie beside the furiously rutting Sophie and Morgan.

“Look out!” I heard Wendy call, and I turned just in time to see the limo moving fast toward me, apparently with the intent of crushing my legs.

Son of a…!

I jerked my feet up, which threw me completely off balance, and when the limo slammed the truck, the impact knocked me onto the roof of the Boone’s black transport, as it immediately swerved away again, two lanes over from where we’d been.

Over in the truck’s bed, I saw Morgan and Sophie’s heads pop up in surprise. Apparently the earth had moved for them, and they knew it couldn’t have been Morgan’s lovemaking.

“What the hell?” Morgan said as he watched me scramble atop the swerving limo.

“Throw me the gun!” I yelled to him.

“What gun?” he asked, clearly confused.

“You had a gun!”

Morgan’s hamster reluctantly got out of bed then fell backward into the wheel. “Oooh, right. That gun. What’d I do with that?”

He slowly reached over, apparently unwilling to get off Sophie long enough to do anything with any actual urgency, and searched through some things I couldn’t see. After a moment, he held up the dark pistol.

“You mean this one?” he asked.

“You have another one?”

“No,” he said missing the sarcasm.

“Then, yes. I’ll take that one.”

“What are you gonna do with it?”

“I’m thinking of starting a collection.”

“Really?” He missed it again.

“No. Can you toss it to me, please?”

Just then a hand appeared over the edge of the limo and fired a random shot to, presumably, either kill me or threaten me into jumping off the roof. I ducked and called to Morgan more urgently.

“Morgan!”

He started to toss the thing, then stopped and seemed to consider something of great importance.

“I may need this back,” he said, concerned. “It isn’t mine. It belongs to one of those security guards back there. I took it when they were holding…”

“I don’t really need the history of the thing right now. I just need the gun. Will you give me the gun if I ask nicely? Please? Pretty please?”

“You don’t have to be such a grouch.”

Without moving off Sophie, he half-heartedly tossed the thing so that it dropped between our two vehicles and bounced its way, end over end, down the freeway and into a TV movie about someone who finds a loaded gun on the freeway.

I looked at Morgan as if he were a child who’d crossed that final line and now had to be given up for adoption.

“What?” he moaned. “I threw it as hard as I could.”

Then Washburne’s hand was firing at me again, and I realized this wasn’t the time to be petulant about Morgan’s lack of enthusiasm for my plight. I hunkered down on the roof of the limo and skittered about like the superhero I was painted to be, avoiding randomly fired bullets and trying to figure out what the real Spiderman would do if he were in my situation, riding atop a fast-moving limousine on a busy freeway. That is, if there were a real Spiderman.

He’d taunt his villains, I realized.

So I stuck my head down the opposite side from where the gun was for just a second, then withdrew it quickly enough to see the glass I hadn’t been able to see through explode outward in a burst.

That was effective.

And scary.

But I was going to do it again. First, though, I needed to talk to Wisper.

“Funny how you could call me a ‘clothist’ out on the beach earlier!” I yelled, loud enough to be heard through the broken window. “With genuine disdain, I might add. But I call you a nudist in a moment of weakness, and you’re off riding with the Boones!