Restless Soul - Alex Archer [93]
“Lovely. I’ll bet those are the men who work for your uncle.” She shoved him into the Jeep’s passenger side, jumped behind the wheel, sitting on the maps she’d grabbed, and prayed one of the keys fit in the ignition. Annja didn’t want another fight right now.
She fumbled with the keys as two of the men leaped out of the Hilux, the driver staying behind the wheel. One man headed to the shop’s back door, the other came barreling at the Jeep, pulling a gun out of his waistband.
The second key worked, and the Jeep’s engine roared, tires spinning and throwing clumps of dirt at the man.
“The seat belt,” Annja shouted. “Put it on! Now!”
Nang groped for the belt as Annja slammed her foot on the gas pedal and shot down the alley, right front fender catching a garbage can and sending it and its smelly contents flying.
“Duck!”
Nang hunched down as much as the belt allowed. The windshield shattered as bullets struck it. The shooter was using a silencer.
At the end of the alley she jerked the wheel hard right and swerved to avoid a parked car. Traffic wasn’t heavy in this part of the city, and she took advantage of a near-empty street as she raced south. A few more turns, a cut through an alley, the silver truck gaining on her, and she found herself going west on Si Donchai Road, where a steady stream of cars headed in both directions and exhaust filled the air and settled heavily on her tongue.
She slammed her hand against the steering wheel in frustration as she weaved around a late-model Honda Civic and found herself smack behind a tour bus. She heard tires squeal behind her, and a glance in the rearview mirror showed the pickup bullying the Civic onto the sidewalk.
“They will kill us!” Nang’s knuckles were white on the dashboard.
“I will do my best to not let that happen.” Annja spun the wheel to the right, cutting across the opposite lane of traffic and nearly being sideswiped by a minivan. More tires squealed, including the Jeep’s. Cars started honking, and in the distance she heard a siren.
“The police!” Nang looked relieved and frightened at the same time.
Annja was confident she could talk herself out of trouble; she’d done it many times before. But having an unwilling passenger could be considered kidnapping. Then there was the issue of car theft, breaking and entering at the shop, beating up the old man—it would take a while to talk herself out of this.
The truck swerved right behind her. Only two shapes were visible inside, one leaning out the passenger window—the man who’d shot at them in the alley. Everything was happening too fast for Annja to get a good look at him, but his yellow shirt and his shaved head stood out. He fired at them again, the bullet striking the rear of the Jeep.
Her heart pounded; she realized he was aiming at the jerricans in the back. He could blow them up with a well-placed shot.
“Hold on!” she shouted.
Annja hadn’t needed to tell Nang that. He’d dug his fingernails into the dashboard and was gritting his teeth. His eyes were needle slits and he took in great gulps of the exhaust-filled air. One hand on the steering wheel, she flailed about with the other, finding her seat belt and pulling it across her lap, shimmying by a Land Rover and past a Camry, praying all the while that the gunmen didn’t shoot an innocent driver. She clicked the belt and felt only a little safer.
Sirens wailed louder and she reached a stretch where traffic was thinner. She floored the gas pedal and the Jeep surged faster, and then was bumped from behind. A glance in the mirror showed the grille of the pickup. It conveniently had no license plate.
“They will kill us! They will—”
“Shut up,” Annja warned. She didn’t need Nang’s distraction.
The truck veered to the left, coming alongside the Jeep. Annja kept one hand on the wheel and extended the other, calling for her sword and finding it difficult to grip the pommel with the blade meeting