No Way Back. Andrew Gross

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СКАЧАТЬ the door!” I screamed at Dave, twisting around to see behind me. “Close the fucking door!”

      He couldn’t. We smashed full force into the grill of the government SUV, Dave’s door flying open. I was jolted out of my seat, my head hitting against the sun roof. The black agent disappeared. I didn’t know if I had hit him or not. I didn’t care! I had to remind myself that these weren’t the good guys—they were covering up a cold-blooded murder. That I was the one trying to save our lives.

      Two shots rang out. Not loud cracks. More like muted thuds. Suddenly the rear windshield splintered and my heart almost clawed up my throat. Dave looked at me, his gaze bewildered as mine was fearful and panicked.

      If there had been any doubt what these people were here for, it was clear now.

      I jammed the car into drive and floored it again, this time forward. Dave’s door was still open, the car’s wheels screeching.

      “Wendy!” he shouted. I hit the gas and steered toward the far entrance of our driveway.

      By then, the first agent had risen to his feet. He ran ahead to block our way out, his weapon trained on us.

      I bore down on him, prepared to run him over.

      This time he leaped out of the way on Dave’s side, firing as we sped by. “No!” Another shot thudded into us from behind, the rear windshield shattering. Another hit the side as I turned.

      “Dave, close the fucking door!”

      He reached for it in desperation, bullets flying into the car. The agent was emptying his gun. I heard a horrifying “Oooof” over the rain of glass and the engine roar. I looked at my husband. His head pitched slightly forward and he had a glazed look in his eye, and I realized in panic what had happened before I saw the blood flower on his chest and his hand drop limply to his side.

      “Oh my God, David!” I screamed in horror.

      Even as I rambled over our front circle, our eyes met for an instant. Our last instant. I’m not sure if there was anything in them anymore, just a kind of blankness and futility, as if he was somehow letting me down. It was a look I’ll carry with me the rest of my life.

      Frantically, I lunged for him, as we bounced over the Belgian block, the force of the turn pitching him to the side. And then Dave slid, fell out of my grasp, and onto the pavement like some lifeless sack of grain, as I turned the corner of the driveway onto our street.

      I slammed on the brakes and stared at him in horror. “David!”

      I knew he was dead. The glassy eyes staring blankly up at me. And dead only because of what I’d done. Staring up at me, like some disturbing image I’d seen on a news clip, someone else’s husband, twisted, inert, two dark blotches on his chest.

      Another shot pinged through the car from behind me, and I saw Agent Number One running toward me. I knew if I stayed even a moment longer, I’d be dead as well. I looked one last time at Dave.

      My heart was crumbling.

      I hit the gas, the Range Rover lunging forward. I sped away, tears flooding my eyes. I drove down my dark, sleeping street, anguish tearing at me. Disbelief. I told myself that this was only some horrifying, nightmarish dream and screamed at myself to wake up from it. Now. Wake up!

       Please.

      But as I sped through the darkened town, cutting down side streets and weaving through a parking lot only a resident would know to make certain I wasn’t being followed, not knowing where I was driving, only that I had to get away, as far away from this as I could; I knew with certainty it was no dream.

       Oh, Dave …

      And I saw clearly how it was all going to look once it became public. That I’d killed a government agent in a panic after being caught in a stranger’s hotel room, and now, having escaped the law enforcement agents who had come for me, I’d gotten my husband killed too. How, after an argument the night before, I’d betrayed him. I could just hear Pam on some news clip tomorrow reinforcing the whole thing. How down I had sounded. How desperate I’d been to meet her at the hotel.

      And even if the police did somehow believe me about how the shootings there went down, how would the people who did this ever let me be, having witnessed what I had? How would I ever feel safe again, knowing they had to cover this up too?

      They would never let me be free.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      I drove.

      I’m not sure for how long or how far. Until I felt far enough away that I was certain no one was following me. Every set of headlights that flashed in my mirror sent a shiver of dread rattling through me. Several times I was sure I’d been found. Several times I froze, rigid with fear, waiting for the inevitable siren or flashing light.

      But it didn’t come.

      I came to my senses on the Hutchinson River Parkway, heading north. A few miles up, I merged onto 684, just getting as far away as I could. Then Route 22 into Dutchess County. I finally stopped, from sheer exhaustion and the throes of grief taking over me. That time of night, I was practically the only car on the dark road. I pulled into a dark, closed-up gas station and cut my lights. It was going on 1:00 A.M. My heart had barely slowed a beat since the shooting.

      I started to sob. Deep, shame-filled sobs, everything starting to come up all over again, my forehead slumped on the wheel. My body convulsing. Over and over, I pictured Dave’s empty face staring up at me. That final, befuddled look in his eye, how he didn’t understand. How could he? His final word to me simply a helpless plea. “Wendy!”

      And I knew he was dead only because of me. Because of what I’d done. How I’d betrayed him.

      I screamed to no one, “Why did I ever go up to that room?” And no one answered. Tears cascaded down my cheeks.

      I reached across the seat for my bag, fumbling for something I could use to dry my eyes.

      Instead I found Curtis’s phone.

      An unstoppable urge came over me to hurl it as far away as I possibly could. Since I’d set eyes on him, it had only brought me hell. I opened the door, took the phone in my hand, and went to fling it into the darkness.

      Then I stopped. Suddenly it occurred to me this might be the one thing that could help me.

      There had to be something in it that would show what Curtis was into. Why he was being targeted. Who his killers were, and why they wanted him dead. What had Hruseff said? “This is for Gillian …”

      It might well be my only chance to find out. I knew in the morning I’d be a hunted woman, sought for a connection to one murder and complicity in another. And that even I, if I looked at the situation through impartial eyes, would likely be convinced I was guilty. Until I knew why they wanted Curtis dead, I’d be a wanted woman. I’d never see my children again. I’d be running for the rest of my life.

      I turned the phone on, the BlackBerry powering to life. СКАЧАТЬ