to escape.
While Francesca catalogued every facial product she thought Bobbie Faye needed (and there were many), Bobbie Faye headed north on Highway 171, past the train car switching station, beyond an industrial park of businesses, and then through the heavily treed neighborhoods that lined the highway. Her little car coughed thick clouds of black smoke every single mile. There was no gas station for miles to check her engine until she got well past the bridge. With each new blast of smoke from her exhaust, the Hummer backed off so as not to Hoover up the nasty fumes. Bobbie Faye and Francesca, however, weren’t aslucky. As the oily vapor seeped into the interior, Bobbie Faye rolled down a window and Francesca had a coughing fit.
“Where are we going, anyway?”
“To your mom’s.”
“When she disappeared, we tried there first. Pick somewhere else.”
“It’s not exactly like I’m equipped with onboard ‘diamond MapQuest’ in my ass, Frannie. Maybe she left a clue at her house to give us some sort of starting point.” Bobbie Faye couldn’t exactly say they had to go there first because the FBI hottie she’d been lusting after had told her to.
Sooty fog shot through the dash. “I think we should ride with the cousins,” Francesca wheezed. She flapped her hands to fan the smoke away. “The Hummer is new and clean and smells pretty and it doesn’t have that awful ticking sound.”
“Nice try, but my car doesn’t tick.”
“Does so.”
Bobbie Faye approached a bridge that spanned a swollen bayou.
“I’m sure I hear ticking.” Francesca pouted.
Her cell phone rang, and Bobbie Faye dug it out of her purse, noting Cam’s caller ID. “I’m kinda busy right now,” she answered.
“Where the hell are you? The men said Ce Ce’s looked like a war zone.”
“Bobbie Faye!” Francesca tugged on her arm. “I really do hear ticking.”
“I have a little errand,” Bobbie Faye told Cam. “You did the thing?”
“Who’s that with you? And what’s ticking?” he asked.
“Nobody and nothing. Did you—”
“Yes. She’s safe with my mom. What’s—”
“Just because I’m pretty doesn’t mean I don’t hear things,” Francesca groused. “And there’s ticking.”
“Nothing’s ticking, Francesca, so give it a rest!”
“There’s ticking?” Cam asked, and Bobbie Faye hatedthat forceful, controlled freaking-out sound he had at times like this. “What’s ticking?”
“Nothing, Cam. Everything’s fine.”
“There is ticking!” Francesca shouted, vindicated. “Look!” She gestured wildly to the floorboard of the backseat. Then her face elongated as her eyebrows went up and her chin dropped. “Uh-oh. Is that a bomb?”
Oh, holy hell.
----
From: Simone
To: JT
Audio in BF’s car. Something about a bomb.
----
----
From: JT
To: Simone
You are fucking kidding me.
----
“A bomb?” Cam asked, the horror in his voice evident.
“Um, yeah, well, busy now. Gotta go.”
He shouted as she hung up, but there was no time to explain. Not that she could explain anything, actually, because when had her life ever made sense? Especially now. She was mid-bridge with a car that was spewing so much smoke, she expected a Hazmat team to parachute in any minute now, not to mention the teeny-tiny problem of there being something very bomblike in her backseat. Was there a timer on that thing? Then again, why would she trust a person trying to blow her up to show her how long she had left to live? She pulled over, and she and Francesca hopped out.
Sonofabitch
. Oncoming traffic. She waved them off,stopping them from entering the bridge. Francesca grabbed her arm and tried to drag her back toward the Hummer.
“I don’t wanna walk all the way to the end. Let’s just ride with the cousins.”
“I can’t let other people blow up, Frannie,” Bobbie Faye said, digging her phone back out and dialing 911. It was a good thing she had some warning. . . .
Wait. How
While Francesca catalogued every facial product she thought Bobbie Faye needed (and there were many), Bobbie Faye headed north on Highway 171, past the train car switching station, beyond an industrial park of businesses, and then through the heavily treed neighborhoods that lined the highway. Her little car coughed thick clouds of black smoke every single mile. There was no gas station for miles to check her engine until she got well past the bridge. With each new blast of smoke from her exhaust, the Hummer backed off so as not to Hoover up the nasty fumes. Bobbie Faye and Francesca, however, weren’t aslucky. As the oily vapor seeped into the interior, Bobbie Faye rolled down a window and Francesca had a coughing fit.
“Where are we going, anyway?”
“To your mom’s.”
“When she disappeared, we tried there first. Pick somewhere else.”
“It’s not exactly like I’m equipped with onboard ‘diamond MapQuest’ in my ass, Frannie. Maybe she left a clue at her house to give us some sort of starting point.” Bobbie Faye couldn’t exactly say they had to go there first because the FBI hottie she’d been lusting after had told her to.
Sooty fog shot through the dash. “I think we should ride with the cousins,” Francesca wheezed. She flapped her hands to fan the smoke away. “The Hummer is new and clean and smells pretty and it doesn’t have that awful ticking sound.”
“Nice try, but my car doesn’t tick.”
“Does so.”
Bobbie Faye approached a bridge that spanned a swollen bayou.
“I’m sure I hear ticking.” Francesca pouted.
Her cell phone rang, and Bobbie Faye dug it out of her purse, noting Cam’s caller ID. “I’m kinda busy right now,” she answered.
“Where the hell are you? The men said Ce Ce’s looked like a war zone.”
“Bobbie Faye!” Francesca tugged on her arm. “I really do hear ticking.”
“I have a little errand,” Bobbie Faye told Cam. “You did the thing?”
“Who’s that with you? And what’s ticking?” he asked.
“Nobody and nothing. Did you—”
“Yes. She’s safe with my mom. What’s—”
“Just because I’m pretty doesn’t mean I don’t hear things,” Francesca groused. “And there’s ticking.”
“Nothing’s ticking, Francesca, so give it a rest!”
“There’s ticking?” Cam asked, and Bobbie Faye hatedthat forceful, controlled freaking-out sound he had at times like this. “What’s ticking?”
“Nothing, Cam. Everything’s fine.”
“There is ticking!” Francesca shouted, vindicated. “Look!” She gestured wildly to the floorboard of the backseat. Then her face elongated as her eyebrows went up and her chin dropped. “Uh-oh. Is that a bomb?”
Oh, holy hell.
----
From: Simone
To: JT
Audio in BF’s car. Something about a bomb.
----
----
From: JT
To: Simone
You are fucking kidding me.
----
“A bomb?” Cam asked, the horror in his voice evident.
“Um, yeah, well, busy now. Gotta go.”
He shouted as she hung up, but there was no time to explain. Not that she could explain anything, actually, because when had her life ever made sense? Especially now. She was mid-bridge with a car that was spewing so much smoke, she expected a Hazmat team to parachute in any minute now, not to mention the teeny-tiny problem of there being something very bomblike in her backseat. Was there a timer on that thing? Then again, why would she trust a person trying to blow her up to show her how long she had left to live? She pulled over, and she and Francesca hopped out.
Sonofabitch
. Oncoming traffic. She waved them off,stopping them from entering the bridge. Francesca grabbed her arm and tried to drag her back toward the Hummer.
“I don’t wanna walk all the way to the end. Let’s just ride with the cousins.”
“I can’t let other people blow up, Frannie,” Bobbie Faye said, digging her phone back out and dialing 911. It was a good thing she had some warning. . . .
Wait. How
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