Lethal

Honor shushed Emily, crooning to her as she hugged her close to her chest and smoothed her hand over her hair. Eventually the kid stopped crying, although every time he glanced at them he was met with four reproachful eyes.

He finally came upon a main road. Not wanting to get stopped for speeding, he let up on the accelerator and asked Honor if she had any idea where they were.

“South and east of Tambour, I think. Where did you want to go?”

Where did he want to go?

Fuck if he knew.

Presently, all he was doing was burning precious gas, so he pulled into the parking lot of a busy truck stop, where the pickup wouldn’t be noticed among so many similar vehicles. By the looks of things, the combo fuel stop and convenience store was a gathering spot for day laborers who stoked themselves on coffee, cigarettes, and microwave breakfasts before going to work.

For easily thirty seconds after he cut the engine on the pickup, no one said anything. Finally he looked over at the two females who were sorely complicating his life. He intended to tell them as much in unmitigated terms, when the kid said in a trembling voice, “I’m sorry, Coburn. I didn’t mean to.”

He closed his mouth. He blinked several times. He looked at Honor, and when she didn’t say anything, he looked back at the kid, whose damp cheek was still lying against Honor’s chest. He mumbled, “Sorry I made you cry.”

“That’s okay.”

Her mother, however, wasn’t in as forgiving a mood. “You scared her half to death. You scared me half to death.”

“Yeah, well it would have scared me half to death if I’d woken up looking into the double barrel of Doral Hawkins’s shotgun.”

Honor bit back a retort she obviously was itching to say. Instead she bent over Emily’s head and kissed the top of it.

The comforting gesture somehow made him feel even worse about setting the kid off. “Look, I said I was sorry. I’ll get her a… a… balloon or something.”

“She’s afraid of balloons,” Honor said. “They scare her when they pop.”

“Then I’ll get her something else,” he said irritably. “What does she like?”

Emily’s head popped up as though it was spring-loaded. “I like Thomas the Tank Engine.”

Coburn stared at her for several beats, then the absurdity of his situation got the better of him, and he began to laugh. He’d been eyeball to eyeball with villains whose best chance at an afterlife lay with taking off his head. He’d ducked heavy gunfire, dodged a rocket launcher, jumped from a chopper seconds before it crashed. He had cheated death too many times to count.

Wouldn’t it have been funny if he’d been done in by Thomas the Tank Engine?

Honor and Emily were watching him warily, and he realized that neither had ever heard him laugh. “Inside joke,” he said.

Happy once again, Emily asked, “Can we have breakfast now?”

Coburn considered, then said under his breath, “Why the hell not?”

He got out and opened a toolbox that was attached to the back of the truck’s cab. He’d discovered a denim jacket in it the day before. It smelled of gasoline and was covered in grease, but he pulled it on. Standing in the open wedge of the door, he leaned in. “What do you want?”

“Would you rather I go?” Honor asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“You still don’t trust me?”

“It’s not that. In this crowd…” His gaze moved over her tousled hair and whisker-burned lips. It took in her snug T-shirt and the clearly defined shape beneath it, which he knew by feel was the real deal, not fake. “You’d attract attention.”

She knew what he was thinking because her cheeks turned pink. She had ended last night’s kiss, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t liked it. In fact, he figured it meant she’d liked it a lot. Too much. He’d stayed on the deck for half an hour after her speedy retreat, but when he did go below, he’d known she was still awake even though she’d pretended otherwise.

Even after he’d lain down on the bunk, he’d stayed restless and hot for a long time. If she’d been as worked up over that kiss as he’d been, it was no wonder that she was blushing now and having a hard time looking him in the eye.

Face averted, she said, “Anything you get will do.”

He put on the cap and sunglasses he’d found in the truck, and, as he’d expected, he blended with the other customers. He waited in line to use the microwave, then took his heated breakfast sandwiches to the cash register and paid. As soon as he’d handed the sack of food over to Honor, he started the truck and drove away.

While driving, he ate his sandwich and sipped his coffee, which was chicory-enhanced and bracingly strong. But his mind wasn’t on either the hot food or the coffee, because it was busy assessing his situation and deciding on his next course of action. He was in a jam, and he wasn’t certain how to proceed.

Like the time in Somalia when his weapon had malfunctioned just as his target spotted him. He’d had to make a choice: Abandon the mission and save his own skin, or carry out his assignment and ante up on surviving it.

He’d had a nanosecond in which to make up his mind.