She watched him morph into superspy mode. With one hand on the wheel and his foot on the gas, he threw out his free arm and pointed his gun at the darkness over her shoulder.
The deafening blast exploded right next to her face. She saw a burst of light and heard the thundering boom. Then the offensive hand fell away.
By the time she sat up, Holden had maneuvered them out of whatever had a hold of the wheel. They spun around in a circle and drove about five feet before he slowed to a stop.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice rubbed raw from all the yelling and panic.
“Checking.” He was out of the truck before she could stop him.
She slid across the seat and peeked out the driver’s side door. “Holden!”
“Do not move,” he called back.
Her muscles were frozen. If she wanted to jump down, run—anything—she couldn’t. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until he ran back and slid into his seat.
She smacked his arm.
“Hey!” He had the nerve to look offended.
“What were you thinking?”
“That I could identify him.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Did you?”
“No.” Holden kept glancing in his rearview mirror as he drove slow but steady through the chocking woods.
“Is he…”
“Dead?” Holden looked at her then. The terrified anguish from the tunnel was gone. He wore a mask of fury now.
She didn’t know if he was angry with her or coasting on adrenaline. Either way, she didn’t appreciate the barking. If he wanted attitude, she was more than prepared to show him some.
“Well, is he?”
“Very.”
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