CHAPTER 38
Horns blared, brakes screeched, and rubber burned as he swerved and dodged the two-way traffic.
Cheney yelled, “Did I ever tell you I learned to drive in a four-by-four on the beach?”
He was smiling as he ripped across the Great Highway onto the long concrete parking lot, thankfully empty of cars and people, just as he’d hoped. The parking lot ran along the storm wall that rose above the beach a good six feet. Julia saw the storm wall looming diagonally up in front of them. She didn’t consider the narrow openings for beach steps until—her heart nearly stopped when they went airborne.
“I won’t kill us! Hang on!” Incredibly, he was laughing with something like joy as they flew, and, truth be told, she felt a tickle of joyous terror in the air herself.
The Audi landed hard on sand, still damp from high tide, slamming them against their seat belts, snapping their jaws together. Cheney whipped the Audi hard left, and the car flew forward along the beach wall. “I used to race dune buggies on the beaches in South Carolina, mainly Hilton Head. Come on, you maniac, come on, you can get me. Hot damn, he just went flying through.” He hit the steering wheel with his fist and yelled, “Gotcha!”
“What do you mean? You wanted him to come after you?”
“Oh yeah. This sweet little Audi A4 has all-wheel drive. He doesn’t.”
Julia looked back to see the Charger hit the beach hard some forty yards behind them, kicking up sand and water like a rooster tail. “He looks like he’s having a problem getting traction. No, wait, okay, he’s turning toward us. He’s coming, Cheney.”
Cheney was grinning again. She wondered whether, if she weren’t in the car, he’d have flipped the Audi back around to face the oncoming Charger, maybe gunned the engine a couple of times in challenge, and headed straight at Makepeace like a knight in battle.
But he couldn’t take the offense because he had to protect her. Another bullet struck, close to the back tire. In that instant Julia remembered her SIG was in her purse. Sweet Mary and Joseph, where was her purse?
She didn’t have time to find it. Cheney gunned the Audi toward the long storm wall. She’d sat on that wall many times with her legs dangling, watching the waves and the honking seals. Now it seemed a terrifying monolith waiting to crush both of them. She saw another beach access in the concrete wall, a dozen concrete stairs climbing up. As they closed on it, the Audi never faltered, never lost its traction. It took the stairs like a bullet and sped through the opening. Julia could have licked the concrete wall on either side. She was pumped. She yelled out a shout of wild exultant terror.
Cheney slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel at the same time. They screeched to a one-eighty. He threw the Audi into park, yelled for her to keep down, and jumped out the door hunched over, his SIG drawn.
But she didn’t get down, no way would she hide now. She stared, fascinated, as the Charger tried to pull out of a lunatic slide and gain some traction and speed toward those stairs, spewing sand. She saw the instant Makepeace realized the Charger wouldn’t make it up the stairs. He threw the car into reverse, bumped hard and fast back down the concrete stairs and lurched back onto the beach.
Cheney ran toward the wall, firing at him, emptying his clip. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out another clip, and fired again. The Charger’s windshield shattered, then the rear window, sending out shards of glass.
Makepeace jumped from the Charger and crouched behind the driver’s side door, firing back short bursts. Cheney threw himself down behind the concrete wall.
Julia eased out of the Audi, and looked over the top of her open door. Makepeace was twenty yards away. He looked as calm as a judge, his face expressionless behind his dark sunglasses.
She spotted her purse on the floor of the backseat. She grabbed her SIG and kneeled down on the concrete, keeping the door between her and Makepeace. She saw Cheney was pinned, and she fired her gun as she waved wildly at Makepeace.
He fired back at her in one smooth motion. She flattened herself on the concrete parking lot, her heart pounding in her ears, the sound of the bullets so close they deafened her for an instant. He continued to fire at her, emptying his clip. It gave Cheney his chance. He ran forward, nearly bent double, firing steadily. The Charger’s door window shattered, Makepeace’s arm jerked, and his pistol went flying to the sand.
Makepeace looked toward Cheney once, back at Julia, and leaped into the Charger, gunning the engine. But the Charger couldn’t find traction in the sand. Cheney kept firing as he ran down the stairs toward the car. A bullet ricocheted off the hubcap of the left rear tire. Cheney emptied the second clip trying to hit the tires, but they were spinning madly, kicking up blinding sand, the car jerking and heaving, fishtailing again in the sand.