“Get off me!” I managed to get one arm free and twisted in his grasp, just enough for my elbow to make contact with his jaw.
He stepped back and I spun away from the car, intent on making a run for it. Stepping to the side, he blocked the most direct route to the exit, and officially filled my view. His narrowed gaze did nothing to diminish the impact of his green eyes and I wanted to punch him for turning out to be a creep.
“You?” I frowned, disoriented. “What the hell is wrong with you? We need to get help for him! And you need to keep your hands to yourself.” I shoved him and tried to get back to Mr. Song.
“You can drop the innocent act. He’s dead.” He stepped closer and gripped my arm. “And I don’t appreciate you taking my hit. When did they hire you?”
“What are you talking about?” I tried to edge further away from him. “He’s dead?” Hit? My breath hitched. I’d killed someone? I’d killed someone on my way to an interview. Oh my God, I killed him. Nausea washed over me and I sucked in air like a dying fish.
“What’s your name?” Green Eyes considered my face carefully. He seemed to be studying me, processing whatever he saw in my eyes. With a jerk of his head he motioned toward Mr. Song’s mangled body and I shuddered. “Two weeks and he never once checked his car. Until today. Have you been tailing me?”
“Tailing you?” I yanked myself away from him and wrapped my arms around my midsection. I was a murderer. Was it manslaughter, or vehicular homicide? Did they use those terms in the UK? My brain couldn’t process the fact that I had killed a man so it resorted to being angry. It was like there were short circuits in my grey matter. It didn’t compute; didn’t make sense. How could I have killed a man, just like that?
“Your name.” It wasn’t a question.
“Go to hell! I’m not telling you my name.” I looked away from Song’s body and fought the bile rising in my throat.
“We’re standing over a dead man that you just killed in a parking garage. I’d think telling me your name would be the least of your worries.” His mouth twitched.
“Or it’s a really good damn reason not to! Now get out of my way so I can go get him help.” I started to step around him, but he moved to block my way.
“You really didn’t mean to kill him.” The realization swept over his face.
“No shit, Sherlock.” My heart was beating so fast I could swear he could hear it. I stared into his eyes, wishing that I could understand what was going on. Wishing that we were talking under different circumstances.
A loud shot filled the garage and Green Eyes threw himself into me and pulled me to the ground.
“What the fuck?” I tried to scramble away from him, but he wouldn’t let me up.
“Be still!” He looked down at me and I froze. There was no denying the serious look in his eyes. “Don’t move.”
He slid off of me and rolled onto his side, scanning under the cars. I could hear the steps of someone as they walked across the concrete, and I felt the flutters of panic grip my throat. I looked around trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Warm fingers closed on my wrist and I looked to where Green Eyes jerked his chin.
About four cars away I could see red heels next to a tire. Squeezing my hand to get my attention, this man that had just felt me up now motioned for me to be quiet and follow him. He pointed for me to climb into the driver side of the car next to us and I shook my head. Hadn’t he been here five minutes ago when I ran someone over? He jerked his head again and pointed at me, then back at the car.
I shook my head and pointed at the dead man whose blood was slowly creeping across the pavement toward us. I’d killed the poor man, I wasn’t about to steal his car, too. And now someone was trying to kill us. Probably a bodyguard or maybe the police.
Another shot slammed into the side of Danny’s car and I moved without thinking. Apparently self-preservation was an instinct. Yanking open the door of Song’s car, I flew into the driver seat and searched for the keys. I was vaguely aware of Green Eyes standing up and calmly pointing a gun over the roof of the car before firing.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” My grandmother would be horrified at my language, but damn it, if there was ever a time to use it, it was now ! “There’s no key!” I looked over at the man coolly sliding into the passenger seat.
The coldest green eyes I’d ever seen met mine and I shivered. He handed me a single silver key—obviously a copy of the original, but I didn’t care. I shoved it into the ignition and threw the car in reverse. There was a sickening crunch, but I didn’t have time to feel bad about running over Mr. Song again. A loud crack had me ducking as a bullet slammed into the back window. It didn’t shatter though, and in some distant part of my mind I wondered why Mr. Song had bulletproof glass.
“Feel free to run over anyone else in our way.” Calmly he turned in his seat and lowered his window. Humor warmed his eyes.
“Not funny.” I turned the first corner of the garage just as he fired another shot. The sound made me wince and I jerked the steering wheel. The car clipped the bumper of a delivery van and threw Green Eyes against his door.
“I was joking. Please try to not do that.” He looked at me, his expression serious. “There’s a bomb on the bottom of this car.”
I turned to look at him and felt my mouth fall open. “A bomb! There’s a bomb in this car? Why is there a bomb in this car? What kind of bomb?”