No Way Back by Andrew Gross Read Free Book Online Page B

That I was the one trying to save our lives.
    Two shots rang out. Not loud cracks. More like muted thuds. Suddenly the rear windshield splintered and my heart almost clawed up my throat. Dave looked at me, his gaze bewildered as mine was fearful and panicked.
    If there had been any doubt what these people were here for, it was clear now.
    I jammed the car into drive and floored it again, this time forward. Dave’s door was still open, the car’s wheels screeching.
    â€œWendy!” he shouted. I hit the gas and steered toward the far entrance of our driveway.
    By then, the first agent had risen to his feet. He ran ahead to block our way out, his weapon trained on us.
    I bore down on him, prepared to run him over.
    This time he leaped out of the way on Dave’s side, firing as we sped by. “No!” Another shot thudded into us from behind, the rear windshield shattering. Another hit the side as I turned.
    â€œDave, close the fucking door!”
    He reached for it in desperation, bullets flying into the car. The agent was emptying his gun. I heard a horrifying “Oooof” over the rain of glass and the engine roar. I looked at my husband. His head pitched slightly forward and he had a glazed look in his eye, and I realized in panic what had happened before I saw the blood flower on his chest and his hand drop limply to his side.
    â€œOh my God, David!” I screamed in horror.
    Even as I rambled over our front circle, our eyes met for an instant. Our last instant. I’m not sure if there was anything in them anymore, just a kind of blankness and futility, as if he was somehow letting me down. It was a look I’ll carry with me the rest of my life.
    Frantically, I lunged for him, as we bounced over the Belgian block, the force of the turn pitching him to the side. And then Dave slid, fell out of my grasp, and onto the pavement like some lifeless sack of grain, as I turned the corner of the driveway onto our street.
    I slammed on the brakes and stared at him in horror. “David!”
    I knew he was dead. The glassy eyes staring blankly up at me. And dead only because of what I’d done. Staring up at me, like some disturbing image I’d seen on a news clip, someone else’s husband, twisted, inert, two dark blotches on his chest.
    Another shot pinged through the car from behind me, and I saw Agent Number One running toward me. I knew if I stayed even a moment longer, I’d be dead as well. I looked one last time at Dave.
    My heart was crumbling.
    I hit the gas, the Range Rover lunging forward. I sped away, tears flooding my eyes. I drove down my dark, sleeping street, anguish tearing at me. Disbelief. I told myself that this was only some horrifying, nightmarish dream and screamed at myself to wake up from it. Now. Wake up!
    Please.
    But as I sped through the darkened town, cutting down side streets and weaving through a parking lot only a resident would know to make certain I wasn’t being followed, not knowing where I was driving, only that I had to get away, as far away from this as I could; I knew with certainty it was no dream.
    Oh, Dave . . .
    And I saw clearly how it was all going to look once it became public. That I’d killed a government agent in a panic after being caught in a stranger’s hotel room, and now, having escaped the law enforcement agents who had come for me, I’d gotten my husband killed too. How, after an argument the night before, I’d betrayed him. I could just hear Pam on some news clip tomorrow reinforcing the whole thing. How down I had sounded. How desperate I’d been to meet her at the hotel.
    And even if the police did somehow believe me about how the shootings there went down, how would the people who did this ever let me be, having witnessed what I had? How would I ever feel safe again, knowing they had to cover this up too?
    They would never let me be free.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    I drove.
    I’m not sure for how long