No Immunity

watch was over.
    Once inside the gate, she’d have no chance at all.
    She eyed the guard, the guard’s car. Distract him with sports car talk? Was there a way to get the guard chatting and... what? Nothing. That wasn’t going to get her out of here.
    Nothing. But there was nothing else. She hated to use the nausea routine; it was so juvenile, so trite, so demeaning.
    The patrol car slammed to a stop at the gate. Fox stretched his legs but seemed in no hurry to haul her out. She turned toward the back window and spotted a trail of dust. A car coming. She watched until it was close enough for her to make out the driver. Another second and she realized Tchernak was locked helplessly in the back. “I really am going to be sick.” She heard her own words before she realized she’d been speaking aloud, and to an empty car.
    No other option. She banged on the window. “Fox, I’m going to be sick. Fox, you hear me. Fox!”
    Fox ambled to the car, his ursine face drawn in disgust. “Old trick.”
    “I’m not kidding.”
    “Look, I’ll bet—”
    “You bet your upholstery? Another few seconds and you won’t have a decision to make.”
    Fox shook his head. But he unlocked the door.
    She started toward the side of the road.
    “Eppers!” Fox called to the guard. “Keep an eye on her.”
    Kiernan staggered forward. In gymnastics, where flesh was anathema, she had watched girls regurgitate. Later she had wondered if any of them had been among the young women subsequently who died of “unexplained” heart attacks. But back then, before the danger was known, how many ways can you make yourself throw up had been a hot topic. Picturing the worst possible fate had been her forte. Blood, guts, gore did nothing to unnerve her. It was the thought of tiny airless rooms that raised the bile in her throat.
    Eppers was at her shoulder. He was five ten, thickly muscled, blond hair almost shaved, with a pale complexion that advertised his opinion of the desert. Mostly the kid looked bored. Eight hours a day in a cubicle without so much as a TV, who wouldn’t be bored?
    Behind her she heard the car that held Tchernak slam to a stop. Doors banged open and closed, first one and then a second. Tchernak was out. For an instant her hopes spiked. Then she spotted the handcuffs.
    “That’s Brad Tchernak!”
    “Brad Tchernak of the Chargers?”
    “That’s him.”
    “Really?” Eppers looked over her shoulder toward the car, but he didn’t move.
    Kiernan lurched forward, gagged loudly, and threw up.
    Eppers took a step back.
    God, she hoped she didn’t have to do it again. She shivered violently, and forced herself into another gag. She had forgotten how revolting it felt as shame and fear mixed with bile, and even now she felt a wave of guilt.
    Eppers moved closer to the second patrol car. “Brad Tchernak?” she heard him call out tentatively.
    Tchernak’s voice cut through the air. “You look like defensive line. I spent a lot of years staring you guys down.” Tchernak was in his element.
    She did a stagger step to the sports car. The key was in the ignition.
    So this was how Fox planned on her helping him to find the boys. It had to be a setup.

CHAPTER 47

    Kiernan jumped into the Miata, fired up the engine, and was past the patrol car before it turned around. She ran the sports car through the gears in record time and floored the pedal. In the rearview mirror she could see the patrol cars still in place and Fox on the ground with Tchernak wagging his handcuffs over him.
    Wind strafed her face in the open car. She squinted against the piercing sun and wind-borne sand. The new pavement ended. The car quivered, and she felt like she was sliding on her bottom over the rough surface. Once Fox gave chase, her little car would be no match for his high-powered patrol car.
    If she were driving her own Jeep, she could cut straight across the brush. The Miata wouldn’t go ten feet off the road before it ran aground like a pirate ship. There was no choice but to head straight west to the interstate and loop back from there.
    No wonder Fox was in no hurry.
    He had made his local reputation following an “escaped” suspect. Why wouldn’t he try that again and let her lead him to the boys? Her escape attempt was a scenario with appeal to all parties. But she was not going to lead Fox to the boys. She’d turn right at the highway and drive to Las Vegas in first gear before she’d do that.
    And die? She and Tchernak. If she