Page 76 of Travis
I knew the layout. I knew where the weapons were. I debated for a second, then I took a handgun from the safe.
I’d held one twice during training. Travis had shown me the safety, the grip, the stance. I hadn’t fired it. My accuracy would be worthless and I knew that, but sometimes it was the presence of a weapon that changed a situation.
I ran upstairs and grabbed my inhaler from the kitchen counter. Gun in one hand, inhaler in the other. If I hadn’t been so terrified I would have appreciated the absurdity.
The garage held his vehicles. I got into the SUV closest to the door, set the gun and inhaler on the passenger seat, and adjusted the mirrors. My hands were trembling. I gripped the wheel until they stopped, or at least until the trembling was small enough to drive through.
The garage door opened. Daylight poured in, bright and ordinary, the kind of clear Montana morning that had no business being the backdrop for what I was about to do.
Three weeks. I hadn’t been outside this compound in three weeks. The last time I’d been out there, men had been waiting at my apartment to kill me. Travis had pulled me out of that. Now I was driving toward him because nobody else could.
I pulled out of the garage, through the gate, and onto the road. The house disappeared behind me in the rearview mirror, and I was alone.
