Page 13 of Jude

‘Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re leaving with me.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I appreciate it, but I can’t -.’

‘You will,’ I grunted. ‘ Listen, babe, we’re walking out of here now. So I can calm down and recalibrate, because right now I want to walk back to that desk and tear the agent a new one for profiling you. I’m also tired as hell, but I need to see this through. In a few, a couple of deputies are pick us up outside. They’re the decent cops, so please don’t panic when you see them. They’re going to take us to the Sheriff, who’ll help make sense of what’s happening and help you. Got it?’

She gazed up at me, her deep brown eyes searching mine for a beat, until she nodded.

‘OK.’

I jerked my chin at her. ‘Let’s roll.’

Taking hold of my gear, I led Sofia along, my hand on her back.

We moved at a fast yet nonchalant pace that kept all eyes off us as we headed for the terminal exit.

The airport noise buzzed around us, a chaotic blend of rolling luggage wheels, boarding announcements, and families arguing over gate numbers.

I kept a firm grip on the strap of our bags, my focus fixed on the exit doors fifty yards ahead.

Sofia walked a half-step behind my shoulder.

Her breathing sounded shallow, but we were almost clear of the terminal.

We just needed to hit the pavement outside and find our ride.

A small, scrappy woman in a denim jacket drifted in behind me, into my peripheral vision, cutting close to my left side.

I adjusted my stride to avoid colliding with her, expecting the usual brief bump of a rushed traveler.

Instead, a hard cylinder got shoved into the flesh between my lower ribs.

My brain stalled for a fraction of a second, cataloging the strange pressure.

The hell? I thought, my eyes snapping down.

The stranger looked about twenty-five, wearing faded clothes and tired, smudged makeup.

She had a bright, disarming grin fixed on her face, even nodding to a passing family to mask the weapon concealed beneath her sleeve.

‘Jude, that’s Luisa,’ Sofia whispered on the other side of me, her voice cracking with terror. ‘She’s the minder.’

‘The one you’re running from?’ I murmured

‘That’s me,’ Luisa hissed, flashing a fake, unhinged smile as she stepped closer to me. ‘Keep walking, sfigato. Try any funny business, and I’ll blow your guts across the terminal.’

Not on my watch, sweetheart, I thought, keeping my arm clamped around Sofia’s waist and steering her to avoid making a scene in the open.

The woman marched us behind a thick column, blocking the view of the airport cops and the security cameras.

Luisa sneered, the friendly facade dropping as we hit the shadows.

She raised the weapon, a compact, matte-black Glock 43, and leveled it at my chest.

It was a slim nine-millimeter pocket gun, perfect for a smaller hand to conceal and handle with lethal accuracy.

‘Hand her over,’ Luisa demanded, her eyes wide and manic. ‘Dario and the Compagni padrone won’t be happy about Sofia running off. You don’t want this smoke, my friend.’

‘You’ve no idea what I want,’ I growled, as my reflexes took over in split-second moves.