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“I’m going to be the best partner in all of this that I possibly can be.”
“I’m glad you’ve decided.” At least he’s smirking, which is better than the scowl he’s worn all morning. “Would have thought your life being on the line would have made that decision for you before now, but better late than never.”
“So where are we going, partner?”
“Would you be insulted if I said part of being a good partner is limiting the questions?”
“Would you be insulted if I reminded you we’re in this together and I don’t think asking where we’re going is such a big deal? Because it’s not.”
“You’re determined to make me grind my teeth,” he mutters, shaking his head. “There are a few things we have to do today. Preparations. Could you not sit on the edge of your seat like you’re drinking in every word?”
“But I am. I want to know how this works. How does a hit man prepare for something like this?”
For a long time, he leaves me hanging instead of answering. I have to settle for admiring our surroundings, the mountains gleaming in the distance thanks to early-morning sunshine painting them pink and blue. It really is beautiful.
I wish I could shake the need to soak it all in just in case the worst happens. “I’m not usually somebody who looks at the dark side,” I murmur.
“You don’t need to tell me that.”
That’s the thing—I wasn’t telling him. Once again my brain is getting ahead of me and the words are pouring out. “Are you sure I can’t have a hint of where we’re heading?” I ask with hope in my voice.
“You sound like you’re afraid I’m going to drop you on the side of the road with a sign that says Free to a Good Home.” He snickers and shakes his head. “That’s not a bad idea, come to think of it.”
“You know, I have no idea why you didn’t start up a career in comedy instead of killing.”
“We need weapons,” he finally announces as we turn onto the interstate, heading south this time. “Ammo. A couple of handguns aren’t going to be enough.”
In my head, I can picture the two of us kicking in a door and raining bullets on our foes. “Get me one of those high-powered thingies,” I suggest.
“‘Thingies’?” he scoffs. “You sound like you know your shit. Glad you went through the training.”
He is insufferable sometimes. “That way we won’t have to worry so much about my aim. I can just blast away at whatever’s in front of me and I’m bound to hit something, right?”
“I wish I didn’t know you well enough to know you’re serious.”
“You know what else we need?” I exclaim. “Code names!”
“Now I really wish you were joking.”
“Come on!” I plead, folding my hands. “Please? They don’t have to be anything outrageous. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to go around using our actual names either. Right? That’s a pretty good point, isn’t it?”
“What would you suggest?”
I didn’t expect him to indulge me. Tapping my chin, I try to sort through the list of names that suddenly flood my brain. “What about Bonnie and Clyde?” I ask, since that’s the most obvious choice as far as I’m concerned.
Wincing, he asks, “They didn’t exactly turn out too well, did they? I don’t think so.”
All right, good point. “Starsky and Hutch?”
“Seriously? Aren’t you a little young to even know about that show?”
“My grandma DVR’d a lot of things,” I inform him before sticking my tongue out.
“Hell, even I’m too young for that show,” he murmurs, though at least he doesn’t sound so sour anymore.
“I know! I’ve got the perfect solution.” I’m actually kind of proud of this and don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. “Bert and Ernie.”
His spine stiffens as he sits up straighter and tightens his jaw. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
