Highways & Hostages Read Free Page B

Rothschild catching them at the house. Billy was supposed to have been watching out for von Rothschild’s car near the neighborhood’s entrance just in case he returned early. Why hadn’t he warned them?
    “Well? I’m becoming impatient. Aren’t you going to give me some kind of explanation before I have you shot?”
    “No one has to get hurt,” Finn said.
    “No, but it might be more fun that way.” Von Rothschild smiled, showing a lot of teeth, and looking perfectly at ease despite the gun at Finn’s side.
    Finn quickly ran through his options. He could tell von Rothschild the truth—that Julian sent them to steal back the item von Rothschild originally stole from him. He could say they were robbing the place, or—
    Finn raised his pistol and fired, intentionally missing. The shot rang out, and von Rothschild dropped to the ground. His driver immediately began firing in retaliation. Finn dove behind the one closed front door of the house. He peered around it, his gun cocked. The driver advanced toward the house with von Rothschild close on his heels.
    Finn aimed at the arm with which the driver held his gun. He pulled the trigger and the bullet ripped into the driver’s shoulder, propelling him backward and knocking von Rothschild off balance. Finn quickly fired again, sending a bullet in von Rothschild’s direction. The bullet hit its mark. Von Rothschild crumpled to the ground, holding his bleeding right leg.
    “Christoph!” Elizabeth screeched from behind the open car door. She turned her rage-filled eyes on Finn. “You bastard!” she screamed. “Someone call for help!”
    “Elizabeth, dear, calm down and call Dr. Albrecht,” von Rothschild commanded through clenched teeth. “Go after him, Tobias.”
    The driver cradled his injured arm and continued approaching the house, cautiously this time. Finn sent another shot around the door. When Tobias ducked out of the way, Finn took off into the rotunda.
    Alex raced down the stairs with the much-coveted chalice. All of this over a stupid silver cup , Finn thought. “Out back!” he shouted.
    As Alex reached the bottom of the stairs, Finn fired at the doorway. He put the safety on his gun and took off for the sitting room. A set of French doors led onto the veranda and out into the backyard. Finn reached the doors at the same time a gun went off. He turned back to see Alex doubled over, clutching his torso. Alex stumbled toward the sitting room. Another shot rang out, the bullet hitting the doorjamb next to Alex’s head. Without hesitating, Finn ran over to Alex and hoisted him up. He wanted to check how badly Alex was injured, but they didn’t have that kind of time.
    With shots pinging all around him, Finn half dragged, half carried Alex through the yard, his grandfather’s dog tags drumming a beat against his chest. “No soldier gets left behind,” the old man had repeated over and over throughout Finn’s childhood. As a kid, Finn imagined his grandfather pulling wounded comrades to safety in World War II as an American flag waved proudly under a cloudless blue sky and an eagle soared overhead. His grandfather had been loyal, faithful. He was a hero. Young Finn wanted to be a hero, but his life had ultimately detoured from that path. At least nobody could deny Adult Finn’s loyalty.
    He adjusted his hold on Alex, breathing hard. Finn quickened his pace. “You’re gonna be alright. It’s just a flesh wound.”

THURSDAY
    ..................

STELLA, 12:23 A.M.
    Stella pulled her badly rusted 1968 orange VW Beetle up to a beige-and-brown single-wide trailer, which, like the car, had seen better days. She used a hand to still the fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview mirror, glanced around the car, and smiled. The upholstery mimicked the shell of a ladybug—red with black dots.
    She got out of the car—affectionately named Josie—and patted it fondly on the hood. Dragging herself up the rickety wooden steps onto the postage stamp–sized porch,