Free The Nightmare Thief by Meg Gardiner Page A

harsh and whiny in the mountain air.
    The green-faced young man climbed to his feet. Swerving back across the clearing, he opened one of the Hummer’s doors and grabbed a water bottle. He sauntered over to Autumn and nuzzled her neck.
    She pushed him away. “God, Dustin. You smell like puke.”
    Gabe glanced inside the open door of the Hummer. Jo saw it too: a gleaming silver handgun with a telescopic sight.
    Von said, “It’s a replica.”
    The man in the Edge Adventures cap wiped his palm on his jeans and extended his hand. “Kyle Ritter. Don’t worry none about the guns. They’re for show.”
    Gabe smiled, as robotically as Von had. “Just wondering what sort of birthday party you’re celebrating.”
    Von took a business card from his shirt pocket. “Edge Adventures. The ultimate in urban reality games.”
    Dustin walked over, water bottle hanging from his hand. “Yeah, we’re federal agents, guarding our prisoner. See?”
    He opened the front door of the Hummer. A rifle was propped on the seat. Jo recognized the curved ammunition clip and tall front sight on the stubby barrel. It was an AK-47.
    The girl whose feet were protruding from the Hummer sat up. “Badass. We are badasses.”
    She pitched back on the seat again.
    Jo checked the jumper leads. The Hummer’s engine was gunning. “Think you’re all set.”
    Gabe disconnected the cables from the pickup’s battery. Jo caught his eye. He was wearing The Look.
    Not his laid-back all-is-well look. The other one. It set Jo’s nerves on edge.
    He slammed the hood of the pickup. Casually, he said, “Let’s roll.”
    Von stuffed the rag in his pocket, his eyes on Gabe. “The weapons are decommissioned.” He gestured at Peach Fuzz. “Friedrich’s an ex-cop, and we have former military on staff. Everything’s cool.”
    “Great.”
    Gabe leaned into the crew cab and put the cables away. Under his breath he said, “Bullshit.”
    He glanced at Ritter. “His gun’s patently a toy, something the guy picked up at a Battlestar Galactica convention. But the others are working firearms.”
    Behind him, one of the girls turned up the music and began dancing. Ritter slammed the hood of the Hummer. Von clapped his hands. “Everybody, let’s go.”
    Gabe glanced at them edgeways. “I’ve been on one of these role-playing weekends. In Finland, with a bunch of think-tank guys. Executives playing Cold War. One side gets captured by a Russian tank, then out pop the ‘Soviet’ invaders—a bunch of Finnish lingerie models in Red Army hats. They had real Kalashnikovs, but it was obvious at a glance they’d been deactivated. The barrels were plugged. The firing pins had been removed. Colored tags were hanging from their muzzles to identify them as ‘safe,’” he said. “Whatever this game is, it’s a bad one.”
    “Let’s go.”
    Jo was planning to drive straight down the mountain to the sheriff’s station. When she got there she’d tell the deputies about this drunken rodeo.
    Behind her, Dustin stood by the door of the Hummer. “Lark, where’s Peyton?”
    They looked around. The blonde in raspberry velour had wandered into the trees.
    “Peyton,” Lark called.
    Dustin shouted, “Mackie, get back here. We got boot camp. And after that, you got escaped felons to hunt.”
    He reached into the Hummer and picked up the AK-47 from the front seat. “Peyton, come back before I come after you.”
    He slung the strap over one shoulder like he was Rambo. The muzzle began to come up.
    Gabe jumped at him. “Don’t.” He got his hand on the barrel and pushed it down. “Aim the barrel downrange. Never aim it at anybody.”
    Dustin spun away. “What’s your problem? The gun’s fake. Fake .”
    He ostentatiously swept the rifle in an arc, aimed it at the trees, and pulled the trigger.
    The rifle fired. Four shots in a close burst, the sound cracking the air. Orange flame spit from the barrel, cartridge casings ejected, and the rounds hit the trunk of a pine.