Free Games Girls Play by B. A. Tortuga

“Do you have a plan?”
    “Florida. We have a huge variety of airports and ports, and
I know Marty has a forger there.”
    Florida. All the nuts rolled downhill, she supposed. “We’re
driving, yeah?”
    “We are.” Jane glanced at her sideways, lips quirking in a
grin. “I am.”
    “Yeah. The accelerator could be tender after about, oh, a
millisecond.”
    “Uh-huh. It would suck hard. I’m gonna go check the
perimeter cameras. I got me an itch.”
    That was never good.
    “I’ll get my socks and shoes—” Alarms went off, deep inside
the house, and she stood, grabbing their toiletries off the counter where they’d
kept them in go-ready mode. “Your itch was late. Time to go.”
    “Shit. They’ve driven on the property. We’ve got five
minutes, tops.” Jane stuffed a few more things into a bag and grabbed her
Glock.
    “Give me a piece.” Rose slipped the ammo bag on her
shoulder, then the electronics.
    “You want the Ruger?”
    “MK III?”
    “Only the best for my girl.” Jane grabbed two sawed-off
shotguns and a semiautomatic rifle and a wad of cash as big as her head. “Ready?”
    “Always.” The options were getting away or getting dead.
That was it.
    “Yeah.” They managed to get everything in the car at the two
minutes and twenty second mark, Jane’s phone buzzing as they sat. She looked,
started the car, the Bluetooth picking up. “Marty.”
    “Aaron killed Ben.”
    “Shit.” Jane blew out a hard breath but the motion of the
car backing out of the driveway didn’t slow. “I’m sorry, buddy.”
    Ben had been one of them when Rose was still in diapers. Ben
was a fucking legend.
    “I’m not. He was dying. Cancer. It hurt. This was way more
fun than puking up his guts and shitting himself to death.” Marty sighed. “Tell
me you’re moving. They’re heading your way, girls. You need to hustle.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Heading? Marty, the alarms are going
off.”
    “Rosie? That you? They break anything important?”
    “No, asshole. It’s Jane’s other woman. You remember, the
cute one?”
    “Ah, right. The one in the corset.” Marty laughed. “Good to
know.”
    “Okay, the alarms are going wild, man.” Jane didn’t look
like she was having fun, pushing the SUV through a bit of underbrush that swung
open to expose a theoretically paved trail.
    “Yeah, I’m behind the first wave. Don’t stress your former
handler. He’s on my plate now. The guy’s that are coming, they’re Feds and
Homeland Security.”
    She looked at Jane and pulled the shotgun from the back
seat, just in case.
    Jane pulled up, then threw the engine in park and jumped
out, resetting the camouflaged gate.
    Marty’s voice was low. “You girls need to get out of there.
Check in with me when you have a new phone. I’m going to hang back.”
    Rose nodded, even though Marty couldn’t see her. “See you,
Martin. Have a good one.”
    The gate reset, Jane slid back in the driver’s seat and
started moving. Rose could only guess how many hundreds of times her lady had
practiced this getaway, not even seeming to pay attention as the barely visible
road twisted and turned.
    Jane headed out, driving slow and quiet, pushing through the
trees. The underbrush was heavy, almost impassable, but Jane just kept moving,
pushing the car like a metal rhinoceros into the brush.
    “Don’t worry, Rosie. I know where I’m going.”
    “I know you do.” She patted Jane’s leg. “I’m sorry. I know
you like this house.”
    “I do. I love you, though, and we’ll have a new house.”
    “We will.” They had spent long hours in bed talking about
Tuscany or Amalfi and the villa they would have. How they would make love in
the late afternoon sun and drink wine they had to strain through their teeth.
The coffee too. Lord, they had good coffee in Italy.
    After a good twenty minutes, the underbrush started to
clear, the sky blue and bright above them. “We’re almost there, Rose.”
    “I’ve got your back.”
    Jane