Another bullet whizzed by, shattering the window and raining shards of glass down on their heads.
“Are you always this prone to bad luck and violence? If so, that’s kind of sad,” he yelled over the gunshots.
“Pretty much, yeah,” she shouted back, reloading her pistol.
It was her last clip; she tried not to think about it. She glanced over the edge of the crate, ducking back down as another bullet shot past. “I keep thinking I need to find a new job, but who is going to hire someone whose résumé just says ‘washed out cop-turned-bounty hunter’?”
“Speaking of which, you’re gonna let me go if we get out of this, right? Traumatic bonding or something?” He reached for his pocket, looking for more ammo, but his hands just found fabric and a lighter. “Damn it.”
“Let you go? You are worth seventy-five thou. I’m hauling your ass in, sorry.” She glanced around. As fun as this was, she was starting to worry. They needed an exit plan.
They were stuck behind a crate in a warehouse controlled by the mob. The man beside her was a bouncer-turned-informant-turned-double-agent, and it was her job to drag him back to the FBI, where he could face the consequences of being a two-faced asshole. Though she had to admit, it wasn’t a bad face to look at. In a different context, she’d be interested. But facing down the mob with a guy she couldn’t trust to put her out if she was on fire wasn’t a great situation.
“Do you have plan?” he asked, and though his voice was as damnably cheerful as usual, she could hear a slight undercurrent of worry.
“I’m thinking,” she snarled back.
“Well, think faster. I’m out,” he said as he collapsed against the crate. Then he laughed.
“What the hell?”
“I’m just thinking it’s too bad we are going to die here, because I was going to ask you out once we got outta here.”
“As if,” she glared at him. She looked around the crate once more. She counted to five before she had to duck back. She leaned her head back against the crate, eyes closed. This was going to be it. This is how she died. “Sucked at being a cop, sucked at being a bounty hunter.” That’s what her tombstone was going to read. She glanced over at him, to see him staring at her. He really was easy on the eyes.
“Fuck it,” she signed, and grabbed his face, pulling him to her and kissing him like it was going to be the last kiss of her life. Which it was, she thought briefly, but then his hands were in her hair, his tongue swirled around hers, and she lost all conscious thought.
“FBI! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!”
They both jumped, staring at each other.
“Is that-?”
“Are we-?”
“Not gonna die? Not today, I don’t think,” she said, dropping her gun and standing up with her hands raised. “I got ‘im over here! Where’s my money?”
Inspired by a writing prompt from The Character Comma’s prompt generator.
© The Lightning Tower, 2020