“Let’s get out of here.” Sam grabbed his arm, hauled him to his feet, and half carried him up the embankment. The moving van sat on the shoulder of the road. Other than a dented front fender, the vehicle wasn’t damaged. Sam shoved Mick into the passenger seat. Rounding the vehicle, he climbed behind the wheel.

Mick looked back. At the bottom of the hill, the cop car was still. From a distance, there was no sign that the two deputies had been shot.

“How’s the arm?”

“I’ve had worse.” Sam’s wound had been shallow. He accelerated, putting the scene behind them. A mile up the road he turned onto a dirt road. They drove a few hundred yards and turned again. Trees cropped up around the lane. Sam stopped the vehicle behind a half-collapsed, abandoned outbuilding. The Charger was parked behind the building.

Mick rubbed his shoulder. The seat belt had done a number on him. “How did you know where I was?”

“News report.” Sam held up a different prepaid smartphone than he’d been using before. “I destroyed the old phone in case the cops got into yours.” He rooted in a bag on the bench seat between them and pulled out another phone, which he handed to Mick. “I stole the van and waited down the road. On TV, they showed you being driven away.”

Mick shoved the new phone in his pocket. “Did you know that old dude we snatched was a cop?”

Sam nodded.

“What did you do with him?”

“I got him stashed where we spent the night. Nobody’s gonna find him.” Sam got out of the van.

They’d parked in an isolated spot overnight. It wasn’t the first time they’d slept in the car, but it had been damned cold. They’d had to start the car engine every hour.

Mick followed his brother. His whole body hurt.

Sam opened the driver’s door of the Charger. He reached in and pulled out a plastic bag. He tossed it to Mick. “Here. Change your clothes. There’s a razor in there, too. Your picture was all over the news.”

Shivering, Mick stripped off his jeans and T-shirt and tugged on the cheap khakis and blue polo shirt. Appearance aside, he was glad to don the fleece jacket. “I look like an idiot.”

“You look like you want to sell me a data plan. Now shut up and shave.” Sam tossed him a bottle of water.

Mick used the water and shaving cream to remove his goatee. He nicked himself multiple times in the cold.

Sam squinted at him. “I don’t think it’s enough.”

“Turn on the dome light.” Tilting the side mirror out, Mick lathered his head and shaved it bald. The night air froze his bare scalp.

“Better,” Sam said. “Do you still want the blond?” His eyes shone as if he was hoping Mick said yes.