“I did okay earlier.” He knew he sounded defensive, but couldn’t tell if he sounded scared, which was how he felt. Mrs. Womack looked at him over the top of her glasses. She was wearing a bulky black sweater, a loose black skirt, and sensible black orthopedic shoes. Her support hose were black, too. She blended in to the dark shadows of the parking lot where they stood, except for the silver blue gleam of her hair and the glitter of her eyeglasses. He shivered in a new blast of arctic-cold wind and reached for his coat and gloves.

“You got the car shot half to hell, lost the back window, and managed to let Agent Carling collect two bullets along the way,” she corrected. “I believe you’ll have to do better this time.”

She dug in her big purse and came up with her ball of yarn and knitting needles, frowned, and dug again. She came up with a handful of ammunition clips that she slipped in the pockets of her big black slouch coat.

“Do I get a gun?” he asked. Agent Jennings, who was silently donning his bulletproof vest a few feet away, looked up. He had two expressions, the second one was disgust. It vanished as quickly as it appeared. A car drove through the parking lot, speakers booming bass. Agent Jennings turned to track its progress and only relaxed when it disappeared back to the road and sped away.

“No, dear,” she said, speaking carefully as if Martin had a hearing impairment. “You drive the car.”

“Shouldn’t you be calling in the local FBI agents?” he guessed. “The police? The boy scouts? Somebody?”

Mrs. Womack left him to join Agent Jennings at the trunk of the car. She reached in and clicked open a case, took out a shotgun, and racked the shells with terrifying precision.

“Bryce dear, I think you might want to take something with more range, perhaps the Mac-10. We should have some extra clips in here somewhere.” Without looking away from whatever assortment of death-dealing weapons she had in the trunk, she said, “Mr. Grady, I don’t think you fully understand our position. We are not, per se, here in an official capacity.”

“What?” He watched the two of them load guns and felt weak at the knees. “What? Excuse me?”

“Oh, it’ll be quite all right, you’ll see. All you need to worry about is driving.” She paused a second and sighed. “I do wish Adrian were here. I wish that very much. She’ll be so disappointed to have missed it.”

Agent Jennings slammed the trunk shut and walked around to open the passenger-side door for Mrs. Womack. Martin stood flat-footed and openmouthed, breathing in air cold enough to sear his lungs, until she clucked her tongue and came back to him, rooting in her oversized purse.