No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

Until Darby intervened, that is. And handed the little girl a
Swiss Army knife so she could escape into a hostile climate
she was utterly unprepared for. And another venomous thought
slipped into her mind — she felt guilty for even thinking it,
given what had already happened — but it burrowed in like a
splinter and wouldn’t leave.
They’re going to kill me now.
Darby was certain of this.
Now that Jay is lost, now that they don’t need my voice.
And now that—
* * *
Now that they were beyond earshot of the rest area, Lars
had been waiting for permission to shoot Darby in the back of
the head, and Ashley had finally given it to him. The phrase
“batting a thousand” was the tipoff.
It meant kill.
It was called Spy Code. Since they’d been kids, Ashley
had buried dozens of secret messages within everyday
dialogue. “Lucky me” means stay. “Lucky you” means go.
“Extra cheese” means run like hell. “Ace of spades” means
pretend we’re strangers. Failure to obey one meant an instant
yellow card, and Lars’s fingers were pocked with the pale
scars of past errors. Tonight had already featured one
frighteningly close call — he’d nearly missed “Ace of spades”
back at the rest area.
But he’d known this one was coming.
The pistol was ice-cold in his hands. His skin stuck to the
metal. It was a Beretta Cougar, a stout, stubby firearm that
bulged under his coat and never felt quite right in his hands.
Like gripping a big jellybean. The Cougar was usually
chambered in 9-millimeter, but this particular model was the
8405, so it fired the fatter .45 ACP (Automatic Colt Pistol)
cartridge. More stopping power, but punchier recoil and fewer
rounds stored in the clip (the magazine, Ashley insisted). Eight
shots, single-stacked.