Bonnie Blue Jmac -

Three seconds later, a crack of lightning split the sky, and the world went white.

“They’re on the boat,” Bonnie said. “Docked at the old lumber mill. But you’ll need a boat yourself to get there. The bridge is out.”

As Corrigan turned to bark orders at his men, the warehouse lights flickered. A storm surge. Bonnie saw it: the single guard by the generator, the open loading bay door, the coil of frayed rope near J-Mac’s foot. bonnie blue jmac

J-Mac’s voice cut through the noise, calm as a stone. “Corrigan. You said we were ghosts. You were right. And you know what ghosts do to people who try to cage them?”

Bonnie let a slow, feral smile spread across her face. It was a look that had made stronger men than Corrigan reach for their wallets. “If we’re ghosts, Corrigan, what does that make you? A particularly ugly poltergeist?” Three seconds later, a crack of lightning split

J-Mac shot her a look— what are you doing? —but he trusted her. He always did.

Bonnie moved. She was on her feet before the thunderclap faded, the chair leg in her hand. She drove it into the kidney of the nearest guard, then grabbed his dropped pistol. J-Mac had already rolled, used the rope to loop a guard’s ankle, and yanked. The man went down hard, and J-Mac was on him, freeing his own hands with a brutal twist. But you’ll need a boat yourself to get there

Corrigan’s eyes glittered. Bingo.