Rome jerked his Glock from his waist clip, tossed it to Elizabeth. “There’s one in the chamber.”
The man with the assault rifle came halfway out of his open window and fired nonstop. The Range Rover’s passenger-side mirror exploded and flew off, but Elizabeth fired back until the magazine was empty. Rome switched on his high beams to blind the driver and jerked the wheel hard left.
“My jacket pocket!”
She pulled another magazine from his pocket, ejected the empty one, shoved the new one into the Glock. They were closer now, maybe twenty feet, the man on the passenger side still leaning out the window, firing at them again. Elizabeth pulled back, calmed, recited Hurley’s words to her—slow and easy.She reared up, sighted, and fired three times, the sound deafening. The third bullet hit him. His weapon flew out of his hands out the window and cracked against the asphalt. Shejerked her head back inside. “I shot the bloody tosser, Rome! Now what?”
The SUV went another thirty yards, regrouping, Elizabeth knew, then turned back. Rome once again did a 180 and floored it, directly back into the path of the oncoming SUV. Faster and faster. She knew they were going to crash head-on unless one of the vehicles turned away.
They were nearly in the SUV’s grille when the driver jerked his wheel hard left, his tires squealing as the SUV tilted onto its two right wheels. Before it could crash back down, Rome smashed into its right rear panel, trying to roll it over, but it spun and crashed back down on its wheels. They heard a shout, saw blood splattered across the cracked windshield. The driver hit the gas and roared back toward Brentwood Street.
“Take the wheel! Give me my Glock!”
She slapped the Glock into his right hand and grabbed the steering wheel. Rome twisted, leaned out the window, and fired. The back left tire exploded as the SUV screeched out of the warehouse lot, its steel rim sparking madly.
Rome floored the Range Rover, but it limped forward only a few feet before it coughed and went silent. He cursed, pulled out his cell, and hit a number. “Savich, they came after Elizabeth on our way to you. We’re not hurt, but we think both shooters are wounded. They’re driving a black 2019 Cadillac SUV, white Virginia plate UNR-5396. I shot out a tire, so they can’t go far before they have to dump it. We’re at the warehouse loading area off Brentwood. My engine gave out and we’re stuck here. I’ll text you our GPS.”
He listened, punched off, and slipped his cell back into his jacket pocket. Elizabeth was nearly bouncing up and down from a massive adrenaline spike. Her hair had come loose and tangled around her face. Rome took her arms to settle her. “Look at me, Elizabeth. You did really well, you hit one of the shooters, maybe the driver too. Now take deep breaths.”
She didn’t want any deep breaths, she wanted to fly. She preened.Yes, she had, and he hadn’t even seen the Ruger. She looked at Rome, the calm bastard, as if this near-death experience was old hat to him, something he did once a week and enjoyed. She wanted to kick him.
“They can’t run on a rim for very long,” he said. “They’ll have to dump the SUV. Savich will notify Captain Ben Raven at Metro police. We’ll see if they spot the SUV, not that it would matter. I’m sure it was stolen. Let me see if I can get the car running.”
He jumped out of the Range Rover and popped the hood. Smoke billowed out into his face. The radiator was smashed where he’d hit the SUV, for all the world like a metal fist had punched it. He wondered what the FBI would have to say about repairs.
Rome climbed back into the driver’s seat and smacked his fist against the steering wheel. “I hate we ended on a low note.”
Out came her stiff BBC voice, with a bit of a snarky overlay. “Is that what you call what happened? A frigging low note? Are you mad? We—no, I—shot both men and you drove like a maniac, nearly sent them flying top over arse. A low note? And tell me just how you had the time to see the number plate? Much less know the year the bloody SUV was built?”
He grinned. “So Hurley didn’t teach you how to pay attention? Maybe he should add that to his curriculum.”
She muttered a curse he couldn’t make out and punched him in the shoulder. “Everything happened so fast. You did that amazing one-eighty, drove straight at them, freaked them out, then you smashed into them and shot the tire—” Her voice fell off a cliff. She realized she was babbling. She didn’t recall ever babbling before.
He studied her face. She still looked pumped, ready to run a hundred-yard dash. “You enjoyed that, did you?”
She stared at him. She felt the weirdest mix of feelings—elation and terror and determination. She said finally, “Upon reflection, and since I don’t feel like throwing up any longer, I’m inclined to say I did enjoy it. How much longer until my heart stops trying to burst out of my chest?”
“An hour or two, then you’ll want to sleep for a year. But not yet. We’re going to have police cars and FBI agents all over us in a minute. They’ll have questions and I’ll have a report to write. I hope Savich and Sherlock will feed us again. I’m starving. Maybe a fully loaded pizza from Dizzy Dan’s. Or three.”
Not a minute later the first police car pulled into the warehouse lot. The officer looked at the Range Rover, then back at them. Rome pulled out his creds, handed them to him. The officer grinned. “Looks like you had yourselves some fun here, agent. Too bad about the damage to your Range Rover. I know, don’t say it—you should see the other guy.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Navarro house
Titusville, Virginia
Thursday night
Tash liked his bedroom. Uncle Rebel had bought stuff for him before he’d arrived—books, a telescope, and an Xbox, which he liked but had hardly used, too much else to do. This nice cool night he settled in and tried once again to reach Autumn with his mind, as he did every night. He pictured her face, concentrated, but he couldn’t see her. Maybe it was like a telephone and her line was busy, or maybe she was asleep, or maybe his mind just wasn’t strong enough and never would be. But he’d keep trying.
Tash felt the cool night air coming through the open window. He loved being in the mountains, where you didn’t roast as much in the summer as you did in Philadelphia. He thought of his father and the familiar fear swamped him. What was he doing, planning? He had to be scared, right? With everyone thinking he was a big-time thief, a criminal, and everyone looking for him. But he wasn’t a crook, he just wasn’t. His dad was smart and good and he’d loved Tash and Tash’s mama, they’d been what was really important to him. Well, and his company. Everything was perfect until Mama had died and everything changed. Where was his dad now?
Tash was still thinking about his dad when he finally fell asleep and fell into a strange dream. It was weird. For the first time in his life Tash knew he was dreaming, but it didn’t matter, he saw his father sitting on a bench inside a weird-looking building filled with strange statues and shapes and columns that looked like they had eyes sticking out of them and a ceiling so high he could barely make it out. His dad was staring at long glass windows of all different colors, beautiful, so bright. His brow was furrowed, like he was thinking hard, and he looked sad.
“Dad.”
His dad looked up and blinked, but then he sort of shook his head and stared off at one of the windows again.
