Chapter 1
Jack Taylor
For the last couple miles, I’ve had a real bad feeling deep in my gut.
“Call Patten Securities.” As I wait for my Bluetooth to respond, high beams blind me in both rear view and side mirrors.
I wasn’t sure if the Ford was tailing me until I upped my speed to about ninety but now it’s sitting on my bumper. My best-case scenario is there’s some lobbyist hoping to catch the senator’s ear. Worst case? Someone wants him dead.
When shots ricochet off the back window, the answer becomes crystal clear.
“Buckle up, sir, we’ve got trouble.”
“Goddamn it, son.” Senator McAlister clicks his seatbelt and I can almost feel his eyes boring a hole into the back of my head.
I know what he’s thinking. He’s paying top dollar for security. How the hell did someone get close enough to rain bullets on us?
I’m wondering the same damned thing.
To be fair, I did request he wait until morning before having me drive him back to Pennsylvania. However, Joe being Joe, insisted on getting home for Thanksgiving the weekend before.
About now the shooter, probablyshootersare rethinking their strategy. They didn’t know about the bullet-proof glass which gives me a small degree of optimism. Someone didn’t do their homework. They can’t be all that swift.
The truck with high beams drops back a couple car lengths. If I were him, I’d wait for an empty stretch of road. Then, I’d ram my SUV off the road and get the senator to exit. After that? Well, it would depend upon my orders.
“What do you need, Jack?” I don’t recognize the voice that comes up in my headset but Patten only hires the best.
I give the guy the lowdown, keeping one eye in the rear view. “I caught a tail. Bullets fired into my back window. Get me backup.”
Behind me, the Ford truck keeps his distance. “We should be fine if you can find a way off the expressway.”
“Copy that. Stand by.”
Suddenly, the lights I’ve been watching for the last few miles approach way too fast for the top speed of the Ford. I underestimated the bastard. He wasn’t dropping back to regroup, he needed distance in order to inject nitro into the line.
Fuck.I slam my foot on the accelerator and swerve to the curb but it’s too late. A crunching jolt to my right rear sets my SUV into a tailspin. I turn the steering wheel in the opposite direction, we careen against the guardrail, and turn three-hundred-sixty-degrees until we’re facing north again.
“What the fuck?” Senator McAlister shouts over the roar of me gunning the engine.
“Call 911, Joe.” I’m sure the Patten guy in my headset has already made the call but McAlister is less likely to panic with something to do.And someone to yell at.
I quickly veer in front of a tractor trailer whose horn blares out into the night.Sorry dude, life and death here.
A picture of my beautiful bride flashes across my brain and strengthens my resolve.I hear ya, Blakely.The only funeral this week will be for some dumb assholes trying to kill a United States senator in the middle of the night.
Behind me, the eighteen-wheeler slows down, putting several tons of vehicle between me and the would-be assassins.
“Status? Anyone hurt?” The guy in my ear reminds me I have to stay focused.
“Get me off this road, now. Over.”
It’s only a matter of time before the assassin guns the engine, passes my guardian tractor-trailer angel and forces us off the road.
Despite the seriousness of the fucked-up situation, I can’t help but chuckle as Joe reams the 911 operator a new asshole. “It’sSenatorMcAlister, young woman, and you call the goddamned secret service, the FBI and whoever the fuck else I say. What? Hell, no, I don’t know exactly where we are. We just went over the Potomac. Does that help? What? No! I don’t need a goddamned ambulance but you can send a hearse if someone doesn’t get here soon! And figure on finding a new job, missy.”
The tractor-trailer’s driver must’ve enlisted one of his buddies for help because another eighteen-wheeler pulls beside me, essentially creating a safe place while I figure out what to do next. Generally, I try to avoid a gunfight but these guys have left me with very few options.
Fuck it all to hell.In front of me, a black Escalade with rental plates slams on his brakes. I can either hit him, slow down, or pull off the road. I choose door-number-two but in doing so, seal my fate. The trucker behind me has to move to the middle lane or plow into me.
