Chapter 10
Sam
Safe inside Patten’s SUV, I stare out the back window, and shout when we turn on Seventh. “Shit! Two cars back. We caught a tail.”
“Good guys or bad?” Sebastian, sitting in the front, turns and follows my gaze.
“Does it matter?” For all we know, Chrissy murdered a co-ed, and we could be harboring a fugitive.
Our tires squeal and as gravity slams me against the side door, my husband pokes Slate. “Take the next right.”
The black BMW tracks us through the red light. Eyes in the rearview, our taciturn driver curses as he misses a delivery truck by a fraction of an inch.
With tinted windows and no front plates, there’s no way to identify who’s behind us. The only thing I’m certain of, is they drive like a native.
Suds dials his cell phone, presses the Bluetooth button on the dash, and after a few rings in the car’s speakers, Patten headquarters picks up.
“Hands? We’re being followed. Need your eyes.” My partner winks at me and I take a deep breath. If anyone can get us out of a jam, it’s his best friend.
“Second left.” The voice clips, our tires skid, and a bike messenger jumps the curb toward a shouting pedestrian who shoots us the bird.
Jaw ticking, Slate grips the wheel and while he races back up Eighth Avenue, Hands barks out commands. “You’re not going to outrun them. Who are they after? And who’s with you in the car?”
As we race through traffic, slowing down only at red lights, Suds explains our situation. Without any hesitation, Hands barks out orders.
“Good copy. Stop at Port Authority. Sam, take Chrissy to the tunnels. Jump on the first train with open doors.”
Digging into his back pocket, Suds catches my eye. “Do you need subway fare?”
“No, I got it.” Moving aside my Amex, I pull two yellow MetroCards from my wallet and put one in the teenager’s hand. “You know how to use this?”
When she nods, I curl my fingers on the doorhandle, and as Slate swerves to the curb, I jump out of the slow-moving vehicle and Chrissy follows.
Her sneakers smack the sidewalk behind me as we dodge tourists and dash into the bus station.
Having grown up in the city, I know the fastest way to the trains but I’m betting the guys chasing us do, too. It’s a risk, but instead of going down, I run up the first escalator where the Jersey busses depart, while the men spin in circles on the floor below. They communicate with military hand signals. As one goes up and one down, I race toward the back of the station to the lesser-known stairwell.
At the bottom, I swipe my card and wait as Chrissy fumbles with hers. “C’mon, c’mon.”
“Fuck. I’m going as fast as I can.” By the time her waist pushes against the bar, the subway doors start to close.
“Hold the door!” A Hail Mary, if there ever was one, I pray a good Samaritan will help us out. In response, a muscled shoulder jams the opening.
I push Chrissy forward and squeeze behind her as the conductor’s muffled voice sounds through the distorted intercom. “screeeeeech… clear… doors.”
“Took you long enough.”
Suds?
“Wave goodbye to the nice men.” He wiggles his fingers, turns his hand, and makes a rude gesture out the window while I try to catch my breath.
On the platform, one of the men chasing us curses. His jacket came unbuttoned, revealing his leather holster. The other dumbass rushes down the stairs with a cellphone to his ear, forgetting there’s no reception underground.
Once the train pulls out of the station and accelerates, my free arm wraps around my hubby. “Holy shit. Who were those guys?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say a couple of New York’s finest.”
I moan and close my eyes. “My dad is going to disown me.”
