“Close the gap so I can jump!” John hollered.
“On it. But it’s gonna get crazy!”
The tires screeched as Ace maneuvered to the left lane, cutting around a Prius that had been blocking the middle lane. He kept the limo over there and punched the pedal. The acceleration made John’s stomach drop and the realization that he was on top of a speeding limo barreling down a busy Vegas street washed over him.
Again, it didn’t matter.
Trixie mattered. She was all that mattered.
As the limo got closer, John got onto his feet, keeping low with his knees bent to maintain a decent center of gravity. He was coiled and ready. He’d jump when it was time.
He thought he was ready to make his move, but at the last minute, the fleeing car sped up, ran a red light, and made an abrupt right-hand turn.
“Shit!” John growled, getting back low and bracing himself for an impact that thankfully never came.
It had been close, though.
Several cars had to skid to screeching stops to avoid crashing into each other. They were spared by mere inches.
White smoke arose from their hot tires. The rubber smell was so strong it nearly made John gag.
Ace slowed the limo just enough to keep John from flying off while he made the turn but then kept going, hot on the tail of the kidnappers.
“This is bad,” John noted to himself.
They were now right on Tropicana Avenue. Tourists, hotels, and cars whipped by in a dizzying blur. With all the commotion, it would be so easy to lose sight of the car—and lose Trixie.
John’s blood boiled as he thought of what those bastards might do to her. If one single hair on her head was harmed, he’d make them all wish they’d never been born.
But maybe it wouldn’t come to that. He had to rescue his babygirl.
To his right was the sprawling Excalibur Hotel, its castle-like architecture stretching into the brilliantly blue desert sky. To his left, across the median and other three lanes of street was the New York, New York resort.
The car kept driving like a bat out of hell. It bobbed and weaved through the slow traffic, though the thick congestion of the street still forced it to slow down.
It forced Ace to slow down, too, though in the giant limo he had an advantage: he could bully his way through a bit easier, forcing people to move.
They turned right on Las Vegas Boulevard, now officially on the famed Strip.
It was bumper-to-bumper traffic, even at that time of day.
A few cars ahead, John saw the back door of the sedan open and a man got out, reaching back to pull Trixie roughly onto the sidewalk.
John was so mad that if he’d had a gun he might have very well used it.
He was glad he didn’t.
There would be no hesitation on his part if there was no other way, but he prayed it wouldn’t come down to that.
“Move!” the man yelled at Trixie.
He gave her a shove toward a waist-high fence but jerked her arm and made her walk alongside it until it ended. They went past a bus stop and kept moving toward the entrance of the Excalibur.
John watched as he jumped from the limo’s roof to the next car over and then to the truck’s bed in the far lane. He bent at the knees as he jumped out of that one and landed on the pavement.
Ignoring the jolt of pain that shot through him, John broke off in a mad run.
“Excuse me. Sorry. Coming through,” he called as he cut through the crowd.
