It was only a few weeks later that the cancer diagnosis had come in. Terminal. Nothing they could do but accept the inevitable. They didn’t want to believe it, flatly refused to give up hope. But as Sarah slowly wasted away, there was no use denying the outcome. Sarah’s anguish and suffering had been intense. In a different, less obvious way, so was Beau’s.
He thought of Cassidy, his deepening feelings for her, the way her smile somehow warmed him inside. The wayshe steadied him, helped him deal with the problems he was facing.
The last thing he needed was to fall in love. He’d made a life for himself. One that didn’t include a wife and kids. He was comfortable. Safe. He thought of the agony of losing Sarah. He’d be a fool to let down his guard and take that kind of risk again. Since he wasn’t a fool, he needed to back away.
He’d talk to Linc, find a way to ensure Cassidy was protected until this was over, set up security twenty-four hours a day.
He was deep in thought, running over his options, discarding possibilities, when he pulled up to a stop light on Lovers Lane and noticed a car in his rearview mirror. It was a fairly new white Toyota four-door sedan, a family car, though the driver appeared to be the only person in the vehicle at the moment.
The Ferrari was idling, satellite radio playing soft rock tunes. A few other cars were on the busy street, a Ford F-150 facing him on the opposite side of the intersection next to a Subaru Outback, a Chevy with a dent in its right fender behind the Toyota, nothing that looked threatening.
He checked the mirror, saw the turn signal on the Toyota go on as the driver pulled into the right-hand lane on Cassidy’s side of the car and came to a stop beside them. Beau glanced over at the driver, a guy in a ball cap, noticed the window was rolled down. The driver’s arm came up.
“Gun!” Beau shouted. Both of them ducked as two quick shots smashed through the glass in the Ferrari’s passenger window, tearing into the headrest, missing Cassidy’s head by inches, the other shot shattering the window on the driver’s side of the car, exactly where he had been sitting.
Cassidy popped up and fired through the broken window as the Toyota charged into the intersection, squealed around the corner, and roared off down the block.
Beau jammed his foot on the gas, punching into the intersection, slinging Cassidy hard against her seat belt just as the light changed and the F-150 lurched toward him. Beau steered hard to the right to miss a collision and stay behind the fleeing car.
“Keep low!” He pressed harder on the gas pedal, and the Ferrari leaped ahead like a panther after a gazelle, engine growling, gaining on the white Toyota at breakneck speed. He’d almost caught up when the car braked and cut in front of two slower-moving vehicles, blocking Beau’s approach. He jammed on the brakes and managed to duck in behind them, followed for a few seconds before the Toyota screamed through a yellow light, turned left as the light changed to red, and shot off down the block.
Cursing, Beau downshifted and hit the gas, running the light, shooting into the intersection to the sound of blaring horns and the squeal of burning rubber, barely missing a Cadillac coming the opposite way. He cranked the wheel, made the turn, and raced after the Toyota, which cut in and out with more skill than Beau expected.
A red light loomed ahead. Cassidy kept her gun angled toward the driver in the Toyota, but there were too many people around to get a clear shot. The Toyota ran the light, but a moving van rolling into the intersection forced Beau to slam on the brakes and squeal to a stop.
“Come on . . . come on.”
The van finally cleared the lane and Beau punched the gas. But as he roared down the street, there was no sign of the Toyota.
“I don’t see him! Which way did he go?”
“Left!” Cassidy shouted. “He went left!”
Beau jerked the wheel and jammed on the gas, running another red light, but he didn’t see the Toyota. The streets were crowded, people pouring back into the city after theweekend. He ducked in and out of traffic, but the Toyota never reappeared.
“I don’t see him,” he said, muscles tight across his shoulders.
“I don’t either.”
Beau swore foully. He turned left and cruised around the block, tried another block, but there was no sign of the car or the man in the ball cap.
“He’s gone,” Cassidy said glumly, slumping back against the seat.
Beau slammed a hand down on the steering wheel. “I can’t believe I let him get away.”
“He caught us off guard. We overreacted last time. I guess we didn’t want to do it again.”
“It shouldn’t have happened. He was driving a fucking Toyota!” He glanced at Cassidy, saw the corners of her mouth twitch in amusement, and released a slow breath. “So I guess we’re both okay.”
“I’ll be better when we get home.”
“Yeah, me, too. We need to call Briscoe, tell him what happened. Did you get a plate number?”
“BC4 X589. I doubt it’s legit.”
“The guy was using a silencer,” Beau said, still trying to comprehend what had just occurred.
“I noticed. Means he’s a professional. I don’t think he was just after me this time. I think he planned to take both of us out.”
