By that time, the guy who had sold Jack the car made it to the scene. He looked at the Lambo with a tortured face. “Man, that’s a shame.”
JD said, “I don’t suppose you’ll take it back?”
The salesman laughed. It was all Jack’s now.
Brenda and her crew bagged the body, transferred it to a gurney, and loaded the remains into the ME’s van.
We wrapped up at the scene. Paisley grabbed her purse and a metal briefcase from the front passenger seat. A patrol unit took her to the station to fill out a report and make a statement.
JD and I followed in the Huracán. It was drivable but had certainly lost some of its mojo. It clunked and popped going around corners. There might have been suspension damage.
I logged Steve Davidson’s phone and wallet in as evidence. We filled out reports, then Jack drove the car to Sparky for an evaluation. He was currently getting the Porsche back into shape. If Sparky couldn’t do it, he would know who could. Dealers typically sub the work out anyway.
I caught up with Paisley after she made her statement. "You need a ride home?"
"That would be great.”
I borrowed a squad car and drove her back toward her apartment. It wasn't long before I noticed we picked up a tail—a silver sedan.
Daniels had put a BOLO out on the assassin’s vehicle, but I suspected the black SUV was off the road by now. Probably in a warehouse or garage with the plates swapped. Maybe it had been stolen.
I made a few quick twists and turns to confirm my suspicion. Sure enough, the silver sedan hung with us, several car lengths back.
A spike of adrenaline surged. At this point, anything could happen.
2
Ispun up the lights, stomped the gas, and pulled away from the sedan. Cars parted as I blazed down the road. There were certain perks to being in a squad car.
Tires squealed as I banked a hard left.
The car tilted, and Paisley grabbed theoh shithandle.
I barreled down the street, took a right, then a quick left.
With my eyes glued to the rearview, I kept twisting and turning, then circled back around.
I had to give it to the perps—it was a little bold to chase a marked patrol car. This wasn’t just an assassination of Paisley’s passenger. They were after something.
“What’s in the briefcase?”
Paisley gave a sheepish shrug. “Nothing.”
Skepticism filled my eyes. “What’s in the case?”
“Stuff.”
“What kind ofstuff?”
“I don’t know. Just stuff.”
An exasperated sigh escaped my mouth. “Now’s the time to come clean. Tell me everything.”
Paisley hesitated a moment, then said, "The guy gave me the briefcase when they started shooting at us. He told me to keep it safe. Then he got his freaking head blown off. I spent 20 minutes in the bathroom at the station, trying to pick all the pieces of that guy’s skull out of my hair," she said with a shiver. "The first thing I want to do when I get home is take a shower."
"I'm not taking you home."
"Where are you taking me?"
