Under the Microscope

weapon.

And fired again.

RAINE BOLTED FOR THE MAIN ROAD. She slipped on a patch of ice and nearly went down, but Max was there, grabbing her upper arm and dragging her along in his wake. “Don’t look back!”

She stumbled at his side. “Why isn’t he shooting?”

“Good question.” He slowed and risked a look back. “Maybe because-oh, hell.”

A dark limousine pulled up at the open end of the alley in front of them. The door opened and a second black- clad figure emerged and drew an identical silenced weapon.

“There!” Raine pointed across the alley, where a rusted door was partially obscured by a Dumpster.

Max needed no further urging. He shoved her behind the Dumpster, took two running steps and slammed into the door shoulder-first. The lock gave way with a crash that was immediately followed by a flurry of pops and pings, by the scattered sounds of running feet and men’s shouts.

“Come on!” Max urged her through the door, pulled a weapon from his coat pocket and fired two shots at their pursuers before following her into the building opposite the hotel.

More relieved than surprised that he was armed, Raine had the quick impression of a neatly ordered storeroom before Max slammed the door, cutting off the outside light. “This way,” she said, striking out for the opposite side of the room without waiting for her eyes to adjust. She tripped and stumbled forward, banging her shin into the edge of something solid and metal. She hissed with pain but kept moving, conscious of the men in the alley, of Max’s harsh breathing at her side.

What the hell was going on here? People were shooting at her. After the bombing, she knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but things like this just didn’t happen to normal people.

She was in way over her head and didn’t know how to get back up to the surface.

Footsteps drew closer behind them. The door groaned inward, casting diffuse light into the storeroom. Close. The men were too close!

There! Raine and Max reached for the storeroom door as one, yanking it open and crowding through. They stumbled into a chrome-and-steel space crowded with white-clad bodies and the smells of bread and pastries.

A heavyset man in a bouffant hat yelled, “Hey, where’d you come from? You’re not supposed to be here!”

Neither Max nor Raine bothered to answer. They fled, shoving past a line of cooks and barreling through a set of swinging doors into the front area of the bakery. At nearly four-thirty Thursday morning, the area was crowded with people and boxes and fresh baked goods. Max’s duffel swung off his shoulder and thumped a startled-looking man, who lost control of his full tray of doughnuts. The doughy disks went flying, adding to the chaos.

Workers scattered with a flurry of screams and shouts. A big man wielding a long bread knife stepped into Raine’s path, hands upraised. “Hold it!”

She dodged him as a shot whizzed past her ear and blew out the front window. Max spun and returned fire until his weapon clicked on an empty clip. Bakery employees ran for the exits, clogging the distance that separated the pursued from the pursuers.

Breath sobbing in her lungs, Raine fumbled with the lock and then the door, pushing when she should have pulled. Nearly weeping with exertion, with fear, she got it open and plunged out into the cold night air.

With Max at her heels, she dashed across the sidewalk and darted between two parked cars, but a double- parked vehicle blocked the way.

A big, dark limousine with tinted windows.

“Oh, no!” Raine skidded to a halt and tried to backpedal as a rear door swung open and a man emerged. Raine had a fleeting impression of silver hair, a long, dark coat and polished shoes.

Max slammed into her, then grabbed her when she would have lurched forward. “This way!” he shouted, and pulled her away from the limo and the silver-haired man.

Then they were running, skidding across the icy street in a crazy zigzag pattern. Two shots glanced off a storefront window. A third bullet cracked the safety glass. Max took one look at the window display, where photographs of glittering diamonds flanked empty velvet-covered stands.

Without slackening speed, he ran at the window, slamming his shoulder directly beside the crack.

The safety glass groaned. Sagged. Gave way beneath him.

And all holy hell broke loose. Lights erupted and sirens whooped shrill alien screams.

“Come on!” Max grabbed her hand and practically dragged her over the waist-high wall and into the jewelry store.

“What are you doing?” She had to yell to be heard over the din.

“Attracting attention. Get down.” He pushed her head below window level, waited a moment and then inched up for a look. “Bingo.”

He helped Raine up.

The street was empty. The limo had gone.

“We can’t trust the cops right now, but we can trust that the men who’re after you don’t want to attract too much attention,” Max said with some satisfaction. Then he hefted the duffel that contained his clothing and the sum total of her possessions. “Come on.”

This time Raine balked. “Where are we going? And why can’t we trust the cops?”

“We’re getting the hell out of here so we’re not arrested for breaking and entering,” he said, boosting her over the wall and following her back onto the street. Then he took her hand and towed her along as he walked briskly down the street. “As for the rest, I’ll tell you once we’re in the air.”

She nearly had to jog to keep up, but the faint sound of police sirens over the jewelry store alarms had her quickening her steps. “At the risk of repeating myself, where the hell are we going?”

“Philadelphia. We need to talk to Cari Summerton’s widower.”

Chapter Nine

But once they were in a taxi headed for the airport, Max swore bitterly. “I’m an idiot. We can’t fly. They’ll be tracking our credit cards and ID.” He leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. When the man had removed his thoroughly illegal headphones, Max said, “Change of plans. Take us to the Amtrak terminal.”

Raine wanted to protest, to scream, to demand an explanation. Who were they? But the draining adrenaline left her shaky and numb, made her feel as if she were acting rather than reacting. So she let her head drop back on the seat. “We’ll need ID to take the train, too.”

“That’s the plan.”

Sure enough, when they got to the train station, which was just opening at 5:00 a.m., he bought two tickets to Boston on his credit card. Then he pocketed the tickets and took her arm. “Come on. There’s a car rental place down the street.”

There, he rented a high-end sedan using a fake ID and matching credit card, both in the name Mike Walsh. He talked loudly about seeing the Connecticut beaches, asked for directions to the Mystic Seaport, and cuddled close to Raine when the desk clerk was watching.

She remained virtually unresponsive, but inside, the numbness was giving way to a quiet burn of anger.

“Come on, pumpkin. I promised you breakfast by the water, didn’t I?” He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers, giving them a squeeze for the benefit of their audience.

She batted her eyelashes and faked a simper, but her voice held an edge when she said, “You certainly did, honey bear. Let’s hit the road.”

The moment they were on I-95 south, headed for Philadelphia, she turned to him.

Before she could speak, he held up a hand. “I owe you some explanations.”

“Yes, you do. And we’ll get to them in a minute. But before that, I have something to say.” Raine took a deep breath, wanting to get this right. “I’m not a victim, Max, and I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m a grown-up and a businesswoman. Maybe when you first got to know me I was someone else, someone I’m not very proud of