They just didn’t know what yet.
RAINE DROVE THE LAST LEG of their journey so Max could use his phone to touch base with Ike. The unspoken hope was that she’d already found the missing link between plastic surgery and the Thriller deaths.
As she sent the truck along I-95 into Connecticut, Raine thought how strange it felt to be in her home state again. Had it really only been two days since they’d driven to Philadelphia and seen James Summerton? It felt like so much longer.
Max cursed as he dialed Ike’s number on the disposable phone for the third time.
“Still nothing?” Raine guessed.
He shook his head. “Maybe her phone crapped out. They’re not the sturdiest things on the planet.”
But he drummed his fingers on the armrest for a moment, then dialed another number. After punch ing in a code, he sat back and made a satisfied noise. “She left a message on my home machine.”
He cranked the volume on the cell phone and held the unit out so they could both hear Ike’s voice say, “I couldn’t get through on the disposable and I’m headed off to the Cape, so here goes. The second man in the video is Dr. Frederic Forsythe, a very high-end cosmetic surgeon from-get this- Beverly Hills.” Max and Raine shared a look as the message continued. “Forsythe has a place north of Boston where he keeps a string of polo ponies and does the foxhunting thing. That might explain what he’s doing in a Boston law firm. We’ll see. My buddy’s buddy managed to unscramble some of the audio-he’s couriering it to our usual spot. I’m sending a care package as well, though there’s nothing in it that you don’t already know. I’m off for the weekend, but I’ll be on the cell if you need me. Ciao.”
The message ended with a click, leaving Max frowning through the windshield. Ahead of them, the sky was an ugly purple-gray, signaling that they were driving into the snow squalls promised by the radio news.
“A Beverly Hills plastic surgeon might fit with our hypothesis,” Raine said. “Rich. Powerful. Do you think he could be one of The Nine?”
“Maybe.” Max nodded. “Possibly.” Then he cursed. “But it’s still not enough. We need solid evidence, damn it. Without something tangible, we can’t go to the authorities.”
“There’s still the tape from the law office. Maybe the audio will give us something to go on. What did Ike mean by your ‘usual place’?”
He shot her an unreadable look. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to tell her. Then he shrugged. “Logan Airport. The bartenders at Thursday’s Restaurant know Ike, and they don’t mind stashing stuff for her to pass off to clients now and then. You sit down, order a gin and tonic with an olive, then complain when it doesn’t come with an umbrella.” He muttered under his breath, “Makes me think Ike and Charlie went to the same spy school.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
They drove in silence a while longer, the miles unrolling beneath the wheels of the rented truck. When a green-and-white sign warned that the exit for New Bridge was a few miles up the road, Raine said, “Are we stopping here or heading to Boston?”
If anyone had told her a week earlier that she’d be spending Saturday night in Boston with Max Vasek, she would’ve thought they were crazy.
He glanced at her, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful half smile. “Ironic how things have come almost full circle, huh?”
“Boston it is, then.” She didn’t stop to analyze the emotions that crowded her head and her heart. She just cut the wheel, hit the gas and shot out into the passing lane.
A silver sedan did the same three cars back.
Come to think of it, she could swear she’d seen the same car in her rearview mirror several times since they’d passed the Connecticut border.
Raine’s gut clenched. “Max. Check out the light gray car behind us.”
He twisted around in his seat, reaching for his parka and the weapon he’d reloaded with his last clip of ammo. “We got ourselves a tail?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” Going on instinct, she cut across two lanes of traffic, aiming for the nearest off-ramp, but not taking it. The low-slung silver car copied the maneuver.
They were being followed.
She gripped the steering wheel with suddenly clammy palms. “How did they find us? We’re not even driving the same car we were when we left!” Her voice edged upward in growing panic. “And damn it, I’m driving!”
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” Max’s tone was even. Soothing. “You stand up in your seat, but keep your foot on the gas and your hands on the wheel. I’m going to slide underneath you so we can switch without stopping.”
“That only works on TV!”
“Well, it’ll work for us, too.”
Raine bit her lip and stood up until the top of her head neared the roof of the truck. The speedometer edged toward eighty as they flew toward where the road disappeared beneath the ominous line of storm clouds.
The silver car loomed larger in the side mirror. “They’re getting closer! And it looks like it’s snowing up ahead. That could be a problem.”
“There’s enough traffic around, we should be safe for right now. They proved earlier that they still want to keep this fairly low profile.” He unbuckled his belt and slid across the bench seat, easing an arm beneath and around her. “As for the snow, look at it this way. We’ve got four-wheel drive. They don’t.”
“Then-”
A shot exploded through the plastic slider at the rear of the truck cab.
Raine screamed, but kept her foot on the gas. Max ducked, slid back to the passenger side and drew his weapon. “Guess you’re driving,” he shouted over the sudden rush of wind through the broken slider. “Get us into that storm!”
“I thought you said they wouldn’t make a scene in public!”
“I was wrong.” His face could have been carved from granite as he steadied the muzzle of his handgun, aiming through the broken window. “They’re getting desperate.”
“Maybe they found out that we know about Forsythe and the plastic surgery connection.” Raine swerved around a slow-moving station wagon. “But how?”
The sedan drew closer. A bullet pinged off the roof of the truck, its momentum spent.
The highway took a long, slow curve that nearly sent them in the opposite direction, then made a sharper bend back toward the storm. Raine gunned the truck through that second turn, took one look at the mess in front of her and stifled a scream.
Ahead of them by no more than a half mile, the sky was an ugly dark gray and the pavement went from tar to slush. Brake lights flared where traffic was stalled by a spin out two-car accident.
“There’s no way through!” she said, easing up on the gas pedal.
Max snapped off a shot that had the silver car dropping back a few lengths. “You’ll have to find a way. We’re low on options.”
Her heart jammed into her throat. “I can’t.”
He leaned back against the dashboard so she could see his face, so she could see he was serious when he said, “You can do it, Raine. I know you can. You’re tough and resourceful, and I’m proud to call you my partner.”
The words took a moment to penetrate, a moment to warm her from head to toe. Time seemed to slow as ice pellets peppered the windshield like blowing sand.
Seconds turned to minutes as her heart expanded with the knowledge that she wasn’t the passive doormat who’d married Rory or clung to Max in the hospital. She
And Max saw her as his equal.
Then a bullet whistled through the broken window and plowed into the dashboard. Shards of hard plastic burst outward. One scored Raine’s knuckles, and the pain and the sight of blood sped everything up until the world was moving at normal speed again.
Then faster than normal.
