“Hold on.” Morrissey swerved across trafficand onto a ramp leading to the expressway. Tires squealed and hornshonked.
I glanced out the back window in time to seethe van complete the same risky maneuver.
“You didn’t shake them.”
“I see that.” Morrissey’s tone was dry, ascalm and still as I’d noted when I’d first seen him outside thehotel.
He drove on, a mile, two, five humming byunder the tires, Hawk Nose and his boys still following.
I held the gun in my lap, my index fingerstretched along the side of the trigger guard, thinking. So manyparts of this assignment didn’t add up. So many details didn’t makesense. A whole house on Long Island Sound and only one girl loadedinto the helicopter? At least five highly-trained and armed men towatch over her? Pornocopia central but no one laying a finger onher?
After I’d jumped with Julianne, things musthave gotten immeasurably messy for The Bradford and Sims ModelingAgency. They had no idea who I was, who I worked for. The smartmove would be to cut their losses, wipe down their rented house anddisappear, not go on a high speed chase to … do what? Recover onegirl? Or erase three witnesses while potentially creating manymore?
The whole thing seemed foolhardy.
“Who are these guys?” I asked Morrissey.
He shrugged a shoulder. “I know as much asyou.”
“Haven’t you been on this case for awhile?”
“Working for the car service, not themodeling agency.” He accelerated, weaving through a caravan ofslower moving cars. “I do what I’m asked, just like you.”
My turn to nod. And seeing that I’d alreadydelivered Julianne to Morrissey, my part of the operation wasover.
Not that now would be a convenient time totake my leave.
“Where are you taking her?”
“Somewhere safe.”
I sensed Julianne’s glance from Morrissey tome. I met her eyes. “It’s going to be all right.”
“How do I know that?”
“We’re the good guys. We were assigned toprotect you.”
“Protect me? You threw me out of ahelicopter.”
“I did it in a protective way.”
She eyed me as if I was crazy and she wasafraid it would rub off. I thought once more about Jacob’s orders,that she not be harmed in any way.
Was this really human trafficking? Orsomething else?
“Who is your father?” I asked her.
“What?”
“Your dad. Who is he?”
Some of the fear went away, replaced byanger. “It doesn’t matter.”
I had lived up to my end of the op. I had nocontrol over what happened to her from here on out, and I had nobusiness knowing anything more. Any curiosity I felt, any sympathyI had for this girl, were meaningless to the mission. So ratherthan push it, I clammed up and turned my attention back to the menchasing us.
The green whipping past the windows fell awayto shopping centers, and finally, industry. Ahead, the Manhattanskyline shivered in the glare of the afternoon sun like amirage.
I heard a pop. The car lurched andskidded.
I threw an arm over Julianne, forcing herdown.
“Are they shooting at us?” she squealed.
Morrissey regained control, but the carshuddered and bucked with each rotation of the punctured tire.
Ahead, a sign directed us to the QueensMidtown Tunnel. Morrissey took the turn.
I couldn’t believe it.
“Tell me you’re not heading into the citywith these guys on our tail.”
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Youhave a better idea?”
This chase along the expressway was onething. Once we were in the city, traffic would be slow, sometimesstanding still. What would prevent Hawk Nose and his boys fromwalking up to the limo and taking a shot?
“Yeah, drive somewhere else. Unless you wantto make us a slow-moving target.”
“I get the idea that you can move pretty fastwhen you want to.”
“What are you planning?”
“I’ll take care of the guys behind us. Youhave the girl at Columbus Circle at six o’clock.”
I didn’t ask how he was going to take care ofthem. I had a feeling he’d find a way, and that I’d know whataction I had to take when the moment came.
We moved through the EZ Pass toll and plungedinto the tunnel.
Traffic moved steadily in two Manhattan-boundlanes. The air held the odor of trapped exhaust. The shiny, creamcolored ceiling reflected headlights, their glare adding to theartificial lighting and neon-bright speed limit reminders everyhundred feet. There was a cacophony of horn honking, helpful NewYorkers trying to tell us we had a flat, as if the sparks beingthrown off the bare rim weren’t obvious enough.
“Hold on and be ready to release your seatbelts.”
Julianne’s fingers circled my free hand andclenched. I braced my legs wide.
The Town Car’s wheel screeched, metal onpavement. The drivers around us fell back, apparently not wantingto get too close. Only the van stayed glued a few feet behind ourbumper, close enough for Hawk Nose to glower at me, close enough totake a shot.
So why didn’t he? He might hit the girl?
Morrissey slowed the car and inched towardthe center, straddling lanes. Horns echoed off concrete.Surrounding cars fell back farther. A few more seconds passed.
He hit the brakes and the car skiddedsideways.
Tires screeched all around, the soundamplified in the tunnel.
“Now. Go.”
Before the car had reached a complete stop,Morrissey was moving. He pulled an assault rifle from under theseat and slid across to the passenger door.
I was moving too, pushing Julianne in frontof me, over the seat, out the door. The cars ahead kept moving downthe tunnel, leaving both lanes free and clear. I grabbed Julianne’sarm and ran. The soles of my bare feet slapped pavement. The muggyair smelled of exhaust and burned rubber. Angry voices and hornsbehind us gave way to bursts of gunfire and screams.
My heart was a hummingbird trapped in mychest. With all the training I’d had, the sound of gunfire wasstill a viscerally frightening thing, especially at my back. I wassure it was much worse for Julianne. To her credit, she kept up asbest she could, her sandals pounding the concrete behind me, herbreath coming fast and rhythmic.
I wasn’t sure how long one man could hold offHawk Nose’s entourage. In a firefight, numerical superiorityusually won out. I had to wonder if we’d see Morrissey again, but Ipushed those thoughts from my mind and kept running. Finally Ipicked
