Wilde grabbed London’s hand and pulled her outside to the cab.
They hopped in the back.
The driver was a strong male in his early thirties. He stared directly at Wilde and narrowed his eyes.
“Drive,” Wilde said.
“Get out,” the driver said. “Both of you.”
“Drive,” Wilde said.
“It was only supposed to be the woman. My instructions are to abort.”
“You have new instructions now.”
“No.”
“Get going, now,” Wilde said.
“Screw you. Get out of the cab and do it now.”
Wilde hardened his face.
“I’m going to count to three-”
“Don’t make it difficult,” Wilde said.
“One-”
“Drive!”
“Two-”
“Did you hear me?”
“Three.”
Wilde pulled his knife and made it visible.
“I have nothing against you but don’t force me-”
The man’s arm moved with lightning speed. His hand grabbed Wilde’s wrist and squeezed it with a python force. Wilde wedged loose, stabbed the man in the upper thigh before he even knew what he was doing, and pulled back.
The man grabbed his wound.
“You bitch!”
“Drive!”
“You stabbed me, you little bitch.”
“That’s right and I’ll do it again. I’m not screwing around here.”
The man winced.
Then he shifted into first, said “Your funeral, asshole,” and took off.
The night shot by.
“Where’s she supposed to throw the purse out?”
Silence.
“I said-”
“Okay, okay. Clarkson and 12th.”
“Cut over to Delaware.”
“But-”
“Just do it.”
The man complied.
At 10th Wilde said, “Stop here.”
The man pulled over.
Wilde got out, leaned in the open door and said, “Circle back around and follow your instructions. If you screw up I’ll hunt you to the ends of the earth. That’s a promise.”
He slammed the door.
The cab jerked away.
London stared out the back window all the way to 11th, where the taillights disappeared around the corner.
Wilde made his way through the shadows to as close to the throw-out point as he could, then wedged his body into the thicker shadows of a ragged hedge. If the man was in the vicinity, Wilde didn’t see him.
He waited.
The gun was tucked in his belt.
The knife was in his left hand.
He couldn’t use it to kill the man. London might be right in that Alexa might be stashed away where she couldn’t be found. That would be a bad way to go, trapped and abandoned. Wilde might be able to find her. Once he had the guy identified, he’d have a good chance of backtracking. Still, you never know. If he couldn’t, it would be too horrible to think about.
There was still time to back out-just leave the guy alone and hope he releases Alexa like he said he would. There was at least some possibility he was telling the truth. If that was the case, everything Wilde was doing at this exact second was the exact wrong thing. Alexa might end up dead because of him, not in spite of him.
What to do?
What to do?
What to do?
Suddenly headlights came up the street.
The passenger window was open.
London was next to it.
Her hair was blowing.
Her face was tense.
A purse flew out and landed on the sidewalk.
The cab kept going.
London kept her face pointed forward as the taillights disappeared up the street. At any second, a figure would come out of the shadows and grab the purse.
What to do?
Shoot him in the leg or let him go?
He pulled the gun out and cocked the trigger. He was too far away for a clean shot. If he went for the guy’s leg he’d be just as likely to get his face, either that or the air. He’d need to be within four or five steps to shoot.
A dark silhouette appeared on the opposite side of the street, walking briskly up the sidewalk.
It was a man.
He wore a black T-shirt.
Strong arms stuck out.
He looked briefly for cars, then around in all directions, and trotted across the street. He snatched up the purse without breaking stride and kept going.
Wilde waited for a few heartbeats.
The man didn’t look over his shoulder.
Wilde waited another second.
Then another.
Then another.
Then another.
The silhouette increasingly receded into the night. When the distance was right, Wilde came out of the
