Читать книгу Beneath the Surface - Meredith Fletcher - Страница 12

Shannon ran down the street. She still didn’t remember where her car was. Everything looked different, and she was so scared she couldn’t think straight.

During her career as a reporter she’d been in some tough places. She’d seen death up close and personal. Facing that had been hard, and it had touched her more deeply than she would have admitted to anyone. She didn’t like being weak.

Memory of the man behind the bar raced through her thoughts. The beanie and the wraparound sunglasses hid most of his face, and she’d been too wigged out to get a good look at him, but she felt certain she didn’t know him.

Maybe that didn’t have anything to do with you, she thought grimly. That bar isn’t exactly a hub for law-abiding citizens. Especially not if Drago was going to be able to kill you in the back room.

A yellow cab rounded the corner and came down the street.

Shannon stepped out of the shadows and waved frantically. She was so close to the cab she thought it was going to hit her. Desperate, she stood her ground. Even though she didn’t want to, she closed her eyes.

Tires shrieked on the pavement.

Thank God! When she opened her eyes, Shannon found the cab had come to a stop only inches from her.

“Hey, lady,” the driver snarled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He was an Asian man of indeterminate age, dressed in a short-sleeved khaki shirt. A hula girl danced on the dashboard beneath swinging fuzzy dice.

“I need a ride.” Shannon started to go around the front of the cab.

“Yeah, well, I got that. Hasn’t anyone ever told you how to hail a cab?”

Ordinarily Shannon wouldn’t have let the insult pass. No one got the better of her in an argument. She rounded the corner of the cab and headed for the back.

A line of holes suddenly appeared in the cab’s windshield. That appearance was followed almost immediately by the harsh cracks of gunfire.

Though she knew she shouldn’t, Shannon couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder as she squatted down beside the cab. She’d been in enough combat zones in Iraq and, lately, Kestonia to know gunshots when she heard them.

Evidently the cabdriver had experience, as well. He ducked down behind the steering wheel, shoved the transmission into Reverse and floored the accelerator.

“No!” Shannon couldn’t believe it. She tried to hang on to the door handle, but she almost lost her balance and went face-first onto the ground. “No! Don’t leave!”

The cabdriver never even looked back. He managed a three-point turn that left the tires smoking.

Shannon got a brief glimpse of the frantically dancing hula girl and the wildly swinging dice, then the cab vanished around the corner. She stayed low and headed for the side of the street.

Drago ran at her. His efforts to reload his pistol only slowed him a little.

A solid line of buildings trapped Shannon out on the street. Bullets chewed at the sidewalk beneath her feet. Sparks flashed at every contact. The whines of the ricochets whined in her ears. She wrapped her hands around her head. Then she ducked into a deep-set door alcove of a cabinetry shop. Her heart hammered in her chest as she listened to Drago’s steps close in on her.

She was out of places to run.

Tense and frustrated, fighting to remain calm, Allison Gracelyn sat in the ergonomic chair at her desk and watched the action playing out on the three computer monitors in front of her. This was one of those times when it was hard to remember that she was in a position to help.

Allison hadn’t slept in thirty-seven hours. A scrunchie held her brunette hair back. Her brown eyes burned with the effort of watching the computer screens. She was slim and athletic despite years spent in front of a computer. She was disciplined enough to keep her physical health as sharp as her mental faculties.

She’d learned that at Athena Academy all those years ago and maintained the practice. She wore yesterday’s business suit, but the jacket lay on the couch at the back of the office where she sometimes caught naps on ops that ran long.

All three monitor feeds came from street cams she’d “borrowed.” One monitor showed Shannon hiding in the doorway. Another showed Drago from behind. The third showed Rafe Santorini desperately weaving through traffic.

“Left at the next block,” Allison directed.

“You’ve still got her?”

“I do.”

On the screen, Rafe made the turn. He was going too fast to make the turn cleanly. The tires broke traction and the vehicle drifted a few feet.

“I thought I heard gunshots,” Rafe said.

“You did. She’s all right. I have her on-screen. But you need to hurry.” Allison cursed herself for that. Rafe knew he had to hurry. Her frenzy was unprofessional.

But you put them both in harm’s way, didn’t you? Allison had to acknowledge the guilt and shelve it for later. You knew going in that Drago was going to kill Shannon.

Allison had intercepted the e-mail when Drago had received it yesterday. There had been plenty of time to warn Shannon Connor.

But you chose not to do that, didn’t you?

Even right now, as she watched the tragedy that was about to unfold, Allison didn’t know if Shannon was about to become a victim because of the residual animosity that remained from all those years ago at Athena Academy or because Allison had been too confident.

Allison tapped the keyboard, dropping the camera as Rafe headed out of view. She picked him up with the next. Even though she couldn’t see his features on the other side of the darkened windshield, she knew he had his mad face on.

Get there, Allison said silently.

“Ahead. On the left.”

Rafe recognized the metallic tightness of panic hovering in Allison’s voice. Unaccustomed as it was, her tension put him a little on edge. He breathed out and raked the street with his gaze.

“Do you see her?” Allison asked.

With all the neon lights, pedestrians and cars on the street, Rafe had a hard time spotting Drago and Shannon Connor. It got a little easier when he noticed the cars and pedestrians gave the left side of the street wide berth.

“Got Drago,” he said.

Drago jogged toward a doorway.

“Where’s Shannon?”

“She’s in the shop doorway. It’s recessed.”

Rafe knew he didn’t have time to get out of the car to intercept the man. Besides that, with the way his knee was hurting, he wasn’t sure how much mobility he’d have. It already felt as if it was swelling.

Instead he switched off the headlights and aimed the car at Drago. He hoped that Shannon didn’t step out of the doorway at the wrong time.

Even driving far too fast for street conditions, Rafe barely arrived in time. Drago had reached the doorway and was raising the pistol. He was so intent on his prey that he didn’t hear the car bearing down on him.

Rafe hit the horn. The strident noise rang out and drew Drago’s attention. At that moment Rafe switched the lights back on. He hoped they would stun Drago and present a warning to Shannon to stay put.

Drago knew he couldn’t run, but he was a predator. He didn’t give up. He turned the pistol in the direction of the car and fired. Two shots tore through the windshield. One of them ripped the passenger seat headrest into a flurry of padding that filled the car’s interior.

Rafe stayed on track. He put the car in close to the wall. His side mirror disappeared in an explosion of twisted metal and shattered glass. Then the whole side of the car turned into a stream of rushing sparks that bounced off the window and trailed behind him.

At the last minute Drago tried to break and run. He didn’t even get turned before the car struck him.

The air bag exploded into Rafe’s face at the same time. The gunshot of propellant setting off temporarily deafened him. His face stung from the impact and he was blinded.

Shut it down, shut it down, he told himself. He put his foot over the brake and shoved. The antilock braking system kept the tires from locking up as he slewed around. He hit another object and felt certain from the weight and mass involved that it was a car. He remembered there’d been a line of them.

There was a sickening moment of not knowing what was going on, then the car came to a stop. The smoky haze left by the air bag deploying burned his nose and mouth, then his lungs. The gunpowder taste was all too familiar.

His face and chest felt as though he’d gone rounds with a heavyweight. He had no doubt that bruising would show in a few days.

“Are you there?” Allison asked.

“Yeah.” Rafe reached into his jeans and took out a small lock-back knife. A quick flick of his thumb deployed the blade. He pierced the air bag and it deflated in a rush. By the time he got out of the car, he had his pistol in hand.

Drawn from her hiding place, Shannon watched the maniac driver force the door of his vehicle open. It screeched as it yawned wide.

At first Shannon had thought her salvation had been luck. In this part of Washington, D.C., there were plenty of bars. It would have been easy to believe a drunken driver had come along fortuitously.

Not that Shannon’s luck ever really ran that way. She wasn’t the lucky one in any group. She’d had to work for everything she’d gotten. Whatever luck she’d had had gone away while she was at Athena Academy.

Then, when she recognized the man stepping out of the car as the man from Drago’s bar, she knew her luck was running true to form. She held her position even though every nerve in her screamed, Run!

The man limped a little, but he moved quickly and efficiently. He kept the pistol in his hand close to his side as he surveyed the street.

Several curious pedestrians hovered along the sidewalk. Three young men hurried over to Vincent Drago’s body lying a hundred feet from where the car had hit him.

“Get away from him,” the man ordered.

“He’s hurt,” one of the onlookers yelled back.

The man lifted the pistol as he stepped into the headlights of his car. “Get away from him. Now!”

“Dude, that guy’s got a gun,” one of the other pedestrians said. He grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him back.

Go, Shannon told herself. Get out of here while you can. But she couldn’t move. The story hadn’t finished. Her reporter’s instincts and curiosity refused to let her budge.

The man walked to Drago and pointed the pistol at the prone man. For a moment Shannon thought the stranger was going to shoot Drago on top of hitting him with the car. She couldn’t help wondering what the man had against Drago.

Then the man knelt and quickly ran his free hand through Drago’s clothing. He took out a wallet and a PDA, a few papers and anything else he could find. He removed his beanie and tucked everything he’d collected inside the hat. Then he stood.

It didn’t make any sense to Shannon. Robbers didn’t commit their crimes by taking out victims with cars.

More than that, why had the man left the bar looking for Drago? Shannon’s curiosity was in full bloom.

The man returned to the car long enough to stash the beanie in the backseat while police sirens filled the air. Flashes from brave onlookers using the camera function on their phones flickered along the sidewalk.

Ignoring the fact that he was getting his picture taken, the man turned his attention to Shannon. He walked toward her. The pistol was still naked in his fist.

Shannon pushed out of the alcove and started to run. She didn’t know how far she’d get before a bullet punched through her back.

“Shannon!” the man called. “Don’t run!”

She kept waiting for the “or I’ll shoot” addendum. It didn’t come.

“Please.”

That was even more surprising.

“If you run,” the man said, “they might get you.”

They?

“I can help you.”

The sirens sounded closer. Shannon looked around the street. Only then did she realize how much trouble she could be in. The police would want to know what she was doing there. If she told them she’d employed Drago, which might be something they learned anyway, she was going to be buried in legal difficulties.

She didn’t know enough about what was going on to feel safe. Not only that, but Drago had been convinced that the federal government was interested in the inquiries she’d asked him to make.

It wasn’t a good position to be in. There would be a lot of questions, and she wasn’t liked by many in the police departments or political offices. In fact, she’d covered a story for ABS three years ago concerning politically motivated murders that had involved a particularly offensive cover-up.

The District of Columbia Police Department and the Hill had gone ballistic when she’d broken the story without their approval. She’d barely escaped town one step ahead of the lynch mob. Only the news station’s lawyers had kept her from being brought back and charged.

The man made no move to pursue her. He didn’t put the gun away.

If he really wanted to hurt you, he’d have shot you by now, Shannon told herself. And if you run, you’re never going to know what’s going on. Or who he is.

She took a deep breath and walked back to him.

“Get in,” he growled.

Evidently politeness wasn’t his forte. Or maybe he had an issue with cops. Tall, dark and mysterious, he definitely looked like the type who would have a chronic problem with law enforcement.

Dirt streaked his hard, angular face, but Shannon could still make out the small scars on his right cheek and his neck. Another small scar stood out at the outside of his right eye.

He wasn’t a stranger to violence.

She became fully aware of the broad chest and lean hips encased in denim. He smelled like an outdoorsman, not like the metrosexuals of the broadcasting studio. His dark hair was longer than the norm. She wished she could see his eyes, but she was willing to bet they were dark. Dark brown or dark hazel would suit him perfectly.

“Get in,” he repeated.

“Are you in a hurry?” Shannon asked.

Without a word, the man climbed into the car and slid behind the steering wheel. He keyed the ignition and pulled the transmission into gear.

Only then did Shannon fully realize he intended to leave her standing there.