Chapter Eighteen

Brody

"Hang on," Lindsey screamed, and spun the wheel.

She hit the brakes and spun the wheel, careening the Ford around a corner, the rear tires smoking. I grabbed the upper handle to brace myself, trying to watch the silver truck over my shoulder. It vanished from my sight, yet my gut told me Bethany Byrd wasn't done with us yet.

"Were you a NASCAR driver in a past life?" I inquired as Lindsey sped the sedan down a lightly traveled side street.

"I must have been," she answered, blowing out a gust of breath. "How else could I have pulled that off?"

"Slow down, we don't want to attract attention."

She slowed, then stopped at a stop sign, both of us looking for the silver truck amid the vehicles that passed in front of us. "I don't –" I began.

"There she is," Lindsey snapped, her face turned to the left. "Hang on."

"What are you –"

I got no further as Lindsey floored the gas pedal. Tires screeching in protest, the sedan's rear end swinging sideways, she plunged us straight into the cross traffic. Horns blared, cars skidded, as the drivers fought to avoid collisions. I caught a rapid glimpse of the silver truck, unable to either halt without being rear ended, or turn to chase us, continuing straight on.

The sedan, not a scratch on its shiny red paint, left the chaos behind and entered the sedate quiet of the street beyond. Lindsey slowed, shooting me a grim glance. When I gathered a little spit into my mouth, I gasped, "You're insane. You gotta be."

"We were perfect sitting targets," she growled, stopping at the next stop sign. "Would you rather be dead?"

"Um."

"I didn't think so. I bet you any money she's turning around to head us off."

At the next break in traffic, she turned the sedan left, and accelerated to match the flow. We both watched for Bethany's next try, eyeing the mirrors, every intersection we crossed. I breathed a little easier when no silver pickup showed up to ram us or follow behind.

"She must have been tagging along since we left your house," I commented.

Lindsey half-shrugged, half-nodded. "I can't say that I was watching for someone following. But wouldn't I have seen her in the neighborhood?"

"Not if she was smart and held back," I replied. "This thing is colored like a neon light."

"I guess it is."

"So what now?"

"Evasive maneuvers."

"Shit!"

Bethany and the silver truck roared through a red light, heading straight for us, obviously heedless of any possible wrecks that might stem from her actions. Lindsey accelerated, spinning the wheel to make a sharp left onto a busy four lane avenue. Looking over my shoulder, I watched the truck also speed up in pursuit.

"That bitch," I snapped. "She's gonna get someone killed."

"I believe that's her intention," Lindsey replied dryly. "Us."

Weaving in and out of slower traffic, Lindsey maintained a few car lengths ahead of Bethany. Also forced to weave, Bethany couldn't seem to close the distance. Horns blatted in irritation as we both cut drivers off in our effort to flee and her effort to catch us.

"What does she think she'll do if she does catch up?" I asked.

"Shoot us," Lindsey answered.

"I don't suppose you have a gun in here?"

"My purse."

I opened her handbag, easily finding the grip of a nine-millimeter, and pulled it out. I flipped off the safety, slid the bolt back, and saw the round in the chamber. "Okay," I said lightly. "Time to get rough."

"Only if we have to," Lindsey said, her tone sharp. "We can't risk shooting a bystander."

"Do I look that dumb to you?"

Lindsey merely shook her head.

"Where's a cop when you need one?" I muttered, watching the mirror as Bethany nearly ran a taxi into a light pole.

"Call Skinner."

Handing me her cell, Lindsey steered the sedan around a corner, the Ford careening in pursuit. With lighter traffic on this street, she accelerated. As did Bethany. I found the number in her contacts list and pushed the button.

"Let's hope he answers."

After two rings, Skinner said, "Lindsey? All okay?"

"It's Brody and no. We've got Bethany Byrd in a silver Ford chasing us across town."

"Where exactly are you?" he asked, his tone crisp.

I looked at the street signs. "Just passed Fifth, heading west on Broadway."

"All right. I'll dispatch units to your location. Is she armed?"

"And dangerous."

"Okay, hang in there. Cavalry's on the way."

I clicked off. "He's sending cops."

"Good. I'm almost out of gas."

"That's not good."

Twisting, I watched Bethany speed up until the smashed front bumper nearly hit the sedan's. Bethany, the gun in her hand, stuck her arm from the driver's side window. Aiming, she fired off two quick rounds.

"Fuck," I screamed. "Can I shoot back?"

"No."

As cold as the Arctic in January, Lindsey watched the mirrors, her mouth a grim, tight line. Her expression was calculating, her eyes flicking from straight ahead to the mirrors and back. She obviously planned something, but I dared not ask and potentially distract her.

Controlling my wild urge to shoot through the rear window and take Bethany out, I grimly hung on as Lindsey careened around a corner, Bethany hot on the sedan's bumper. Speeding up, she put some distance between us, her determined expression never wavering.

Spinning the wheel, she sent us hurtling around yet another corner, and suddenly braked. I stared at her wildly, then at Bethany who charged around the curve and sped up. "What are you doing?" I yelled.

Lindsey didn't answer.

She, too, watched Bethany race toward us, the sedan idling, not moving. I witnessed Bethany's triumphant grin through her windshield –

Lindsey hit the gas.

The sedan's wheels screeched out, surged the car forward.

Unable to stop, Bethany's grin changed to an expression of fear. She spun the Ford hard left, the right front end and wheel striking a utility pole. The impact ripped the truck's entire right side into a crumpled mass of busted metal. Steam from the smashed radiator drifted up and into the clear air.

"Holy shit," I gasped. "How'd you do that?"

Lindsey didn't answer. She shoved the sedan into reverse, speeding backward toward the bashed pickup. Bethany jumped from the cab, her blonde hair swirling, and fired her gun at us. I ducked as the bullets pinged into the trunk and buried themselves somewhere in the rear seat.

Then she bolted.

Lindsey stopped, slamming the sedan into park. She grabbed the gun from my hand, opening the door to leap out. Stunned, I gaped as she ran in pursuit, chasing Bethany down on foot.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Unable to climb over the console, I dashed around the car's hood and got in behind the wheel. Turning the sedan around wasn't easy, offering the reason Lindsey opted to chase Bethany on foot. Swearing a blue streak, I finally got the sedan turned and drove in search of them. Both had vanished.

"Fuck," I yelled, slamming my hand into the steering wheel. "Fuck."

Red and blue strobes flashing, sirens screaming, police units poured into the area. In the middle of the street, I stopped the car and got out, my hands raised. Uniformed officers swarmed from the cruisers, blocking the entire street off from traffic.

"Brody!"

Detective Skinner ran toward me. I lowered my hands as it appeared the police knew not to shoot at me. I met him in the middle of the mob of cops and cruisers, frantic to go after Lindsey.

"Lindsey's chasing her on foot," I yelled. "Both are armed."

"What is she thinking?" he yelled back. Turning, he waved toward the police units. "Cover the area. Find them. And for Christ's sake don't shoot anyone."

The officers ran for the cars, then drove in different directions in search of Lindsey and Bethany. I started for the car, intending to also search, but Skinner's hand on my arm held me back.

"I need you here," he ordered. "Why are they on foot?"

"Lindsey pulled a stunt," I replied, gesturing toward the area where the silver Ford sat. "Bethany smashed her truck and ran. And Lindsey went after her."

"Shit." Skinner ran his hands through his hair. "That girl has more guts than brains."

I told him of the chase, Bethany shooting at us, the holes in the crimson sedan's trunk. "The car rental people aren't going to be happy."

"Fuck them."

Skinner paced, loosening his tie in his agitation, both of us watching for the units to return. An officer who hadn't joined the search suddenly trotted toward us, his radio crackling at his shoulder.

"They've found her," he declared, listening.

"Which one?" Skinner demanded.

"Lindsey. They're still looking for the other chick."

"Are they bringing her back here?" I snapped, relief flooding me.

"Yeah. They're on their way."

"Tell them to keep looking for Bethany Byrd." Skinner eyed me. "Can you give a description?"

"Blonde, shoulder length hair, brown eyes, I think, but can't be sure. Jeans, sneakers, reddish shirt. Athletic, can run damn fast."

The officer relayed in the information to the other units as I spoke, then walked back to his car. Within ten minutes or so, a cruiser with lights flashing but no siren blaring arrived and came to a halt beside us. The cop stepped out and opened the rear door.

Lindsey emerged, her expression defiant as Skinner and I bore down on her. The officer handed Skinner Lindsey's gun, then stepped back as Skinner entered her personal space, looming over her.

"What were you doing?" he bellowed, his fury radiating from him in waves. "I should arrest you right now."

"For what?" she demanded. "I didn't commit any crimes."

"Stupidity. Chasing an armed suspect. Being armed with this."

"I own that legally and have a license to carry it."

"I don't care," he roared. "You could have been killed."

The two stared at once another, both furious, neither repentant. I stepped between them, forcing Skinner back and his angry attention switched to me. I raised my hands in a gesture of peace, not giving him a reason to either punch me or arrest me. Or both.

"Look, man, it's all good," I said. "Lindsey is okay, she didn't catch that bitch, she didn't hurt anyone. Let's calm down, all right? Be cool. Both of you."

Skinner visibly forced himself to relax, sucking in a deep breath, then blowing it out. I slid my arm around Lindsey's shoulders, feeling her tension, her stiff body indicating she wasn't letting her anger go. Still, she nodded her agreement to stay cool.

"Okay, you chased Bethany Byrd," Skinner said. "What then?"

"I ran a few blocks," Lindsey replied, her tone low. "I couldn't gain on her. She was too fast."

"Did she shoot at you?"

Lindsey shook her head. "No. She saw me chasing her, but never tried to use her gun. She ran down an alley. I can't see how she could have planned it, but she found an unlocked door to a store in a strip mall. By the time I reached it, it was locked."

"And then what?"

"I ran around to the front," Lindsey answered. "But I lost sight of her. The store employees said she ran through there like her ass was on fire, but they didn't see where she went."

Skinner drew another deep breath, nodding, and handed Lindsey her gun. "At least you were partially smart about what you did. Ms. Byrd is now without a vehicle. We'll keep searching for her, checking car rental agencies, dealerships."

"What's to stop her from simply stealing a car?" I asked.

"That, too," Skinner agreed. "We'll start a city-wide hunt for her. She won't escape."

"She'll come after me again," Lindsey murmured. "Won't she?"

"We'll catch her before she can," Skinner said. "We'll find both these miscreants, Byrd and Rivers. We'll find them before they can do any more harm."