Double Cross

Chapter 69

I KNEW THAT the sports coupe could outrun me on a long straightaway, but that was the one advantage the driver didn’t have here. In fact, I could swear she was letting me get closer. Was that really happening? Was it a trap? Was that what this was about? Separating, then grabbing me? Was I the target? Kyle Craig would think up something like that. Was Kyle here? Was he involved?

Then I saw what was actually going on. With no warning or brake lights, the coupe shot left onto a narrow side street, shimmied twice, and kept moving like a Pocket Rocket.

I missed the intersection completely. No way I could have made the turn. Another came up fast, though, and I took it, hoping for a grid somewhere up ahead.

Tall apartment buildings rose on either side of me so that I couldn’t see over to the next block. Straight ahead, the road came to a T with another main artery. Boston Street, I thought. I knew that beyond Boston was the harbor. That cut off some options, anyway. Made this a little easier. I hoped.

I can get her-take her down. And that’ll be the biggest break yet in this case.

The coupe whizzed by as I approached the intersection, and I accelerated blindly around the corner. This could be it. One way or the other.

We were in two lanes of inward-bound traffic now. The Miata wove through other cars expertly, passing on both sides, but it couldn’t slip away from me. I was holding on so far. And I had my Glock out again.

When the driver tried another surprise right, I was ready for it. The taxi’s outside wheels barely held the pavement, but I made the turn with an inch or two of safety.

A tree-lined residential block appeared ahead. I spotted pedestrians.

My chest tightened up. Kids would be out on a nice night like this. The coupe wasn’t slowing down. She was barreling straight ahead, even picking up speed.

I laid on the horn! Maybe I could keep the road clear of people. The coupe rocketed up several blocks, and all I could do was follow at a close distance. If you ain’t first, you’re last. Ricky Bobby in Talladega Nights.

When the driver tried the next turn, the street was too narrow for the speed. The Miata slowed sharply-and I came up fast on her.

I slammed into the back fender again, not exactly on purpose this time. I knew I’d just messed up the taxi pretty good.

The coupe fishtailed around the corner and hopped up onto the sidewalk, then somebody’s lawn. I heard a woman’s scream in the darkness. Two people dove out of the way.

My focus narrowed and also intensified. I saw the Best Western up ahead. What the hell? On top of everything else, I had just been taken on a giant circle jerk ride around Baltimore and the harbor area.

It wasn’t until I saw the highway up ahead that I got it. The driver had figured out how to outrun me.

And I couldn’t let her do that!