Exposed (8 page)

A carload of teenagers pulled up to the gas pump behind them. Maddie watched them pile out and tromp into the store.

“We got tunnel vision,” Brian said. “We were so caught up with how she could help us, we weren’t focused on protecting her.”

“They might have gotten to her anyway, you know.”

But she could tell by the grim look on his face that what she said didn’t matter. He felt responsible for Jolene’s fate.

He turned to look at her. She wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind, so she just sat there, holding his gaze.

He shoved open the door and got out. She felt the trunk pop open. After a few moments, he slammed it shut and slid back behind the wheel.

“Put this on. That sweater’s distracting.” He handed her a navy-blue Windbreaker with
FBI
printed on the back.

“Distracting?”

“I don’t want him to notice you.”

“How’s he going to notice me? I’m going to be in the car, like you said.”

“Yeah, well, I get the sense you don’t always follow directions.”

She wanted to argue, but that would only prove his point. She unwound the scarf from her neck and shrugged into the jacket. He reached into the backseat and dropped an FBI baseball cap in her lap. She shot him a peevish look.

“You should conceal your face.”

She nestled it on her head and pulled her ponytail through the back. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look hot.”

“Uh,
no
, I look like some kind of FBI groupie.”

The corner of his mouth curved up, and she turned to gaze out the window.
You look hot
. Where the hell had that come from? Her heart started to thud as she felt him watching her.

His phone beeped, and she was relieved for a change of subject as he read the screen.

“Text from Sam. First van’s ten minutes out. Second one’s not far behind.”

She downed some more water as he put the phone away.

“So.” She cleared her throat. “Tell me about Sam.”

He looked startled. “What about him?”

“How long have you been working together?”

“Two years.”

“Is he married?”

“Divorced.”

“Hmm. And he’s from where, Baltimore?”

His gaze narrowed. “How’d you know that?”

“My grandmother lived there. I remember the accent.”

He watched her, and she could tell she’d thrown him for a loop by asking about his partner. If he had any ideas about hitting on her, she wanted to nip them in the bud and save them both the embarrassment.

Maddie glanced out the window again as a man exited the store and stopped on the sidewalk to light a cigarette. She looked at his hands, his face, his body. He glanced up, and she made a small, strangled sound.

“What?” Brian looked at her.

“That’s him,” she whispered, easing low in the seat.

“With the bandage on his nose? Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She remembered the FBI cap on her head and turned away so he couldn’t see it. Her heart was pounding now as she recalled his eyes, his weight, his fingers digging into her neck. Right before she’d smacked him in the face and managed to run.

“He’s leaving.” Brian started the car.

“What are you doing?”

“Tailing him.”

“Don’t let him see us.”

“Call Sam.” He handed her the phone as he backed out of the space. “Just hit redial.”

As Maddie made the call, Brian reached over and pulled the cap off her head. He tossed it to the floor and turned out of the parking lot as Sam answered.

“Sam, it’s Maddie.”

Silence.

“I’m with Brian, and we’re in pursuit of a black SUV.”
In pursuit
. Now she sounded like a cop. “We think Volansky is inside. We just saw him come out of a convenience store.”

“You get a license plate?”

“It’s too far away. He’s three cars ahead of us.”

“Tell him we’re heading west on Eighth Street,” Brian ordered. “Scratch that, he’s turning south. Tell him he’s going south on—what’s that street called?”

“He’s turning south on Sycamore,” Maddie said. “That’s
away
from the apartment.”

Brian veered into the right-hand lane. He made the turn, and the black SUV shot forward.

“We’re burned.” He pounded the wheel.
“Damn it.”

Brian stomped on the gas, and Maddie was thrust back against the seat. She transferred the phone to the other hand so she could fasten her seat belt.

“Maddie? You there?” Sam asked.

“I think he spotted us.”

Brian raced through a yellow light. The SUV’s brake lights flashed, and it whipped around a corner. Tires squealed as Brian followed.

“East on Fifth.” Brian darted a look at her. “Tell him.”

“We’re heading east on Fifth Street. Where are you guys?”

Muffled sounds on the other end as Sam talked to someone.

“Hold on.” Brian flung out his arm and pressed her against the seat as he swung around a corner.

“Where are you going?” she squeaked.

“To cut him off.”

Her head whipped forward as he slammed on the brakes and rounded another corner. Then he stomped on the gas again, and they sped down a street. Brake lights glowed in front of them. He swerved into the opposite lane to avoid a pickup. Headlights blinded them. Horns blared. He accelerated past the truck and swerved back, just in time to miss a head-on collision.

Maddie’s heart skipped a beat. She clutched the phone in her hand and held her breath as he raced through another yellow light. He slowed at the next intersection and careened around the corner in time to see the black SUV shoot through a red light.

“Shit!”
Brian pounded the wheel again.

“Maddie? What’s going on?” Sam demanded.

“We’re—” She glanced around frantically. “We’re near the campus. Approaching Hudson Boulevard.”

“You’re headed east?”

“Uh—yeah. Now we’re turning on Hudson. South on Hudson.”

Brian’s arm reached out again, and she batted it away. “Drive!”

He swerved around some slow-moving cars and sped through an intersection, but the light ahead was red.

“Watch out!” she yelped, but he was already on the brake. They skidded to a halt only inches away from a crosswalk. A stream of college kids filed past, headed for the bar district, completely oblivious to the hot pursuit going on around them.

Maddie caught her breath. She looked at Brian. His knuckles on the steering wheel were white as he waited for the pedestrians. He darted a look in the rearview and muttered a curse, then thrust the car into reverse.

“Brian!”

He shot backward up the street, all the way to the previous intersection, as Maddie craned her neck around to see the people they were no doubt about to mow over. He shifted gears. Tires shrieked as he shot down a side street. Another hairpin turn, and Maddie closed her eyes.

“West on Pecan. Tell Sam.”

Maddie relayed their location.

“We’re five minutes from there,” Sam said. “I’m
sending the other team to Hudson. Maybe we can intercept him.”

“There!” she shouted as they sailed past an alley.

Brian screeched to a halt. He shifted into reverse again and zoomed backward until they were even with the alley. The black SUV was parked in the middle, driver’s-side door hanging open. A shadowy figure raced away and disappeared around a corner.

Brian yanked the Glock from his holster and shoved open the door. “Tell Sam where I am!”

“But—”

“And stay here!”

Brian heard the man’s shoes slapping against the pavement as he rounded the corner.

“FBI! Freeze!”

He bolted ahead. Brian raced after him. The guy was small and wiry but surprisingly fast, and he had a decent lead. Brian turned on the gas and started gaining ground.

The man glanced over his shoulder, then darted right, down another alley.

Brian surged after him. Any doubt that this was Volansky was long gone.

The next alley was really just a driveway behind a building, looked like maybe a movie theater. Volansky ducked behind a Dumpster, and Brian gripped his gun, ready to take him down. But then a door popped open, and a teenager in a red shirt and black pants—probably
some theater employee—stepped out. Volansky shoved him aside and darted through the door.

“Son of a bitch.” Brian ran to the door and yanked it open.

“Hey, you can’t—”

He raced inside and found himself at the end of a long hallway. Moviegoers milled around with buckets of popcorn. Brian’s stress level skyrocketed as he thought of the potential for disaster.

A flash of movement. A yelp. The man barreled through a crowd of people. Brian lunged after him, squeezing his way past shocked onlookers. An alarm wailed as Volansky plowed through an emergency exit. Brian dodged around a knot of teenagers, plucking a phone from the hand of some girl as he went. He ran through the doorway and looked left, right. No sign of anyone. He glanced at the pink rhinestone phone in his hand, disconnected the call, and dialed Sam.

A noise to his right. Something hitting pavement. Brian bolted for it. A blur of black as Volansky darted around the building. Brian turned on the speed. He rounded the corner and—

Ping
.

He leaped behind a Dumpster.

Ping
.

Another bullet hit metal. Shit, two rounds. Close range. His heart jackhammered in his chest. Where the hell was he? Brian leaned his head back, peering through the narrow gap between the Dumpster and the concrete wall, but saw no sign of him. His pulse raced. He hadn’t been shot at in years, and he felt the familiar
clutch in his chest, the panic pumping through his veins. He took a deep breath and tried to shake it off. He had to focus.

The phone in his hand made a noise, and Brian pressed it to his ear. Voice mail.
Shit
.

“It’s Beckman. I’m at the movie theater south of campus. This guy’s armed, and I need immediate backup.”

A clatter of footsteps, a grunt. He was running away.

Brian shoved the phone into his pocket and crouched low as he rounded the Dumpster. He scanned the area. No one. With his back to the wall, gun up, he hustled to the corner of the building and peered around.

Parking lot.
Fuck
. Hundreds and hundreds of cars and innocent people flowing between them. Brian ran for the lot, mind racing with a long list of bad outcomes to this. Volansky was going to grab a car, that was certain. Would he just take it, or would he put a bullet in someone when he did? Brian took the phone out again and dialed 911, then barked directions at the operator while sprinting for the sea of cars. He reached the first row and dropped to his knees so he could peer under the vehicles. No one hiding or duck-walking around that he could see.

A distant scream, shrill and terrified.

Brian jumped to his feet, searching for the source.

Another scream. He took off toward the commotion. He ran for all he was worth, heart thundering.
Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, don’t shoot
.

Across the lot, a red hatchback rocketed backward out of a space. He heard the squeal of brakes and then the growl of the engine as the car sped away.

Maddie knelt on the sidewalk beside the shoe print. She took a deep breath, held it, then let it out partially and snapped the picture.

Blurry again.

Her hands were shaking all over the place, and she desperately wished for her tripod. She glanced around for something to use as a substitute and spotted the police cruiser zooming toward her. It came to a screeching stop nearby, and Brian jumped out of the passenger side.

“I told you to stay in the car.”

Relief washed over her at the sight of him. But she didn’t respond, because she didn’t want him to see how rattled she was. She put her knee up and rested the camera on it, with the lens angled slightly down.

“Maddie?”

“I need to get a few photos.”

“We’ve got techs for that.”