Jessica Andersen - Under the Microscope

Come to think of it, she could swear she’d seen the same car in her rearview mirror several times since they’d passed the Connecticut border.

Raine’s gut clenched. “Max. Check out the light gray car behind us.”

He twisted around in his seat, reaching for his parka and the weapon he’d reloaded with his last clip of ammo. “We got ourselves a tail?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” Going on instinct, she cut across two lanes of traffic, aiming for the nearest off-ramp, but not taking it. The low-slung silver car copied the maneuver.

They were being followed.

She gripped the steering wheel with suddenly clammy palms. “How did they find us? We’re not even driving the same car we were when we left!” Her voice edged upward in growing panic. “And damn it, I’m driving!”

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” Max’s tone was even. Soothing. “You stand up in your seat, but keep your foot on the gas and your hands on the wheel. I’m going to slide underneath you so we can switch without stopping.”

“That only works on TV!”

“Well, it’ll work for us, too.”

Raine bit her lip and stood up until the top of her head neared the roof of the truck. The speedometer edged toward eighty as they flew toward where the road disappeared beneath the ominous line of storm clouds.

The silver car loomed larger in the side mirror. “They’re getting closer! And it looks like it’s snowing up ahead. That could be a problem.”

“There’s enough traffic around, we should be safe for right now. They proved earlier that they still want to keep this fairly low profile.” He unbuckled his belt and slid across the bench seat, easing an arm beneath and around her. “As for the snow, look at it this way. We’ve got four-wheel drive. They don’t.”

“Then-”

A shot exploded through the plastic slider at the rear of the truck cab.

Raine screamed, but kept her foot on the gas. Max ducked, slid back to the passenger side and drew his weapon. “Guess you’re driving,” he shouted over the sudden rush of wind through the broken slider. “Get us into that storm!”

“I thought you said they wouldn’t make a scene in public!”

“I was wrong.” His face could have been carved from granite as he steadied the muzzle of his handgun, aiming through the broken window. “They’re getting desperate.”

“Maybe they found out that we know about Forsythe and the plastic surgery connection.” Raine swerved around a slow-moving station wagon. “But how?”

The sedan drew closer. A bullet pinged off the roof of the truck, its momentum spent.

The highway took a long, slow curve that nearly sent them in the opposite direction, then made a sharper bend back toward the storm. Raine gunned the truck through that second turn, took one look at the mess in front of her and stifled a scream.

Ahead of them by no more than a half mile, the sky was an ugly dark gray and the pavement went from tar to slush. Brake lights flared where traffic was stalled by a spin out two-car accident.

“There’s no way through!” she said, easing up on the gas pedal.

Max snapped off a shot that had the silver car dropping back a few lengths. “You’ll have to find a way. We’re low on options.”

Her heart jammed into her throat. “I can’t.”

He leaned back against the dashboard so she could see his face, so she could see he was serious when he said, “You can do it, Raine. I know you can. You’re tough and resourceful, and I’m proud to call you my partner.”

The words took a moment to penetrate, a moment to warm her from head to toe. Time seemed to slow as ice pellets peppered the windshield like blowing sand.

Seconds turned to minutes as her heart expanded with the knowledge that she wasn’t the passive doormat who’d married Rory or clung to Max in the hospital. She was tough and resourceful.

And Max saw her as his equal.

Then a bullet whistled through the broken window and plowed into the dashboard. Shards of hard plastic burst outward. One scored Raine’s knuckles, and the pain and the sight of blood sped everything up until the world was moving at normal speed again.

Then faster than normal.

A few hundred feet ahead, cars were stopped all across four travel lanes. The accident took up part of the slow lane and part of the breakdown lane, leaving a narrow gap between a dented Ford and the guardrail. The occupants of the two cars had moved things to the far side of the guardrail, where a small knot of people had clustered and appeared to be arguing over paperwork.

“Hang on!” Making a snap decision, the only one she could make, Raine stood on the brakes, slowed the truck to a crawl and dropped it into four-wheel drive while the sedan’s driver closed the gap with merciless speed. Then she hit the gas, slalomed between two slowing buses and changed lanes with mere feet to spare.

She aimed for the gap between the accident and the guardrail, leaned on the horn and prayed.

Other horns blared. Tires squealed, then stopped squealing as the moving traffic passed into the snow squall and the surface beneath the tires went from black to white. From traction to none.

Raine felt the truck skid and steered into the motion, hoping it would be enough. She heard Max fire three times in rapid succession. They were going nearly forty when she threaded the gap between the disabled car and the guardrail, fifty by the time she’d steered back into the travel lanes, where the other cars were creepy-crawling in the snow.

“Hang on, baby, hang on!” she chanted to the truck, feeling the wheels spin and bite.

Max aimed. Fired. And made a low sound of satisfaction. “Gotcha.”

Raine glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see the silver car swerve across the two higher speed lanes, listing on a flat tire. It bounced off the Jersey barriers that separated the south and northbound lanes of I-95, and ricocheted back into the middle lane, directly into the path of a lumbering casino bus.

The bus clipped the sedan’s rear corner, sending it caroming back across the slower lanes. The car skidded sideways and fetched up against the guardrail, then was lost to sight as the highway curved and Raine and Max fled down the nearly empty road.

A few miles later, he pulled out the disposable phone. “Here goes nothing.” He punched in a number and waited, tension vibrating through his frame. After a moment, his breath whooshed out. “Ike. Thank God. Listen good and listen fast. I think they’re tracking the phones-I don’t know how, but the signal is compromised. Dump yours and run. Take the weekend away like you planned, but do it somewhere else. No reservations, no trail. Use cash. Leave me a hint at the usual place. And be careful.”

He ended the call, rolled down the window and tossed the phone.

“Ike can look out for herself,” Raine said, wanting to ease the grim expression on his face.

Without looking at her, he reached across the bench seat, took her hand and squeezed. “That’s right. And we’ll look out for each other. The Nine aren’t going to know what hit them.”

THEY DROVE ANOTHER HOUR in silence before Raine pulled the truck off the highway and into a crowded motel parking lot. “Are we ditching the truck or keeping it?”

“We’ll have to keep it,” Max answered. “I’m getting low on cash, and I don’t think we want to add grand theft auto to our laundry list. At least not until we’re sure what we’re dealing with.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Raine parked in a far corner, away from the lights, backing into the spot so the shattered rear slider wasn’t so obvious. “We should plan to be up and out before dawn tomorrow.” She grabbed the duffel bag out of the truck, tossed Max his jacket, pocketed the keys and slammed the driver’s door. “Let’s go check in.”