Shayla Black: Theirs to Cherish

“Oh, lovely,” Sean began with a note of warning. “I don’t think—”

“Hear me out. The egg can prove my identity. Because so few still exist, the owners of all the remaining pieces can be verified. What’s on the SD card can prove that I’m not guilty of anything. It cuts through the red tape and BS. No going back into hiding.”

“You’re making yourself a bigger target,” Sean protested.

“I’m not.” She shook her head, her dark hair covering her shoulders and brushing her arms. “Whoever’s been looking for me wants the part of the research that no longer exists. We go public with the fact that my father burned it. And whoever offed everyone else and is after me now wants to keep their dirty deeds a secret. By exposing it all, killing me doesn’t bury anything anymore. It only draws attention to their misdeeds. Once the world knows I’m alive and what’s happened . . .”

“There will be a media frenzy,” Thorpe finished for her. “You’ll have such a spotlight on you, they won’t dare.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s damn clever.” Sean couldn’t help but smile at her. “Lovely minx.”

“So where’s that TV station?” she asked the cabbie, who looked totally confused by their conversation.

“Less than a mile up the road. It’s KSNV, the NBC affiliate. Will that do?”

“Perfect.” Relief made her entire face glow. “The Today show should be on. It’s got a great viewership.”

“Word should travel fast,” Thorpe agreed.

Sean wanted to pound the wistful expression off the other man’s face and tell him that if he adored Callie so much, he should fucking stay. But no sense in arguing now. Sean had to focus on shielding her from the coming media storm. But he had no doubt he’d wish now and then that Thorpe had pulled his head out of his ass before it had come to good-bye.

“Um . . . that’s great and all,” the driver interjected, “but I think someone is following us. Black sedan?”

Sean resisted the urge to peek through the back windshield to verify. Damn it, how had these goons figured out their escape route so quickly? Why couldn’t they shake these assholes?

“Act like there’s nothing wrong. See if you can get him to pass us. Confuse him by taking a circular route to the TV station. Anything.”

The car slowed for a moment, and the cabbie seemed to change lanes. He pulled out a smoke and fished around for his lighter. As soon as he found it, he dropped it and stomped on the gas pedal.

“What’s going on?” Sean demanded.

“I don’t think there’s going to be any fooling the guys in the black sedan. They’ve got guns!”

And they were tenacious. A second later, a loud bang resounded, and the back window on the passenger’s side shattered. Thorpe reacted quickly, covering Callie’s body with his own.

Sean drew the Glock he’d been hiding in the waistband holster tucked inside his jeans and peeked out the open window. “Slow down so I can get a shot.”

“What the fuck?” The man’s gray brows slashed down in the rearview mirror. “I’m not aiding a murder, pal.”

“I’ve got a badge, remember? I’m FBI, protecting a witness. Now slow down so I can get a damn shot. If you don’t and we somehow manage to live, I’ll arrest your ass.”

“Fucking do what he said!” Thorpe barked.

Sean waited as the driver eased off the gas. The sedan roared up to their side again.

“As soon as I say so, take the next right and floor it. Got it?”

The cabdriver nodded excitedly. “I always wanted to do this. It looks cool in the movies.”

Trying not to roll his eyes, Sean inched up and aimed his weapon out the window. He fired off a couple of shots, hitting the side of the car, but not the passenger or driver. That shit only happened in the movies. But even if they turned right suddenly, Sean didn’t think it was going to be enough to prevent the attackers from pursuing. He needed to try again.

“Keep her on the floor and covered.” He barked at Thorpe as he slammed back against the seat.

“I’ve got your back,” Thorpe vowed.

Not always, but now wasn’t the time to worry about tomorrow.

“Just a little farther,” he told the old man at the steering wheel. “At the parking lot on the other side of the upcoming intersection, turn in. Don’t signal, just do it.”

“Got it.”

“What’s your name?” Sean asked.

“Bob.” He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. “Maybe I’ll get to be on the news?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Sean nearly shook his head. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

As they soared through the green light and just past the black car, he took another shot and hit the windshield. It splintered, caving in on the pair of mercenaries.

Bob jerked the car right, and it bounced into the parking lot. He dodged a hatchback swinging into the parking lot.

The sedan locked up its brakes and tried to turn right in front of the far lane of traffic. Tires screeched. A pickup truck hit the car’s back panel on the passenger side with a cringeworthy metallic crunch. Sean twisted around to look through the back windshield. The sedan was almost backward in the intersection. The truck ground to a halt, along with several of the cars behind them, and blocked the intersection. The sedan was trapped.

A bystander got out to check on the people involved in the accident. The driver of the sedan, the older asswipe in uniform, rolled down his window and started shouting, gesturing wildly for everyone to get out of his way.

The back window on the driver’s side of the car eased down. Out came the gun again. People screamed and dropped to the ground.

“Floor it!” Sean told Bob. “Get us to that fucking TV station now.”

They made a right and left the scene of the accident—and their pursuers—behind. Sean breathed a sigh of relief.

“We did it!” Bob roared as he cruised down a side street.

“Is it safe now?” Callie asked under Thorpe.

“I think.” Sean tapped Thorpe on the shoulder. “You, ease up. But be prepared, just in case.”

Thorpe nodded and lifted away from Callie, but helped her up from the tight wedge of the floorboard, clutching her hand in his and drawing it closer to his chest. She looked so pale, it scared him.

Sean grabbed her chin. “Breathe, lovely. Don’t pass out on me.”

She shook her head and drew in a deep breath. “I’m good. I swear.”

He wasn’t convinced, but before he could question her further, Bob was pulling up into a parking lot, past a giant carport, heading for a nondescript off-white building with a big blue News 3 sign jutting from the flat roof. He brought the car to a grinding halt in a reserved spot with a big grin on his face.

Bouncing against the backseat, Thorpe thrust into his pocket and extracted Bob’s money. Sean grabbed his wrist and counted out half, then gave it to Bob. “Stay here and idling for a few minutes. Once we know it’s safe, one of us will give you the rest.”

“Whew! You got it.” Bob grinned. “That was a rush!”

Sean just hoped the station would talk to Callie, and he wouldn’t be here for the cabbie’s adrenaline crash. He opened the door and leapt out, reaching for Callie. She piled out, and Thorpe followed. All together, they ran for the doors. A security guard stopped them immediately inside the cool white linoleum lobby.

“Do you have an appointment?” the cop-in-a-box asked.

“We’d like to see whoever is in charge of the news,” Callie said with her sweetest smile.

The thirtysomething guy looked at her like he’d rather ask her out than turn her down, but he still shook his head. “The news director is a busy man. You’ll have to make an appointment and come back.”