‘I’m just trying to think, that’s all...’ Jones continued.
The lights changed. The line of traffic approaching from the other side of the road junction began to move slowly forwards.
The vehicles in front of Dom’s cab also began to move. Jones yanked at the handle on the roadside door of the cab. She wrenched it open, and leapt, as best her battered body could manage, out into the street. Thankfully Dom had not locked her in this time. Presumably he had either not considered it necessary. or merely been in too much of a hurry to even think about it.
Somehow or other, Jones managed to land on her feet. Or very nearly. She took off at a run, ignoring the shooting pains in her leg. She heard the cab squealing to a halt again, and the big man yelling after her. She didn’t look back. She’d noticed an empty yellow cab in the line of slowly approaching traffic. She hailed it as she ran across the road, and somehow or other managed to open a door and throw herself inside while the cab was still crawling along. Dom moved fast. He came running across the road, still yelling, right on Jones’s heels. There was a lot of hooting going on from the line of vehicles trapped behind his abandoned vehicle.
Jones slammed the cab door shut and flipped down the lock.
‘Grand Central Station,’ she told the driver, not because she wanted to go there but because it was the first place that came into her head, and one of the few that even a New York cabby could find without a full address including cross streets.
Suddenly Dom’s face loomed alarmingly at the window, just as Jones’s new driver accelerated away. Mercifully the traffic had begun to flow quite freely. Equally suddenly the face was gone.
Jones looked back over her shoulder as an irate Dom disappeared into the distance.
The best news was that there was absolutely no chance of Dom getting back into his cab and swinging it around in time to follow Jones and her driver, who thankfully seemed quite oblivious to the fact that anything untoward was happening. He had barely even looked at Jones, which was all for the best, or he might not be driving her anywhere. She breathed a huge sigh of relief and leaned back in her seat.
But she couldn’t believe what she had just done, and her heart was racing. She had to contact Connie. And fast. She had to get her to safety. And if she was right in her suspicions of Dom, then the former wrestler could well be already on his way to the loft apartment.
Jones used her burner to dial the one she’d already given Connie, who answered quite cheerily. Jones steeled herself.
‘It’s me,’ she began lamely, keeping her voice low so that the driver wouldn’t hear.
‘I know it’s you, woman, who else has this number anyway...’
Connie stopped.
Jones’s voice had sounded strange even to her. Connie had picked up on that. As she would.
‘What’s wrong?’ Connie asked sharply.
‘There’s been an accident—’
‘Marion,’ Connie interrupted at once. ‘Oh my God. It’s Marion, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
Jones could still see that broken and bloodied body lying in the street. And she didn’t know how to tell Connie what had happened to the woman she clearly loved so much. But Connie didn’t even give her a chance to start to explain before firing questions at her.
‘What happened? Where is she? What have they done to her? Tell me where Marion is? I must go to her—’
‘No, Connie, no—’
‘What do you mean, no? Is she dead? Is Marion dead? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?’
‘I don’t know, Connie. The truth is I don’t know whether she’s dead or alive. I really don’t. I had to get away. I was going to be next. Marion’s injured. But I don’t know how badly.’
The last sentence was a total lie, of course. If Marion had survived, if she was alive, Jones knew only too well that she had suffered the most terrible injuries. But she didn’t want Connie to totally fall apart.
‘You’ve left her?’ Connie barked.
‘No. Well... yes. It w-wasn’t like that...’
‘Never mind, just tell me where she,’ Connie repeated, still shouting. ‘I must go to her. What happened? What the hell happened?’
‘Look Connie, you have to listen. And do as I say. Marion was hit by a truck. It wasn’t an accident. T-the thing is, I think she was mistaken for you...’
‘Oh my God.’
Connie spoke flatly, not shouting any more.
‘Somebody knew you were alive, Connie, and that somebody wanted you dead, really dead,’ Jones continued. ‘Right now they may still think they’ve got you, and they may not be watching Dom’s place. But they’ll know they failed soon enough. Leave the loft, straight away. Get out. Just get out...’
‘Yes, yes. But I must go to Marion. Where’ve they taken her? Which hospital?’
‘I don’t know. And even if I did you mustn’t go to her. Not yet. That would be suicide.’
‘Dom could fix it. Dom would know what to do—’
‘No,’ Jones interrupted sharply. ‘I think he might be involved. He was there. When it happened.’
‘Dom would never hurt Marion.’
‘Connie, it was you they were after. Not Marion. Look, will you just go along with me on this for now. Put on a scarf or a hat or something, hide that hair of yours, and get a cab to Grand Central. I’ll meet you by the gate to platform one. OK? Platform one.’
‘OK.’
The shock was strong in Connie’s voice, but Jones also detected resignation. Thankfully, it seemed that she was going to do what Jones said.
‘Good. Now, I need you to bring my bag with you. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. It’s got my laptop in it, my personal mobile, and another burner phone. Can you do that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Connie, remember what I said, avoid Dom, do you hear me? He may even be on his way to you. I reckon you could have...’
She checked her watch, trying to visualize the place where she had abandoned Dom’s cab and its proximity to the loft apartment.
‘Ten minutes max before he could be there...’
‘But Sandy, Dom is Marion’s closest, dearest friend, her surrogate son. He’d never hurt either of us, I just can’t believe...’
‘Connie!’
Jones realized she had shouted at her. Aware of the presence of the cab driver, albeit behind a glass screen, she lowered her voice to a kind of urgent hiss.
‘Connie, you’re wasting time. Please, do as I tell you. Get the fuck out of there and come to me. I’ll explain then.’
Connie murmured something indecipherable, which Jones hoped to God was agreement, and ended the call. Jones leaned wearily back in her seat and closed her eyes. She was living a nightmare.
The taxi pulled to a halt with a jolt outside the Vanderbilt Avenue entrance to Grand Central. Jones opened her eyes again. This was a nightmare from which there was no waking up. A bleak terrifying reality the like of which Sandy Jones had never experienced before.
Meanwhile, in the bowels of a warehouse in Chelsea, only a half a mile or so away from Dom’s loft apartment, the man who always wore a black suit, white shirt and black tie, paced anxiously up and down. As usual he was wearing shades, even though he was inside a big cavernous basement which was only poorly lit.
He was, of course, the nameless interrogator at Princeton police station whom Jones had dubbed the Man in Black. Ed MacEntee’s not entirely effective tail. And while he continued to try desperately to look the part of a tough, cool super-agent, the Man in Black was extremely uneasy.
As far as he was concerned the whole operation was spiralling out of control. He’d only begun it as a way of increasing his standing in the organization. He’d wanted to draw attention to himself. Well, he’d certainly done that. He’d wanted to impress. He’d particularly wanted to impress Mr Johnson.