A T-junction lay ahead, a cross street that didn’t pass beneath the freeway. A sidelong glance revealed a few commercial buildings behind tall fences, but nothing that would facilitate her escape. She kept going.
The next street did pass under the Interstate, and as she angled toward the opening, she glanced up at the helicopter as if daring it to follow. The helicopter was black with no markings. Its sleek aerodynamic fuselage gave the impression of a menacing wasp. Definitely not a police helicopter, she thought, and ran even faster. The pilot dipped the aircraft forward to block her path with the whirling rotor blades, but he was either too slow or too cautious. Jenna ducked around the corner…
And skidded to a dead stop.
Two police cars, emergency lights flashing, raced toward her, just seconds away from the underpass.
Jenna spun around and raced back out, directly beneath the helicopter. Her mind raced through her options. She had survived the Villegas brothers, taken out Zack’s entire hit squad and knocked a drone out of the sky — she could figure out a solution to this problem, too. But no matter how she looked at the pieces, a winning strategy did not come. She was on foot, alone, in an unfamiliar environment, with no time and no choices.
Another police cruiser approached from the opposite direction, half a block away. She cut to the left, trying to reach the road she’d come from, but the police car turned across her path, blocking that route. The other two patrol cars shot past and cut in front of her.
Doors flew open, and the three police officers emerged as one, as if they had rehearsed the move for maximum effect. All three had their guns drawn and pointed at Jenna. She could tell that they were shouting, probably ordering her to get down — to ‘grab the pavement,’ as the ill-fated Deputy Jimmy might have put it — but their voices were drowned out by the tumult of the helicopter directly above.
There was nowhere to go.
She raised her hands, sensing that if she did not, the officers might very well shoot. The reserves of energy she had tapped for the futile sprint shut off. She dropped to her knees, more out of exhaustion than surrender.
Don’t give up, she told herself. An opportunity will come, be ready to seize it.
More police cars were coming from every direction. The knot was tightening. Two civilian cars — a pair of familiar-looking generic sedans — joined the parade. The last glimmer of hope faded away.
Jenna didn’t think the police would shoot her or that the government hit men would do so out in the open, so the loud report — louder than anything she had ever heard — caught her off guard. She started, astonished to see the three officers dive for cover behind their vehicles.
The shot—no, make that shots, plural—had come from the helicopter, and hadn’t been aimed at her. A glance up revealed a man, framed by the open side door of the aircraft, sitting behind a machine gun. The gunner loosed another burst that stitched a row of holes across a police cruiser’s hood, but then Jenna lost sight of him as the helicopter pivoted away, turning in a slow circle above her. More shots followed. Short bursts sparked off the three police cars, keeping the officers down. The helicopter corkscrewed closer to the ground, closer to Jenna.
The bold attack was eerily reminiscent of what had occurred behind the bait shop, and Jenna realized why as the helicopter completed a full rotation and she got another look at the gunner. It was the man who had identified himself as Special Agent Cray of the FBI — the man who had killed Noah.
Jenna turned away, estimating the distance to the nearest police car. She wondered if her legs would carry her that far. Probably not fast enough to outrun a burst from Cray’s machine gun.
“Jenna!” His voice was nearly drowned out by the rotor wash and engine noise, but she heard him repeat the same exhortation he had made twelve hours earlier. “We’re not going to hurt you!”
Why not? She wondered. Why haven’t you killed me already?
Noah’s whispered warning to the deputy echoed again in her head. Those men are not federal agents. You absolutely must not let them put my daughter in their vehicle.
Zack had showed no interest in winning her trust, and Cort had made it clear that the government wanted her dead, no matter the consequences. Cray had tried to capture her alive, and now he was driving the police back, providing cover for her to…what exactly?
“Get in!” Cray’s shout was louder, probably because the helicopter was just a few feet above the ground, a few feet from where she knelt, statue still.
If they had wanted her dead, they would have killed her already, which meant…
We’re not going to hurt you.
But Cray had shot Noah.
Not federal agents.
Then who the hell are you?
There was another report, but it wasn’t from Cray’s gun. The single staccato pop — like a distant firecracker — had come from the outer perimeter. Cray jerked back as something struck the side of the fuselage, too close for comfort. Then he swiveled his weapon in the direction of the new threat.
Jenna couldn’t believe the police would try to bring the helicopter down. Trying to shoot the tires out of a speeding car was one thing, but there was no telling how much damage an out-of-control helicopter might cause if it crashed. As more shots tore into the air, she realized that she had made two incorrect assumptions. The first was that it was the police shooting. It wasn’t. It was Cort’s friends from the safe house. The second assumption was worse. They weren’t shooting at the helicopter — they were shooting at her.
That simplified things.
She met Cray’s eyes, nodded to signal her intention and then waited for him to fire another long burst. As soon as the gun fell silent, she leaped up and threw herself past Cray and into the helicopter.
She heard Cray, or maybe it was someone else, shouting, “We’ve got her. Go! Go!” Then something like an invisible hand pressed her down against the deck. The helicopter ascended, and judging by the g-forces pushing against her and the strident whine of the turbine engines, it was rising fast.
She waited, unmoving, curious to see the consequences of her choice. Would they slap handcuffs on her? Inject her with a tranquilizer? Or simply hold her at gunpoint while they whisked her off to some secret prison facility?
After several seconds, it became apparent that nothing of the sort was going to happen, so she cautiously raised her head.
Cray was still manning the gun, peering out across an urban landscape that was now dizzyingly distant. His was not the only face she recognized. The man who had posed as his partner during the confrontation at the marina was there as well. He nodded in her direction, though the meaning of the gesture was unclear. The riddle of his gesture was quickly forgotten when she saw the other two people seated in the small cabin.
The man was a stranger, but she could tell just by looking at him that he wasn’t a professional killer or a government secret agent. He didn’t have that hard edge that she had noticed in Cort, and looking back, that Noah had always possessed. Thin and bookish, with hair gone gray, he looked more like an accountant or a college professor. Whatever his role, he was staring at Jenna as if…