Sinclair sat on the side of the bed, and the listening ward faded as his medallion interacted with it. Laura tugged her hands away and placed them on his shoulders. He held her hips and pulled her closer.
She shook her head. “This isn’t going to happen, Jono.”
He slid his hands higher and drew her down with him as he fell back on the bed. She lay on top of him, refusing to straddle him. With his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, he wiggled her back and forth. “We could always drink more beer so you can tell me how drunk you were and how you don’t remember a thing.”
She rolled off him. “Stop. We can’t. I told you I don’t date colleagues.”
He stretched on his side. “Oh, but you can kiss them, huh? Besides, we’re not technically colleagues until Terryn decides I’m good enough.”
She snorted. “Oh, you’re good all right. Just not the kind of good I think Terryn had in mind.”
With light touches, he walked his fingers up her arm. “Someone’s making excuses,” he sang softly.
Laura grabbed his hand when it reached her shoulder. “Jono, we don’t have time for this.” He relaxed his hand to lie flat on her shoulder. She slipped off the bed. “We have to get out of here.”
Sinclair leaned his elbows on his knees, thinking through what she said. “Where do we go?”
“Stick to the plan. The Guildhouse, then the safe house. When the listening ward reactivates, we get back to the script and talk about going out for more beer. Got it?” she said.
“Got it,” he said. The listening ward reactivated as he rolled off the bed and pulled a pair of shoes from the closet.
“Now? You want to go for more beer now?” Laura said, putting a note of surprise in her voice.
Sinclair slipped on his running shoes. “Sure, we’ve got the whole night, babe, and, trust me, you’re going to get thirsty.”
She walked out to the dining room. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
Sinclair appeared in the doorway as she gathered up the dialogue sheets from the table. He retrieved the script from the counter while she gathered the rest from the coffee table. Turning, Sinclair was behind her. He handed her the rest of the pages. “All set?” she asked.
She shoved the papers in her duffel bag and tossed it to Sinclair. He looked down at it, then retreated to the bedroom. “Wait a sec, I need some cash.”
“I’ve got cash,” she said pointedly.
Sinclair reappeared waving a leather shaving kit at her, and Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m ready,” he said.
They hit the sidewalk. “You went back for deodorant and shaving cream?” Laura said in disbelief.
“And a toothbrush,” Sinclair said in mock self-defense. “I believe in good oral hygiene even when I’m on the run from shadowy assassins.”
They reached her SUV and separated to the opposite sides. “There’s a tooth-fairy joke in there somewhere,” she said.
She called Terryn as she pulled in to traffic. “We’re on our way. We should be in the safe zone in about three blocks.”
“Agents are in place. Drive safely,” Terryn said.
She made a mental map of their planned route from Sinclair’s apartment to the Guildhouse. If Alfrey or Gianni had planted listening wards, they sure as hell had people watching the apartment. To keep suspicion down, Terry would hold off backup for the first few blocks. After that, they would drive a protective gauntlet, watched by Guildhouse agents.
When she reached the corner, a black car blocked the street. Laura skipped the intended turn. “Do you think that’s them already?”
Sinclair adjusted his line of sight in the visor mirror. “Definitely. That was the wrong way on a one-way street.
Turn two blocks up, and we should be fine.”
Laura goosed the accelerator. Behind them, four black cars appeared in formation in pairs. Perfectly normal black-car behavior in D.C., except for the fact that they weren’t escorting anyone and were speeding up.
Laura checked her mirrors. “They took the bait.”
Sinclair twisted in his seat to look out the rear window. The cars had no insignia, and the license plates displayed consecutive numbers. Not a good sign. Laura gunned the SUV through a yellow light. All four cars ran the red. Definitely not a good sign. The cars moved to pass on either side. When the lead cars reached the SUV, they paced it.
“Hang on,” Laura said. She slammed on the brakes. All four cars shot past the SUV. As they braked, Laura gunned the engine and spun the steering wheel. The SUV rocked savagely side to side in a tight turn. Laura slapped the police light onto the roof and hit the gas pedal. Oncoming traffic careened to either side as she tore up the one-way street.
“We’re cops now?” Sinclair said.
“Whatever it takes, Jono. If we can’t get to our backup, maybe we can draw them to us,” she said.
Two black cars followed. Laura skidded the turn at the next corner. Cars pulled over as her police light warned them off. The SUV flew through an intersection as Laura hit the dashboard phone. Static crackled over her speakers. She fumbled in her pocket for her cell and flipped it open. More static. “They’re jamming the phones,” she said.
A third black car joined them. Laura yanked the wheel as the car sideswiped against her, fishtailed, and swung down the next street. “Do you see the fourth car?”
Sinclair checked the rear window again. “No sign.”
Gathering a burst of essence in her mind, she wrapped it around the memory template of Terryn’s signature and threw a sending. Being pursued off route. Logan Circle heading to the Guildhouse.
She accelerated and made a U-turn at speed. Two cars swept past, but the third came straight on. Stomping on the accelerator, she burned rubber into the pavement. As the SUV pivoted, she veered into the black car and slammed it with her real panel. Skidding sideways, the car danced on its right tires and flipped in a shower of sparks.
“Nice move. One down,” Sinclair said.
Laura checked her mirrors. “Where the hell is that fourth car?”
“I don’t see it either. We’re five blocks off route. You’ve got to make a turn if we’re going to get any help,” Sinclair said.
Traffic blocked their path ahead. Laura shot a look at the rearview mirror. The two remaining cars drew closer. As they careened toward the stopped cars, Sinclair braced himself against the dashboard, and Laura held her breath. With a deft spin of the steering wheel, Laura ran a narrow gap in the jam.
Sinclair whooped. “You can drive!”
One of the black cars made the gap. Laura powered down her window and thrust her arm out. She released a scattered fan of essence, white lighting erupting from her fingertips so fast it made her arm jump. The bolts sizzled across the lane, and one of the other car’s tires blew. It swerved wildly, its momentum fighting the dead wheel, and lurched to a stop against parked cars. The third black car tore past it.
“That’s two,” Sinclair said.
“Four blocks,” Laura said.
A metropolitan police squad car leaped out of a side street. It shuddered left as Laura swerved right. The black car shot past it and gained on the SUV, while the squad car recovered and turned.
“Two more blocks,” Sinclair said.
White streaks of essence flared across the night sky. A sending hit them both. Aerial backup behind you.
The squad car and the black car jostled for space in the narrow street.
Hit your brakes now! Laura sent to the officer. She slammed on her own. The black car swerved to avoid her, jumped the curb, and sailed through a windowed storefront.
“And that’s three,” Sinclair said.
A black blur pierced by blazing headlights sped out of a side street and smashed into their passenger side. The SUV spun. Laura fought the motion, the world smearing in flashes of white-and-red light, cars and buildings spinning past the windshield. She hit a car, then another. Sinclair shouted as the air bags deployed. Blinded, they crashed into something solid. The abrupt stop flung Laura forward into the air bag, the seat belt biting her shoulder and wrenching her back against the seat.