demanded.
“We’re—” She glanced around frantically. “We’re near the campus. Approaching Hudson Boulevard.”
“You’re headed east?”
“Uh—yeah. Now we’re turning on Hudson. South on Hudson.”
Brian’s arm reached out again, and she batted it away. “Drive!”
He swerved around some slow-moving cars and sped through an intersection, but the light ahead was red.
“Watch out!” she yelped, but he was already on the brake. They skidded to a halt only inches away from a crosswalk. A stream of college kids filed past, headed for the bar district, completely oblivious to the hot pursuit going on around them.
Maddie caught her breath. She looked at Brian. His knuckles on the steering wheel were white as he waited for the pedestrians. He darted a look in the rearview and muttered a curse, then thrust the car into reverse.
“Brian!”
He shot backward up the street, all the way to the previous intersection, as Maddie craned her neck around to see the people they were no doubt about to mow over. He shifted gears. Tires shrieked as he shot down a side street. Another hairpin turn, and Maddie closed her eyes.
“West on Pecan. Tell Sam.”
Maddie relayed their location.
“We’re five minutes from there,” Sam said. “I’msending the other team to Hudson. Maybe we can intercept him.”
“There!” she shouted as they sailed past an alley.
Brian screeched to a halt. He shifted into reverse again and zoomed backward until they were even with the alley. The black SUV was parked in the middle, driver’s-side door hanging open. A shadowy figure raced away and disappeared around a corner.
Brian yanked the Glock from his holster and shoved open the door. “Tell Sam where I am!”
“But—”
“And stay here!”
Brian heard the man’s shoes slapping against the pavement as he rounded the corner.
“FBI! Freeze!”
He bolted ahead. Brian raced after him. The guy was small and wiry but surprisingly fast, and he had a decent lead. Brian turned on the gas and started gaining ground.
The man glanced over his shoulder, then darted right, down another alley.
Brian surged after him. Any doubt that this was Volansky was long gone.
The next alley was really just a driveway behind a building, looked like maybe a movie theater. Volansky ducked behind a Dumpster, and Brian gripped his gun, ready to take him down. But then a door popped open, and a teenager in a red shirt and black pants—probablysome theater employee—stepped out. Volansky shoved him aside and darted through the door.
“Son of a bitch.” Brian ran to the door and yanked it open.
“Hey, you can’t—”
He raced inside and found himself at the end of a long hallway. Moviegoers milled around with buckets of popcorn. Brian’s stress level skyrocketed as he thought of the potential for disaster.
A flash of movement. A yelp. The man barreled through a crowd of people. Brian lunged after him, squeezing his way past shocked onlookers. An alarm wailed as Volansky plowed through an emergency exit. Brian dodged around a knot of teenagers, plucking a phone from the hand of some girl as he went. He ran through the doorway and looked left, right. No sign of anyone. He glanced at the pink rhinestone phone in his hand, disconnected the call, and dialed Sam.
A noise to his right. Something hitting pavement. Brian bolted for it. A blur of black as Volansky darted around the building. Brian turned on the speed. He rounded the corner and—
Ping .
He leaped behind a Dumpster.
Ping .
Another bullet hit metal. Shit, two rounds. Close range. His heart jackhammered in his chest. Where the hell was he? Brian leaned his head back, peering through the narrow gap between the Dumpster and the concrete wall, but saw no sign of him. His pulse raced. He hadn’t been shot at in years, and he felt the familiarclutch in his chest, the panic pumping through his veins. He took a deep breath and tried to shake it off. He had to focus.
The phone in
“We’re—” She glanced around frantically. “We’re near the campus. Approaching Hudson Boulevard.”
“You’re headed east?”
“Uh—yeah. Now we’re turning on Hudson. South on Hudson.”
Brian’s arm reached out again, and she batted it away. “Drive!”
He swerved around some slow-moving cars and sped through an intersection, but the light ahead was red.
“Watch out!” she yelped, but he was already on the brake. They skidded to a halt only inches away from a crosswalk. A stream of college kids filed past, headed for the bar district, completely oblivious to the hot pursuit going on around them.
Maddie caught her breath. She looked at Brian. His knuckles on the steering wheel were white as he waited for the pedestrians. He darted a look in the rearview and muttered a curse, then thrust the car into reverse.
“Brian!”
He shot backward up the street, all the way to the previous intersection, as Maddie craned her neck around to see the people they were no doubt about to mow over. He shifted gears. Tires shrieked as he shot down a side street. Another hairpin turn, and Maddie closed her eyes.
“West on Pecan. Tell Sam.”
Maddie relayed their location.
“We’re five minutes from there,” Sam said. “I’msending the other team to Hudson. Maybe we can intercept him.”
“There!” she shouted as they sailed past an alley.
Brian screeched to a halt. He shifted into reverse again and zoomed backward until they were even with the alley. The black SUV was parked in the middle, driver’s-side door hanging open. A shadowy figure raced away and disappeared around a corner.
Brian yanked the Glock from his holster and shoved open the door. “Tell Sam where I am!”
“But—”
“And stay here!”
Brian heard the man’s shoes slapping against the pavement as he rounded the corner.
“FBI! Freeze!”
He bolted ahead. Brian raced after him. The guy was small and wiry but surprisingly fast, and he had a decent lead. Brian turned on the gas and started gaining ground.
The man glanced over his shoulder, then darted right, down another alley.
Brian surged after him. Any doubt that this was Volansky was long gone.
The next alley was really just a driveway behind a building, looked like maybe a movie theater. Volansky ducked behind a Dumpster, and Brian gripped his gun, ready to take him down. But then a door popped open, and a teenager in a red shirt and black pants—probablysome theater employee—stepped out. Volansky shoved him aside and darted through the door.
“Son of a bitch.” Brian ran to the door and yanked it open.
“Hey, you can’t—”
He raced inside and found himself at the end of a long hallway. Moviegoers milled around with buckets of popcorn. Brian’s stress level skyrocketed as he thought of the potential for disaster.
A flash of movement. A yelp. The man barreled through a crowd of people. Brian lunged after him, squeezing his way past shocked onlookers. An alarm wailed as Volansky plowed through an emergency exit. Brian dodged around a knot of teenagers, plucking a phone from the hand of some girl as he went. He ran through the doorway and looked left, right. No sign of anyone. He glanced at the pink rhinestone phone in his hand, disconnected the call, and dialed Sam.
A noise to his right. Something hitting pavement. Brian bolted for it. A blur of black as Volansky darted around the building. Brian turned on the speed. He rounded the corner and—
Ping .
He leaped behind a Dumpster.
Ping .
Another bullet hit metal. Shit, two rounds. Close range. His heart jackhammered in his chest. Where the hell was he? Brian leaned his head back, peering through the narrow gap between the Dumpster and the concrete wall, but saw no sign of him. His pulse raced. He hadn’t been shot at in years, and he felt the familiarclutch in his chest, the panic pumping through his veins. He took a deep breath and tried to shake it off. He had to focus.
The phone in
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