Run To Rome

The right taillight on his Alfa Romeo exploded. Trent ducked reflexively as bits of plastic flew in all directions. Adrenaline spiked through him, but other than a sharp reactive jerk, the girl just stood there holding her camera. Trent lunged forward, grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the car.

“Hey—let me go!” She pulled back with surprising strength.

He picked her up and shoved her head first into the passenger seat, then vaulted over her to slip behind the wheel. Heartbeat thundering in his ears, he gunned the gas with a sickening grinding of gears before the convertible shot out into traffic amidst screeching tires and blaring horns. A frantic half-second glance in the rearview mirror confirmed a black vehicle weaving through the cars behind them.

Shit. Damn. Fuck!

He switched his concentration to the road in front. If he

didn’t lose these guys fast, they were dead.

The girl’s brown head popped up in his peripheral vision. Three bullets spidered his windshield in rapid succession. The bobbing head screamed and disappeared. His hands jerked on the wheel, and he narrowly missed hitting a motor scooter head-on.

“Shit!”

Scrunching down in his seat, Trent shot a glance toward the passenger seat. “You okay?” Nothing. His heart dropped and he risked another frantic look. “I asked if you’re okay!”

“No, I’m not okay!”

“Were you hit?”

“By what?”

He couldn’t help an incredulous laugh as another bullet took out his right side mirror. He wrenched the wheel to the left. A loud thud was followed by a muffled “Ow”. Trent cut in front of an oncoming van and slammed the car into third going uphill.

The girl’s brown head appeared again, hair wild about her face in the wind.

“For crissakes, stay the hell down,” Trent yelled.

Instead, she maneuvered her butt around until she could plunk it in the passenger seat and yank on the safety belt. Then she glared at him. He couldn’t see it because his eyes were glued to the road, but, man, did he feel it.

“My God, slow down, would you?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding,” she hollered above the growl of the engine and whistling wind. “Did Rachel and Ben put you up to this?”

“Who?”

“My sister and brother. Did they arrange this?”

He risked a glance with a half-cocked grin of disbelief. “What exactly do you think this is?”

“Look out!”

Trent jerked his attention back to the road in time to see a delivery truck blocking the way. “Shit!”

The tires screamed as he stomped on the brakes. Jamming the convertible into reverse, he turned to locate a side street behind them, his grip on the headrest of her seat white-knuckled. The moment he was clear, he spun the wheel, ground the gears and floored the gas. The poor girl’s head jerked forward, back, forward with each successive switch of direction.

He really should find out her name. Poor Girl wouldn’t cut it for long. And if they didn’t make it through this—

“This—you driving like a crazy man—is not my idea of fun,” the girl snapped. “Let me out.”

Trent snorted, swerved around a slower vehicle and checked the only mirror he had left to see if they were still being pursued.

“I mean it! Stop the car this instant.”

“Not a good idea, sweetheart.”