The Burial Hour (Lincoln Rhyme 13)

"Oh. Here, no one cares." A chuckle. "And they never give you a ticket."

"Put it on."

"All right. I will--"

Just as it clicked, she slammed the gears into first, fed the engine a slug of gas and popped the clutch, darting into a minuscule gap in traffic. One car swerved and another braked. Both honked. She didn't bother to look back.

"Mamma mia," Ercole whispered.

"Where do I go?"

"Straight on this road for a kilometer."

"Where're your lights?"

"There." He pointed to a switch. The headlights.

"No, I mean the flashers. You have blue here, in Italy?"

"Blue? Oh, police lights? I don't have them--" He gasped as she zipped into a space between a truck and a trio of motorcyclists. "This is my personal car."

"Ah. And how much horsepower? Eighty?"

Ercole said, "No, no, it's closer to a hundred, one ten, in fact."

Be still my heart, she thought, but said nothing. Amelia Sachs would never tarnish anyone's image of his own wheels.

"You don't have flashers in your personal cars?"

"The Police of State might. Inspector Rossi and Daniela. I am, as you know, with the Forestry Corps. We do not. At least none of the officers I work with do. Oh, we are to turn soon."

"Which street and which way?"

"Left. That one up there. But I didn't prepare. I am sorry. I don't think we can get over in time."

They got over in time.

And took the ninety degrees in a screaming second gear. He gasped.

"Next turn?"

"Half a kilometer, to the right. Via Letizia."

He inhaled harshly as she accelerated to eighty kph, weaving into and out of all four lanes.

"Will they reimburse you, the Police of State?"

"It's only a few euros for the mileage, hardly worth the effort of the forms."

She'd been referring to repairing the transmission but decided not to bring that up. Anyway, how much damage could a hundred horses do to a tranny?

"Here is the turn."

Via Letizia...

The road grew congested. Rear ends and brake lights loomed.

She was skidding to a stop, using both brakes, inches from the jam.