Arrogant Brit

And then, lowering the volume down to a dull chatter, I watched as Kimball’s cruiser surged into the intersection and followed suit.

It was harder for both our cars to maneuver here. Sure, they’d slowed me down, but they weren’t faring much better. Fontaine was busy this time of day, and traffic tended to bottleneck up ahead at the Carthage intersection. The only advantage either of us had was that we were in police cruisers, and the lights and sirens were enough to convince most cars to move out of the way.

“C’mon!” I shouted at a teenage girl who froze when she saw my lights. She hesitated, trying to figure out which way to go. “Get the fuck out of the way!”

Up ahead, Kimball’s car was making steady progress toward the red light. It wasn’t going to stop. I was going to have to take more drastic measures.

I rammed the front of the girl’s car, pushing her aside as she screamed and dropped her hands from the wheel. I’d barely dented her bumper, but the way she acted, you’d think I’d driven her off a cliff. I shook my head and made eye contact with her as I passed, letting her know that she was a fucking idiot as I made my way through the sea of other cars smart enough to part for a police vehicle.

Kimball—or whoever was driving—wasn’t making any use of the turn signals. When they changed course suddenly on Carthage Avenue, taking out a fire hydrant as they jumped the curb onto the sidewalk, I almost side-swiped a delivery truck trying to follow them.

Jesus, I thought, watching bystanders scramble to avoid the cruiser hurtling down the sidewalk to bypass the traffic. This was bad. Really bad. And I was going to need a miracle to keep up.

“Southbound on Carthage, K,” I yelled into the radio as I weaved through the cars desperately trying to get out of my way. It wasn’t easy, given how narrow the lanes were.

“10-4, car nineteen. Chopper inbound. Please halt pursuit, K,” dispatch answered. I could hear the tension and pleading in the operator’s tone now, but I still had no intention of listening.

I wasn’t going to let Nathan die. And that was exactly what would happen if I gave up and let them take him away.

I should’ve never left you, I thought as I kept my eyes on the figure in the backseat of Kimball’s cruiser. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Nathan. I thought of how terrified he must be. I’m so sorry.

I’d let him down, just like I’d done to Jenny. I had turned my back on him when he had needed me the most, all because I didn’t want to admit the truth about myself. Even after all this time, I couldn’t embrace my feelings for him. I’d loved and desired that man since the first time I laid eyes on him… But this wasn’t over. Like Nathan had said, I couldn’t change the past, but I could sure as hell alter the future.

Another idiot driver pulled over the wrong way, but this time it happened in front of Kimball’s cruiser. It gave me just enough time to catch up, and soon I was bumper-to-bumper with the renegade cop car ahead of me.

I tried to remember the training I’d received as a traffic cop. I needed to get him off the road, and fast. But how the hell was I supposed to do that with so many other cars in the way?

Backup hadn’t arrived. There was no one to throw down any stop sticks, no one to help me herd the cruiser out of traffic or cut it off. I was utterly alone, and unless I could get ahead of them somehow, I was screwed.

Then I realized where we were, and where they were headed. He was trying to outrun me into the warehouse district, where no doubt the Paddies were waiting. If I let them make a right here, they’d be well on their way.

But if I pushed them left…

I whipped into the right lane, then back hard to the left, slamming into the side of Kimball’s cruiser and pushing him through the intersection. With oncoming traffic headed right at us, he had no choice but to turn left toward the bridge instead of right toward the warehouses. I was right behind them, already unfastening my holster as I laid eyes on what I was hoping for.

The bridge was up. A transport vessel not unlike the ones Wallace had used to ship his girls was passing through toward the open ocean. There was no escape except back the way they’d came, and there was no way I was letting them get through me.

Kimball’s cruiser skidded to a halt. I turned my own car sideways, blocking him from making a U-turn and coming back around. Then I exited my vehicle and took aim at the driver, the supposed rookie I’d seen exiting the station. Kimball was nowhere to be seen.

I pushed any thoughts about what had happened to him out of my mind as I lowered my finger onto the trigger. “Out!” I screamed so loud I thought I’d ruptured my throat. “Out of the car! Now!”

The perp unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door. This was too easy…

“Hands up!” I ordered, approaching him around the front of my car. “Do it now!”

He obeyed, falling to his knees before I’d even told him to. He must’ve known the drill.

“Lock your hands behind your head and put your face on the ground!” I barked, getting closer to my target. He was helpless and prone, both of which were good things. He couldn’t have been anything more than a lackey for the real threat, but thankfully, they were back the other way waiting on a delivery that would never come.

I looked up when Nathan opened the back door. I saw him peek around, his eyes wide, his face pale.

“Sandra,” he breathed. “Jesus Christ.”

“Stay in the car,” I told him, pulling my cuffs out of my belt and snapping them onto the perp’s wrists. I’d never heard such a satisfying sound in my whole life. I pulled him up and brought him back to the car, intent on getting Nathan out before anything else happened.

“Get down!” Nathan shouted suddenly.

Another sound cut through the air, and something hot whizzed by my face. Glass shattered and I dropped like a stone, the man with the scar falling limp against me. He’d taken the bullet meant for me.

Scrambling, I pushed myself up just over the driver’s seat of the ruined cruiser, reaching out and gripping the radio transmitter.

“Shots fired!” I screamed into the radio. I could feel something wet and warm dripping down my cheek, but I had much bigger problems. Gunfire was still pelting the car, obliterating the back window.

The window was attached to the back door.

The back door Nathan had been shielding himself behind…

“No!” I hissed, keeping low as I headed for what I was sure was a body. A thousand possibilities raced through my mind, none of them good. Was Nathan dead? Was he injured? How bad was it? Where had he been hit? Had they won?

But as I came around the side of the door, there was no blood, only glass fragments I did my best not to kneel on.

“Nathan!” I cried. He was lying across the backseat, hands over his ears to block out the continued gunfire from the other side of the street.

He had listened to me, and it had saved his life.

I positioned myself behind the door and peeked up through the broken glass. Just behind my cruiser, two black town cars were blocking traffic. Men were shielding themselves behind them, men I instantly recognized, and one who stood out in particular.

The Paddies were here, and so was the man I had the misfortune of meeting in Nathan’s mansion: Francis O’Rourke.

I stared right into his beady, snake-like eyes as he reloaded a pistol and raised it to fire again. I ducked out of the way of the hail of bullets, covering my ears from the sound. I thanked my lucky stars they were using low caliber hand guns and not something bigger. The car stood a chance at stopping a stream of nine millimeter slugs, but it would melt under fire

from anything bigger.

I grabbed Nathan’s pant leg and pulled him down beside me. The windshield exploded, sending shards of glass after us. “Move,” I told him, pushing him toward the back of the car. “Keep down!”

He did as he was told, keeping low as he moved behind the trunk. I waited for the gunfire to die down before popping around the side of the door, setting my sights on the men flanking Francis out in the open.