He let out a whoosh of breath and released his panicked handle-clutch as she eased back into the right lane. “False alarm, huh? Does bodyguarding make a person paranoid?”
“Professional paranoia.” She didn’t seem insulted. “Ignoring warning signs is the way to make a really bad mistake.”
“I guess. Your null hypothesis is that someone really is out to get you.”
She laughed, then straightened and put both hands squarely on the wheel, flicking a glance into the rearview. “Maybe I wasn’t wrong. Hang on again and—”
A pickup came screaming up beside them, doing ninety at least, then began easing over into their lane right on their front bumper.
“Idiot,” Amelia muttered. “I tap them properly and they’ll spin out into the ditch.”
“Don’t tap them!” Fynn clutched the seat with one hand and the Jesus-bar with the other, his heart racing.
“Not with my client in the car.” She hit the brakes, but the pickup immediately slowed with them.
“This is the freeway!” Fynn glanced wildly around. “There are witnesses.”
“I guess they figure if they’re quick enough… There!” They reached an exit ramp and Amelia dodged down it, with the pickup continuing on the main road. “Got ’em— Fuck!” A car waiting near the bottom of the ramp suddenly pulled out into their way.
Instead of stopping, Amelia snapped, “Hang tight!” and swerved onto the embankment.
Fynn screamed through clenched teeth as they skidded on the sloped grass, gravity pulling at them. Amelia sped up instead of slowing down, letting the Volvo drift lower toward the waiting pond, then hit the gas harder. Fynn was thrown back against his seat and they lurched forward, wheels spinning, struggling up onto the pavement.
Amelia screeched them through a turn. “Straight road now. Get your phone out and call 911, then Nolan.”
Fynn unclenched one hand from the seat and fumbled at his pocket.Phone. Phone.His pocket was empty. An image of the phone sitting malevolently on his bathroom counter came to him.No! Fuck!“I left it at home!”
“Damn. Try to get to mine. Right front pocket.” She shifted her hips, attention fixed on the road. They hit a four-way stop but Amelia laid on the horn and blasted through it.
She blew the stop sign!
Where’s a cop when you want one?
To his surprise, a dozen seconds later, Amelia slowed the Volvo.
“What? Keep going,” he pleaded.
“They called it off, took the turn back there and split.” Amelia divided her attention between the road and the mirror for half a minute, then blew out a breath. “All clear. Get my phone and call Nolan. Put it on speaker.”
Letting go of the seat and digging into a strange woman’s front pants pocket with his hands still shaking was awkward. He worked her phone loose, his breath stuttering from the adrenaline. “It wants a c-code or, or a fingerprint.”
“There should be two emergency contacts. Top is 911. Second should be Nolan.”
He spotted the two options and hit the bottom one. The phone rang once, then Nolan’s voice came across. “What’s up?”
“Uh. Speaker?”Where is it? Where’s the symbol? Stupid phone.
“Speaker? Fynn? Why are you on Amelia’s phone?”
Amelia spoke up loudly enough to be heard, and Fynn held the phone out toward her at arm’s length. “We had an incident. Two vehicles, pincer attempt, no contact, Royal Road exit off 280. One black F-10, license YY4 6373.”
Fynn blinked. “You remembered the plate?”Through all that?
She didn’t look his way, but grinned. “Part of the job.” Then added, “One midsize sedan, four door, silver, probably Honda Accord, didn’t get its plate.”
“Because we were sliding down a mountainside,” Fynn pointed out in her defense. Well, an embankment, same difference.
“On it.” Nolan’s voice came dimly from the phone. “Have you called 911?”
