Page 75 of Bulletproof

“Ah fuck! Jory, run!”

The command to run had been, surprisingly, Adan’s, so I bolted.

“Stop, you fuck! We know where you fuckin’ live!”

Not comforting, but what was, was that Sam was safe. I needed to be too.

I dragged quick air into my lungs and ran. Looking over your shoulder was overrated. I was pretty sure that if people in movies did less of it, more of them would live.

“No!” Eddie’s yell was almost a cry, his voice cracking and breaking.

There was a squeal of tires, and I heard the roar of an engine beside me at the same time I heard shoes on the pavement behind me. Maybe once my husband wasn’t a police detective anymore, I could stop running for my life. Although, in his defense, the first time around the park had been all me.

If it had been a straight length of road, I would have worried, but this was downtown before ten at night, and there were still cars, open restaurants and bars, patches of traffic, and crowded streets. Me, by myself, weaving in and around people was easy, but not for the guys behind me. They had to shove by strangers, and so it was slow going. The car chasing me got wedged in traffic, and that was it.

I took a left into a hotel lobby because I was getting close to the train platform and I needed to ditch them before I got there. They got close because I paused to figure out which way I wanted to go, but as they started pushing their way through the crowd, I went over and up on tables. The hotel security was helpful as they started to yell, and someone said to call the police. I was vaguely aware of my name being shouted, but I ran on, down a hall, the lights changing around me from low and elegant to bright and harsh as I went through the kitchen. I swerved, leaped as pots and pans fell, but I was matched stride for stride, the space between us shrinking with every added movement I was forced to make.

I wanted to see who was chasing me, but it would take precious seconds, so I fought the urge and ran on, bouncing off walls. Someone had ahold of me for a moment before I careened around another corner and wound up back in the lobby.

There were stairs to the street, and I bolted into traffic. I heard the crunch of metal, the squeal of tires, but I ran on, and so did my pursuers. It was dark in the alley I ran down, but I knew they were still there because I could hear the panting and finally a roar of frustration.

I flew out the other end and went across another street. A car almost hit me, and I had to stop, swerving around it, losing precious seconds. The drizzling that had wet my hair and tracksuit suddenly turned to heavy rain, and I was running through a downpour. I pushed harder and almost went down before I felt my stride even out and the speed kick in.

Chairs and tables set up for an outdoor bistro, freshly abandoned, proved too difficult for me to push my way through. I fell, and someone was on me. We crashed together into wood and steel, and there was a hand on my throat and another on my jacket. I pulled and twisted, but he was bigger, stronger.

I felt a lift, and then I was falling hard, fast. I smashed onto a table, but it didn’t break; it held, and I rolled off and hit the solid, gritty concrete. It was dark for a second, and then I felt water splashing my face. I got my hands under me, pushed up, but the ground tilted, and I couldn’t steady myself. I saw him in pieces—backing away, staggering, and swaying, seemingly hurt, as he regarded me.

There were only the two of us. Everyone else had given up, and I was glad. My legs supported me, and I was up, but my head hurt, like someone had put an ice pick through my right eye, the pain instant and excruciating. But it receded fast enough for me to regain my balance and bolt.

I had to get safely to the train platform. I had to see Sam. I had to make sure he was okay.

“Jory!”

Not a roar, a call.

“Jory!”

I pulled up and saw the awning across the street, and under it were Fallon and Shane. I charged back across, nearly got hit by two cars, but reached them and dived hard. At Shane.

“What the hell?” he yelled, even as he caught me and clasped tight.

I slid down his body and crumpled to the cold, damp ground.

“Jory, what’s going on?”

I pointed across the street, and they saw the four men there now, standing, waiting.

“They think I know something about a case Sam is working on.”

“Your husband, the cop?” Shane asked me, still holding on to me.

I nodded.

“Call the police,” Shane ordered Fallon.

“Already dialing,” he said, phone at his ear.

“He’s calling the police!” Shane yelled across the street, beside me on the ground, letting me go to put a gentle hand on my chest. “It’s okay, Jory. We’re here. You’re safe.”