The Cove
Page 73
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She thought of her precious two hundred and seventy something dollars, all the money she had in the world. No, she wouldn’t let them take that money. It was all she had.
She shouted to the guy next to her, “What do you want? Go away!”
The guy just laughed and called out, “Come with us. We’ve got a place up ahead you’ll like.”
She yelled, “No, go away!” Was the idiot serious? He wasn’t a fat, revolting biker, like the stereotype was usually painted. He was lean, his hair was cut short, and he was wearing glasses.
He swerved his bike in closer, not a foot from her now. He called out, “Don’t be afraid. Come with us. We’re turning off at the next right. Al—the guy on your right—he’s got a nice cozy little place not five miles from here. You could spend some time with us, maybe sack out. We figure you must have rolled some guy for that coat, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Hey, we’re good solid citizens. We promise.”
“Yeah, right,” she shouted, “just like the pope. You want me to come with you so you can rob me and rape me and probably kill me. Go to hell, buster!”
She sped up. The bike shot forward. She could have sworn she heard laughter behind her. She felt the gun in James’s coat pocket. She leaned down close to the handlebars and prayed.
“Let’s go, Dillon.”
Dillon accelerated the Porsche and honked at the bikers, who swerved to the side of the highway. They heard curses and shouts behind them. Quinlan just grinned.
“Let’s just keep us between her and the bikers,” Quinlan said. “What do you think, Dillon? Are we going to have to follow her until she runs out of gas?”
“I can get ahead of her, brake hard, and swing the car across the road in front of her.”
“Not with the bikers still back there, we can’t. Just stay close.”
“In exactly one more minute she’s going to look back,” Dillon said.
“She’s never seen the Porsche.”
“Great. So she’ll think not only some insane bikers are after her but also a guy in a sexy red Porsche.”
“If I were her, I’d opt for you.”
Why didn’t the car pass her?
She pulled even further over toward the shoulder. Still the car didn’t pull around. There were two bloody lanes. There were no other cars around. Did the idiot want three lanes?
Then something slammed into her belly. The guy in that Porsche was after her. Who was he? He had to be connected with Quinlan—she’d bet her last dime on it.
Why hadn’t she stayed in her motel room, quiet on that nice hard bed, and counted sheep? That’s probably what James would have done, but no, she had to come out on a motorcycle after midnight.
Then she saw a small, gaping hole in the guardrail that separated the eastbound lanes from the westbound. She didn’t think, just swerved over in a tight arc and flew through that opening. There was a honk behind her from a motorist who barely missed her. He cursed at her out his window as he flew by.
There was lots of traffic going back into Philadelphia. She was safer now.
“Jesus, I can’t believe she did that,” James said, his heart pounding so loud in his chest that it hurt. “Did you see that opening? It couldn’t have been more than a foot. I’m going to have to yell at her when we catch her.”
“Well, she made it. Looked just like a pro. You told me she had grit. I’d say more likely she’s got nerves of steel or the luck of the Irish. And yeah, you’re sounding like you’re her husband again. Stop it, Quinlan. It scares me.”
“Nothing short of a howitzer firing would scare you. Pay attention now and stop analyzing everything I say. We’ll get her, Dillon; there’s a cut-through just ahead.”
It took them some time to get her back in view. She was weaving in and out of the thicker traffic going back into the city.
“Hellfire,” Quinlan said over and over, knowing that at any instant someone could cut her off, someone else wouldn’t even see her and would change lanes and crush her between two cars.
“At least she thinks she’s lost us,” Dillon said. “I wonder who she thought we were?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she guessed it was me.”
“Nah, how could that be possible?”
“It’s my gut talking to me again. Yeah, she probably knows, and that’s why she’s driving like a bat out of hell. Jesus, look out, Dillon, oh, my God! Hey, watch out, bubba!” Quinlan rolled down the window and yelled at the man again. He turned back to Dillon. “Damned Pennsylvania drivers. Now, how are we going to get her?”
She shouted to the guy next to her, “What do you want? Go away!”
The guy just laughed and called out, “Come with us. We’ve got a place up ahead you’ll like.”
She yelled, “No, go away!” Was the idiot serious? He wasn’t a fat, revolting biker, like the stereotype was usually painted. He was lean, his hair was cut short, and he was wearing glasses.
He swerved his bike in closer, not a foot from her now. He called out, “Don’t be afraid. Come with us. We’re turning off at the next right. Al—the guy on your right—he’s got a nice cozy little place not five miles from here. You could spend some time with us, maybe sack out. We figure you must have rolled some guy for that coat, whatever, it doesn’t matter. Hey, we’re good solid citizens. We promise.”
“Yeah, right,” she shouted, “just like the pope. You want me to come with you so you can rob me and rape me and probably kill me. Go to hell, buster!”
She sped up. The bike shot forward. She could have sworn she heard laughter behind her. She felt the gun in James’s coat pocket. She leaned down close to the handlebars and prayed.
“Let’s go, Dillon.”
Dillon accelerated the Porsche and honked at the bikers, who swerved to the side of the highway. They heard curses and shouts behind them. Quinlan just grinned.
“Let’s just keep us between her and the bikers,” Quinlan said. “What do you think, Dillon? Are we going to have to follow her until she runs out of gas?”
“I can get ahead of her, brake hard, and swing the car across the road in front of her.”
“Not with the bikers still back there, we can’t. Just stay close.”
“In exactly one more minute she’s going to look back,” Dillon said.
“She’s never seen the Porsche.”
“Great. So she’ll think not only some insane bikers are after her but also a guy in a sexy red Porsche.”
“If I were her, I’d opt for you.”
Why didn’t the car pass her?
She pulled even further over toward the shoulder. Still the car didn’t pull around. There were two bloody lanes. There were no other cars around. Did the idiot want three lanes?
Then something slammed into her belly. The guy in that Porsche was after her. Who was he? He had to be connected with Quinlan—she’d bet her last dime on it.
Why hadn’t she stayed in her motel room, quiet on that nice hard bed, and counted sheep? That’s probably what James would have done, but no, she had to come out on a motorcycle after midnight.
Then she saw a small, gaping hole in the guardrail that separated the eastbound lanes from the westbound. She didn’t think, just swerved over in a tight arc and flew through that opening. There was a honk behind her from a motorist who barely missed her. He cursed at her out his window as he flew by.
There was lots of traffic going back into Philadelphia. She was safer now.
“Jesus, I can’t believe she did that,” James said, his heart pounding so loud in his chest that it hurt. “Did you see that opening? It couldn’t have been more than a foot. I’m going to have to yell at her when we catch her.”
“Well, she made it. Looked just like a pro. You told me she had grit. I’d say more likely she’s got nerves of steel or the luck of the Irish. And yeah, you’re sounding like you’re her husband again. Stop it, Quinlan. It scares me.”
“Nothing short of a howitzer firing would scare you. Pay attention now and stop analyzing everything I say. We’ll get her, Dillon; there’s a cut-through just ahead.”
It took them some time to get her back in view. She was weaving in and out of the thicker traffic going back into the city.
“Hellfire,” Quinlan said over and over, knowing that at any instant someone could cut her off, someone else wouldn’t even see her and would change lanes and crush her between two cars.
“At least she thinks she’s lost us,” Dillon said. “I wonder who she thought we were?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she guessed it was me.”
“Nah, how could that be possible?”
“It’s my gut talking to me again. Yeah, she probably knows, and that’s why she’s driving like a bat out of hell. Jesus, look out, Dillon, oh, my God! Hey, watch out, bubba!” Quinlan rolled down the window and yelled at the man again. He turned back to Dillon. “Damned Pennsylvania drivers. Now, how are we going to get her?”
