“Who else is in danger? We can protect them as well.”
The unmarked car wasn’t designed for carrying prisoners, had no shield separating the back from the front. Lucy watched Ivy’s hands, realizing she had been impulsive, that Ivy could have a gun, she could be dangerous.
“Ivy, please trust me.”
Ivy snorted. “I can’t trust anybody.”
“Do you know who killed Nicole and Maddie?”
“How—” She stopped talking.
“I know about your sister.”
Silence.
“Mina, right? Where is she?”
A screech behind them caught Lucy’s attention. The van had gained on them.
“Shit!” Genie exclaimed.
The van was on their bumper. The driver hit them hard. Genie barely kept the car on the road.
“That’s him!” Ivy said. “Can’t you drive any faster?”
“Officer in trouble!” Genie said into her mic. “Cleveland near Thirty-first. Dark blue van—shit!”
The van hit them again. A red light was ahead, cross traffic in front of them. Genie had her grille lights flashing. She flipped a switch on the dashboard and a siren whirled then died, whirled then died.
The cars ahead of them slowed, blocking the intersection.
The van rear-ended them and Lucy let out a startled yelp. Ivy had a grip on the door, as if debating whether to jump out.
Genie veered to the wrong side of the street and turned the wrong way down a one-way street. It bought them only a few seconds. The van squealed, sideswiped a parked car, and followed.
He stuck his hand out the window. Metal flashed in the sunlight.
“Gun!” Lucy cried out.
The gunman fired at the tires and missed. He fired his gun again and her back window cracked.
“Stay down!” Genie ordered.
A crossing guard guiding small children was right in front of their car. Genie turned the wheel sharply right, down an embankment, losing control of the vehicle. It was going too fast, and then it hit the bottom and almost went end over end. The airbags exploded, sounding too much like a gunshot. Lucy’s head banged hard against the airbag. Her body was jerked sharply back and suddenly the car fell on all four tires.
Lucy coughed from the powder released with the airbags. “Genie?”
The steering column was wedged tight against the detective and blood was dripping down her face. She was unconscious, but breathing.
“Ivy, are you okay?”
Ivy had a cut on her head and was coughing as well. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” She tried her door but it wouldn’t open.
Lucy’s vision was blurred, but she located her handbag on the floor by her feet and retrieved her gun.
“Don’t,” Lucy told Ivy. She spit blood out of her mouth. Her head was spinning. She tried to unbuckle the seat belt, but it was jammed.
Their attacker had started down the embankment. He had a gun. There were onlookers at the railing looking down. Any of them could be a hostage or get caught in the line of fire. Lucy didn’t trust her aim because of double vision; she would have to wait until he got closer to fire.
She heard sirens at the same time as the gunman. He hesitated. She fired her gun at his feet—both pairs of them—then ducked. Screams from the road above cut through the ringing in her ears. He fired once into the side of her car, then a much closer siren and bullhorn sounded from the road below the embankment.
The attacker ran back up and jumped in his van.
Lucy leaned back.
“He’s gone,” she told Ivy. “You’re safe.” She had to convince Ivy to trust her, but how? All she had was a theory. “I know about Wendy,” she said. It sounded like she was talking in a tunnel.
Ivy stared at her. “What?”
“The room. The recordings. Let me help you.” Lucy reached up and touched her head, came away with blood.
“I have to go!” The door was still stuck. Ivy climbed out the shattered window in the back.
“Ivy. Stay—”
She stumbled through the thick shrubs along the embankment and disappeared.
Lucy tried to unbuckle her belt, not knowing if it was really stuck or she was more seriously injured than she thought.
Genie moaned, but didn’t open her eyes. The radio played static, but Lucy fumbled with the channels. “Officer down,” she said. “Need ambulance.”
Two uniformed officers approached from the road below. Lucy closed her eyes. She needed a minute to catch her breath. Just. One. Minute.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sean bypassed the nurse’s station and went straight to Lucy’s room. No one tried to stop him. As long as he looked like he knew where he was going, and didn’t make eye contact, he’d bet his Mustang no one would intervene.
And if anyone tried, they would fail.
Lucy was in the emergency room, a nurse changing her bandages. He stood outside the door, the privacy curtain partly obscuring her view so she couldn’t see him at first.
Sean pushed down on the fear, burying it under layers of false confidence and bravado. He’d seen Lucy in far worse shape than a few scrapes and bruises. She’d seen him worse as well. In fact, looking at her, other than her unusually pale complexion and the fact that she was wearing a hospital gown, she looked just fine.
She’s fine. Lucy’s just fine.
He had to repeat the mantra before the pendulum in his stomach stopped swinging. When he knew he could speak without his voice cracking, he shook off the remaining anxiety like a dog shakes off water. Took a deep breath. Only then did Sean push the curtain aside and step into the cubicle.
“You picked a lovely day to relax in the hospital.” He smiled broadly to mask his lingering fear. He walked to the opposite side of the bed from the nurse and took Lucy’s hand. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “If you needed a vacation, you should have called me. I’d fly you up to Maine. Beautiful in July.”
“Isn’t your plane still being repaired?”
“I’ll borrow one.”
“You’re not supposed to be in here.” The nurse glanced at him over the tops of her thick glasses. She was younger than Lucy, but the glasses made her look twenty years older.
He winked at the trim, efficient RN. “I won’t stay long. Cross my heart.” He made the gesture.
“She should rest. She’ll be going for X-rays in a minute.”
“Nothing is broken,” Lucy said. “I told the doctor that.”
“You’re probably right, but we’ll X-ray just the same.” The nurse walked to the foot of the bed and picked up the medical chart.
“And you say I’m a bad patient,” he whispered, his voice cracking once as he fought to control the building rage.
“You’re worse than me,” Lucy grumbled. “I am fine.”
Sean touched Lucy’s bruised face. When he found the bastard who had shot at her, he’d kill him. There was no doubt in Sean’s mind that if he could get away with it, he’d do it.
But was it the shooter he was truly angry at? Lucy was training to be a cop. She would be facing an untold number of bad guys, and Sean wasn’t planning on turning vigilante and whacking every criminal she faced.
It was partly the shooter, and partly the woman who had run from the scene—a prostitute, according to Noah—who left Lucy and a detective unconscious in the car.
But mostly, Noah was the focus of Sean’s still bubbling anger.
When Noah had called him thirty minutes ago and told him Lucy had been in an accident, Sean had wanted to throttle the agent. Sean always had something to say, but this time when Noah called, Sean listened, then hung up.
What he wanted to say would have caused Lucy untold future problems with the agent. And while Sean didn’t care if they remained friends—and would prefer if they didn’t—he wasn’t going to incite the battle.