by Неизвестный
"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?"
"Let's just tail her until we get an opportunity."
"I don't like it. Oh, shit, Dillon, the bikers are back, all four of them."
The four bikers fanned through the traffic, coming back together when there was a break, then fanning out again.
Sally was feeling good. She was feeling smart. She'd gotten them, that jerk driving that Porsche and the four bikers. She'd gone through that opening without hesitation, and she'd done it without any problem. It was a good thing she hadn't had time to think about it, otherwise she would have wet her pants. She was grinning, the wind hitting hard against her teeth, making them tingle. However, she was going the wrong direction.
She looked at the upcoming road sign. There was a turn onto Maitland Road half a mile ahead. She didn't know where Maitland Road went, but from what she could see, it wove back underneath the highway. That meant a way back east.
She guided her bike over to the far right lane. A car honked, and she could have sworn she felt the heat of it as it roared past her. Never again, she thought, never again would she get on a motorcycle.
Although why not? She was a pro.
She'd driven a Honda 350, just like this one, for two years, beginning when she was sixteen. When she told her father she was moving back home, he refused to buy her the car he'd promised. The motorcycle was for the interim. She saved her money and got the red Honda, a wonderful bike. She remembered how infuriated her father had been. He'd even forbidden her to get near a motorcycle.
She'd ignored him.
He'd grounded her.
She hadn't cared. She didn't want to leave her mother in any case. Then he'd just shut up about it. She had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't have cared if she'd killed herself on the thing.
Not that it mattered. He'd gotten his revenge.
She didn't want to think about that.
She took the turn onto Maitland Road. Soon now, she'd be going back in the other direction, and no one would be after her this time. The road was dark, no lights at all. It was windy. There were thick, tall bushes on both sides. There was no one on the road. What had she done? She smelled the fear on herself. Why the hell had she turned off? James wouldn't have turned off.
She was a fool, an idiot, and she'd pay for it.
It happened so fast she didn't even have time to yell or feel scared. She saw the lead biker on her left, waving to her, calling to her, but she couldn't understand his words. She jerked her bike to the right, hit a gravel patch, slid into a skid, and lost control. She went flying over the top of the bike and landed on the side of the two-lane road, not on the road but in the bushes that lined the road.
She felt like a meteor had hit her-a circle of blinding lights and a whoosh of pain-then darkness blacker than her father's soul.
Quinlan didn't want to believe what he'd just seen. "Dillon, Jesus, she's hurt. Hurry, dammit, hurry."
The Porsche screeched to a halt not six feet from where the four bikers were standing over Sally. One of them, tall, lanky, short hair, was bending over her.
"Okay, guys," Quinlan said, "back off now."
Three of them twisted around to see two guns pointed at them. "We're FBI and we want you out of here in three seconds."
"Not yet." It was the lead biker, who was now on his knees beside her.
"What are you doing to her?"
"I'm a doctor-well, not fully trained, but I am an intern. Simpson's the name. I'm just trying to see how badly hurt she is."
"Since you're the one that knocked her off the road, that sounds weird."
"We didn't force her off the road. She went into a skid. Actually, we followed because we saw you go back after her. Hey, man, we just want to help her."
"As I said, we're FBI," Quinlan repeated, looking at the man. "Listen, she's a criminal. A big-time counterfeiter. Is she going to be all right? Can you tell if she broke anything? Dillon, keep an eye on these bozos."
Quinlan dropped to his knees. "Can I take off her helmet?"
"No, let me. I guess maybe we should wear helmets. If she hadn't had one on, she might have scrambled her brains and not necessarily left them inside her head. You're really FBI? She's really a criminal?"
"Of course she is. What are you doing? Okay, you're seeing if her arms are broken. She'd better be all right or I'll have to flatten you. You scared the shit out of her. Yeah, she's your typical criminal type. Why isn't she conscious yet?"
At that moment Sally moaned and opened her eyes. It was dark. She heard men's voices, lots of them. Then she heard James.
"No," she said. "No, it's not possible you caught me. I didn't think it could be you. I was wrong again."
He leaned down over her and said one inch from her nose, "I caught you, all right. And this is the last time I'm going to do it. Now just be quiet and lie still."
"I wouldn't have guessed she was a criminal," Simp-son said. "She looks as innocent and sweet as my kid sister."
"Yeah, well, you never know. It's taken us a long time to catch up with her. We didn't know she'd gotten hold of a bike. She was in a car six hours ago.
"All right, Sally, are you all right? Anything hurt? Nothing's broken, right? Can't you take off her helmet now?"
"Okay, but let's do it real carefully."
Once the helmet was off, she breathed a sigh of relief. "My head hurts," sh
e said. "Nothing else does except my shoulder. Is it broken?"
The biker felt it very gently. "No, not even dislocated. You probably landed on it. It'll be sore for a while. I think you should go to the hospital and make sure there are no internal injuries."
"No," she said. "I want to get on my bike and get out of here. I've got to get away from this man. He betrayed me."
"What do you mean, he betrayed you?"
"He drew me in and made me trust him. I even slept with him one night, but that was in Oregon. Then he had the gall to tell me he'd lied to me, he was an FBI agent. He told me that here, not in Oregon."
"You're sure her brains aren't scrambled?" Dillon asked, pressing a bit closer.
"She made perfectly good sense," Quinlan said. "If you can't add anything sensible, Dillon, just keep quiet."
Quinlan touched the biker's arm. "Thanks for your help. The four of you can go now."
"Can I see identification?"
Quinlan smiled through his teeth. "Sure thing. Dillon, show the man our ID again. He didn't get a good enough look the first time."
The biker studied it closely, then nodded. He looked back down at Sally, who'd propped herself up on her elbows. "I still can't believe she's a crook."
"You should see her grandmother. A glacier, that old lady. She's the head of the counterfeiting ring. Leads her husband around by the ear. She's a terror, and this one is going to be just like her."
Once the bikers had roared off, Quinlan said to Sally, "We're going to take you to the hospital now."
"No."
"Don't be an idiot. You could have hurt your innards."
"If you force me to a hospital, I'll announce to the world who I am and who you are."
"No, you won't."
"Try me."
He realized he was being blackmailed, but not for anything he had done. She would be the only one to be hurt if she did as she promised. He believed her.
"How are you, Sally?"
"Dillon? You were the jerk driving the Porsche? And James was sitting right beside you telling you what to do. I should have known. Well, I did know, deep down."
"Yeah," Dillon said, wondering why it didn't occur to her to give him any of the credit. "Let me help you up.
You don't look half bad in Quinlan's coat. A little long, but other than that, it's a perfect fit. Anyone who can ride a motorcycle like you do has to have the broadest shoulders in the land."
"How did you find me? Oh, dear, my head." She shook her head, then blinked her eyes. "It's just a bit of a headache. My shoulder hurts a little, but that's all. No hospital."
Quinlan couldn't stand to see her weaving around, his coat torn at the left shoulder, two buttons popped on her blouse. "You're not wearing a bra."
Sally looked down at the gaping blouse. There was no way she could pull it together. She just buttoned James's coat. "Dillon got me a training bra when he went out and bought all these charming duds that are three sizes too small. I couldn't even get the thing fastened."
"Well, I didn't know what size. Sorry it didn't get the job done."
She kicked him in the shin.
"I didn't mean it like that, dammit," he said, rubbing his leg. "I'll think of something and tell you later."
"You'd better not."
Quinlan took her arm and gently pulled her toward him. "It's all right now, Sally. It's all right."
He pulled her against him. "Are you sure you don't want to have a doctor check you out?"
"No doctor. I hate doctors."
That made sense to him. He didn't point out that a doctor wasn't the same as a shrink. He wondered in that moment if Beadermeyer even was a doctor. He said to Dillon, "When you get a minute, do some checking on Beadermeyer. I'm beginning to wonder if he's just a ruthless crook." To Sally he said, "All right. But you need to rest. Let's find a place to stay the night."
"How did you find me?"
"We just missed you at your grandparents', just as we did at your mother's. We figured you had to be as tired
as we were, so we called all the motels in this area. It was easy. You've got a lot to learn about running, Sally."
She realized then that she'd lost, she'd really lost. And it had been so easy for them. If they hadn't tracked her down on the highway, then James would have just come into her motel room. Easy, too easy. She was a turkey. She looked down at her dead Honda 350, at its twisted frame and blown back tire.
"My bike is ruined. I just bought it. I was just getting it broken in."
"It's all right. It doesn't matter." "That bike cost me nearly all my money." "Since it was my three hundred dollars, I'm willing to write it off."
Everything had turned upside down. Nothing was as it should be. She eased her hand into the coat and pulled out his gun. She pressed it against his lower ribs.
19
"Not AGAIN, SALLY," he said, but still he was careful not to move.
"She's got your gun on you again, Quinlan?"
"Yes, but it's okay. I think she's learned a bit more since the last time she did it.
"Sally, it's over now. Come on, sweetheart, pull that sucker back. Whatever you do, don't forget that hair trigger. Damn, I think I'll have it modified a bit next time I'm at Quantico. Actually, if you could slip it back into my shoulder holster once we're in the car, I'd appreciate it. My shoulder holster's been empty since you stole my gun. I feel half-dressed."
"I don't want to shoot you, James, but I do want to get away from you. You did betray me. You know I can't trust you. Let me go, please."
“Nope, not ever again. You know you can trust me. It pisses me off that you're even questioning that. Listen up, Sally. You're with me now until all this is over. Would you rather trust your mother or your grandparents? Oh, yeah, your sweet little granny is a piece of work."
"No, I don't trust any of them. Well, I do trust Noelle, but she's all confused and doesn't know what to believe- whether I'm a lunatic or not. I'd bet that all of them have called Beadermeyer, even Noelle. If she called him it wasn't to turn me in, it was to get some answers. Oh, God, do you think Beadermeyer would hurt her?"
Quinlan didn't think he would hurt her unless his own skin was in really deep trouble, which it would be shortly, but not just yet. But he said, "I don't know. Beadermeyer could do anything if he felt threatened, which he probably does, since we busted you out of his sanitarium. Hey, did you know I even threw meat to those dogs to save you?''
She looked up at him in the darkness. "What dogs?"
Dillon said, "There were guard dogs at the sanitarium, Sally. James tossed meat to them so they wouldn't tear our throats out. One of the dogs was leaping up trying to get James's ankle when he was carrying you up that fence."
She could see the shadows and blurred lines of his face. "Well," she said at last, aware that she couldn't hold that gun up for much longer because her shoulder hurt like the very devil, "shit."
"That's what we've been thinking for the past six hours," Dillon said. "Come on, Sally, give it up. Quinlan's determined to help you. He's determined to protect you. Let him be possessive. I've never before seen him like this. It's a real treat.
"Now, come on, you guys. Let's get out of here before some motorists come by and stop or worse, someone calls the local cops."
Quinlan didn't even think about it, he just scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the Porsche.
"You're no he-man," she said in the bitterest voice he'd ever heard. "It was just a six-foot walk. A nerd could have carried me that far."
"It's my gun," he said, leaning down and lightly kissing her ear. "It's heavy." When he settled her on his lap in the passenger side of the Porsche, he held out his hand for the gun.
She looked at him for a very long time. “You're really feeling possessive about me?"
"You stole my money, my credit cards, my car, and the photos of my nieces and nephews. I had to catch you so I could get that stuff back."
"Bastard." She gave him the gun. - "Yeah, that'
s me," he said. "Thanks, Sally. No more trying to run away from me?" he asked as he tossed the gun into the back seat.
"I don't know."
"Tell you what, I won't strain your options. I'll handcuff you to me, how's that?"
She didn't answer, her head pressed against his shoulder. She hurt, he realized, and here he'd been teasing her. "Just rest," he said. He looked at Dillon. "How about finding us a nice motel?''
"Contradiction in terms. Are you paying or is the FBI?"