Next Exit, Quarter Mile

by CW Browning

  She waited until the rumble of the engine faded into the distance outside before emerging from her hiding spot in the corner. Viper headed straight for the Shelby, her eyes on the open trunk. She stopped next to the spare tire and glanced in at the empty compartment. Pursing her lips, she stared at it thoughtfully for a long moment before making a decision.

  Viper turned and went to the driver side door, opening it and sliding behind the wheel swiftly. She glanced in the empty backseat, then at the passenger seat. Running her fingers along the base of the back of the seat, she paused when she felt a catch. Pressing it, the whole seat released and she pulled up the cushion to reveal two miniature NOS tanks concealed beneath. Viper smiled faintly and pressed the cushion back down, the catch clipping it back into place.

  Turning her attention to the dash, she examined the original radio. Dutch kept the interior as close to stock as possible, and the radio was vintage. However, beneath it was a modern button. Viper pressed it and watched as a thin, compact notebook slid out and opened, revealing a seven-inch screen and keyboard.

  Her smile grew and Viper closed the computer, sliding it back into the dash. Reaching down, she pulled the hood release lever and got out of the car.

  Five minutes later, Viper slipped out of the garage and into the night, the Shelby's GPS chip tucked securely into the jacket pocket with her silencer.

  Stephanie met Alina in the lobby of the hospital, her lips set in a grim line. Alina took one look at her face and knew the news wasn't good.

  “How bad is it?” she asked, meeting her in the middle of the lobby.

  “The doctor says the next twenty-four are critical,” Stephanie answered. “Come outside with me. I need some air.”

  Alina glanced around the lobby and nodded, turning to walk outside with her old friend. A security guard watched them go disinterestedly before returning his attention to the monitors before him. Alina stepped back into the night and watched as Stephanie took a long, deep breath. They stood off to the side of the doors, under the protection of a large overhang, and watched as a couple hurried up the steps toward the main doors of the Emergency Room. Even at this hour, the ER was busy. It was like a mini, bustling town within a building, reminding Alina that injury knew no clock.

  “He's out of surgery and they're moving him to ICU,” Stephanie finally spoke, breaking the silence. “If he gets through the night, the doctors say he has a fifty percent chance of making it.”

  “What are the odds of him making it through the night?” Alina asked when she didn't continue.

  Stephanie lifted tear-filled eyes to her face.

  “Not good,” she replied. “I was told to prepare for...for...” Stephanie broke off and took a deep, shuddering breath, composing herself again. “His spleen ruptured in the accident, causing massive internal bleeding. Three of his ribs are broken, and one of them punctured his lung. Those are the worst injuries. He also has a fractured leg and a concussion.”

  Alina was silent, numbness stealing over her. She came prepared for bad news. She had even been prepared to hear that John was gone. Somehow, she wasn't prepared to hear that he was bleeding from the inside out and had a punctured lung. In some ways, instant death would have been better.

  “They managed to stop the bleeding for now, but the doctor said internal injuries are never straight-forward.”

  “And his lung?” Alina asked, surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

  “The doctors are more worried about the bleeding,” Stephanie answered. “If the bleeding doesn't start again, they said the lung will heal.”

  Alina nodded and turned her attention blindly to the quiet street in front of the ER. Street lights cast a mellow glow on the road and cars passed by sporadically. They were in the heart of Camden, one of the most dangerous cities in the country, and even at this hour, the streets weren't deserted. They never were in cities. Ironically, Viper found some comfort in that fact.

  “So if he makes it through the night, he's got a fifty-fifty shot,” she murmured, watching as a gleaming black Cadillac SUV rolled by the hospital, chrome glistening under the lights and bass thumping out from behind closed, tinted windows.

  “Yes.”

  “I think John would be happy with those odds,” Alina said after a moment, looking at Stephanie. “He always did like a challenge.”

  “Lina, this is serious! That's my partner!” Stephanie exclaimed. “How am I supposed to just sit and wait?” she added, her voice cracking. “What am I supposed to do?”

  Alina stared at her, at a loss for words to say. Death was part of her world, part of her life, and she was well accustomed to it. Stephanie, however, only encountered it in the line of duty. Both her parents were still living, she had no siblings, and John had become her family. Alina knew what it was like to lose family. There were no words she could say to help Stephanie face the cold reality that she would probably lose John in the next few hours. Even if he managed to make it through the night, the odds weren't in his favor.

  “Go home,” Alina finally said. “There's nothing more you can do here tonight. Staying will only make it worse for you.”

  “Go home and do what?” Stephanie demanded. “I won't sleep.”

  “No,” Alina agreed, “but you'll be in your own space and you can face it on your own terms.”

  Stephanie stared at her, realization dawning in her eyes.

  “You don't think he'll make it,” she said flatly. Alina was silent. “You think this it.”

  “I'm not a doctor, but I know the human body and I know what makes it breakdown,” she replied. “I don't know if he'll make it, but you have to admit it's not looking good.”

  “How can you say that so calmly?!” Stephanie exclaimed, her eyes flaring. “Don't you feel anything? It's John we're talking about! You remember? The man you were going to marry eleven years ago?”

  “Come on, Steph,” Alina said, reaching out and taking hold of her wrist. “I'll take you home.”

  As soon as her hand touched her, Stephanie seemed to sag and she nodded tiredly, her anger suddenly gone.

  “I'm sorry,” she apologized as they walked down the steps and away from the hospital. “I didn't mean to yell at you.”

  “I know.”

  They were silent as they walked toward the parking garage attached to the hospital. Stephanie seemed dazed now, the adrenaline gone for the moment as shock settled in, and Alina was thankful for her meek silence. She moved them into the parking garage and toward the Shelby quickly, her eyes moving constantly. They reached the car without incident and she got Stephanie settled in the passenger seat before circling around to the driver side.

  Stephanie thought she was cold and uncaring, but that was far from the truth. Emotion was simmering just below the surface, threatening to choke her with the ball of fear that had settled deep in her chest. Alina knew she was on the edge of being consumed with memories and emotions she had no business feeling. Even as the realization crossed her mind, she pushed it aside and felt numbness engulf her.

  Viper was not going to let that happen.

  Chapter Twelve

  The grayness of dawn was evaporating like mist when Alina stepped onto her deck a few hours later with a coffee cup in her hands. After only three hours of sleep, her morning Yoga practice was out of the question. Instead, she sipped her coffee and leaned against the railing, looking out over the gradually lightening day. She left Stephanie in her apartment with terse instructions to call her as soon as she heard anything. Alina wanted to stay with her old friend and offer what comfort she could, but Viper knew it was impossible. There was no comfort she could offer if John passed from this life, and Viper knew she needed rest. She was running on fumes, and even a couple hours of sleep would keep her sharp.

  Alina sipped her coffee and frowned over the back lawn. She was restless. She could feel it eating away at her, making her nerves taut and her temper short. The situation with Dutch, John and the mysterious Camaro was a distraction, but thi
s underlying restlessness served as an acute reminder that Charlie benched her. That didn't sit well with Viper. She wasn't used to sitting passively by while someone else took care of business, even if it was Charlie's business to take care of.

  “Gah.”

  Viper made an impatient sound and set her mug down sharply. Her gaze pierced through the dawn to the trees surrounding her house, and she took a deep, calming breath. The inactivity would have been welcome if it were under different circumstances. Charlie was right. She had been globe-trotting since Christmas with few breaks, and the constant movement had been starting to tire her. She should be enjoying this break, using it to rest and recoup both herself and her armory.

  Instead, John was in critical condition, his friend was dead, and the mysterious Tito Morales was way more involved than anyone thought except, perhaps, Lani.

  At the thought of Dutch's sister, Alina's frown deepened. Whether she knew it or not, she was involved in something larger than she had any idea how to handle. As if that wasn't troubling enough, in addition to grieving for her only brother and family, Lani was about to lose her car as well. Despite herself, Alina's lips twitched. She wasn't surprised Lani drove a Hemi Cuda. Somehow, it fit Dutch's sister. It was a damn shame Tito was going to steal it.

  Viper stared into the trees, her eyes narrowed. What did Dutch take out of the trunk, and where did he stash it? Was it connected to what Blake was looking for? Michael said Blake knew someone other than the Cartel was running something down the East coast. Had Dutch been one of the night-vision goggle riders? Did he take it for himself?

  Alina picked up her mug and turned back to the house. The GPS chip she removed from Dutch's Shelby was in her command center, waiting to be examined. It was the only place she had to start.

  Michael glanced at his watch and looked up as a waitress approached to take his order. It was lunchtime and the Irish pub was packed. He was seated in his usual booth at the back, behind the bar, and the bartender had sent over a pint of his favorite microbrew.

  “I'm waiting for someone,” he told the girl. “I'll wait until he gets here to order.”

  “Sure thing,” she agreed with a smile and moved away.

  Michael sipped his beer and sat back, glancing at his watch again. It wasn't like Blake to be late, especially when food was involved. He was reaching for his phone in his jacket pocket when the heavy wooden door to the bar opened and Blake's large frame filled the doorway.

  “About time you showed up,” Michael greeted him a moment later when Blake slid into the booth opposite him. “I was just about to send out a BOLO.”

  “Sorry,” Blake apologized, unbuttoning his suit jacket and reaching for the menu. “I got held up at the office. An agent was shot down in Richmond and the ballistics report came in as I was leaving.”

  “One of yours?”

  “Yes.” Blake glanced at the menu cursorily and snapped it closed. “I don't know why I bother looking. I always get the same thing. You never told me how you found this place.”

  “One of my sources will only meet me here,” Michael answered with a shrug. “He says if we went anywhere else, he'd get caught.”

  “Caught?” Blake raised an eyebrow. “Just what kind of source is this?”

  “The kind that would be dead if he was caught talking to me,” Michael replied shortly. “The agent who was shot, does it have anything to do with the mystery driver running with NVGs?”

  “It sure does,” Blake replied. “I'm driving down there when we're done. He's fine. One bullet grazed his shoulder and the other went through his forearm. The shooter wasn't a very good shot. Mike, this case is getting to be a big pain in the ass. This is the third agent shot in the past six months.”

  Blake broke off as the waitress approached again, a ready smile on her face.

  “Hello, there,” she greeted Blake. “Can I get you a drink from the bar?”

  “Just a Coke, thanks,” Blake answered with a return smile. “And we're ready to order when you are.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I'll have the Guiness Burger, medium rare, with extra fries,” Blake said.

  She nodded and looked at Michael.

  “I'll have the same,” he told her.

  She nodded and turned away to go put their orders in.

  “If I don't start getting some results soon, things are going to get ugly,” Blake continued as if they hadn't been interrupted. “My boss is getting pissed, and I don't blame him. It's like these guys are ghosts. They're up to something big, but I can't get any kind of intel on what it might be. I even resorted to asking Agent Walker to poke around up there for me to see if she could find anything out.”

  “Really?” Michael asked, his attention caught.

  “Really. I'm that desperate,” Blake said glumly. “What I need is someone inside the Cartel, but my best option disappeared last fall without a trace.”

  “Do you think Stephanie will find something?” Michael asked, sipping his beer.

  “Hard to say,” Blake said with a shrug, “but it's worth a shot. I can't get up there right now, and another pair of eyes is usually good.”

  “As long as she doesn't get shot,” Michael pointed out dryly.

  Blake glared at him.

  “You could try being more optimistic,” he muttered.

  Michael grinned.

  “Hey, you're the one who said three agents were shot in the past six months,” he protested. “I'm just going with the odds.”

  “Speaking of people getting shot, how's the Black Widow?” Blake asked innocently, nodding in thanks as the waitress set his soda down in front of him.

  “Very funny,” Michael replied. He paused, sipped his beer, and then cleared his throat. “Actually, now would be a good time to tell you something.”

  “You're running away to Bora Bora with the friendly, neighborhood assassin?”

  “You really are an ass sometimes, Blake,” Michael told him without heat. “I may or may not have asked her to look into the street racing scene while I was up there.”

  Blake paused in the act of putting a straw in his soda and looked at Michael, his brown eyes narrowing sharply.

  “You may have done what?!”

  “Oh, don't pretend the thought didn't cross your mind,” Michael retorted.

  “It crossed it, and I kicked it out,” Blake shot back. “Everyone that woman looks at ends up dead. While that works out well in her chosen profession, it doesn't work out so well for those of us law-abiding folk.”

  “Is that what you call yourself these days?” Michael asked innocently, looking up as the waitress approached with a tray laden with their burgers and fries.

  Blake glared at him while the waitress set down their plates, stopping only long enough to give her a smile and a wink before she left.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Only the bare minimum,” Michael assured him.

  “With her, that's still too much,” Blake muttered. “She's probably already got his social security number and home address. Hell, she's probably put a spell on his dog and is camped out in his dining room right now.”

  Michael laughed and picked up his burger.

  “You don't even know it's a 'he.'”

  Blake looked up and a slow grin broke over his face.

  “You're right,” he agreed mildly. “What did you say she drove again?”

  “Don't even try it,” Michael warned before biting into his burger.

  “Did you tell her about your missing informant?” Blake asked after a moment.

  “Yep.” Michael nodded and wiped his mouth with a napkin before grabbing a handful of fries. “She wasn't very impressed, but she said she'd poke around.”

  “What makes you think she'll find anything?”

  “It's what she does, and she's already produced. I'm on a flight tonight to Cancun. She passed along some intel and it looks like my hunch was right.”

  Blake stared at him over his burger, impressed despite h
imself.

  “For real?”

  “Yeah,” Michael nodded. “So keep working your end because it just might turn out to be connected to my mystery after all.”

  “You know I will,” Blake said, biting into his burger. “The question is what the Black Widow will find out.”

  “Trust me,” Michael told him, reaching for his beer. “If anyone is running anything out of that racing community, she'll find out about it.”

  “Oh, I don't doubt that,” Blake muttered. “My only concern is that they'll still be alive for me bring in.”

  Alina pulled her phone from her pocket and swiped the screen.

  “Yes?”

  “He's still alive,” Stephanie said by way of greeting.

  Relief washed over Alina and she sighed silently, her shoulders relaxing suddenly.

  “That's good news,” she said, setting down the barrel of her backup 9mm. The gun was in pieces on the bar, lying on a soft rag while she meticulously cleaned each part. “What do the doctors say?”

  “They're being very cautious, but they say it's a good sign,” Stephanie answered. “I'm going up there at lunch. Want to meet me there?”

  “I can't,” Alina answered. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

  “Lina...” Stephanie hesitated for a moment, then dove in. “This has something to do with Dutch Baker, doesn't it? That wasn't an accident, was it?”

  “John didn't seem to think so,” Alina replied noncommittally. “There's no evidence to suggest otherwise.”

  “I keep thinking about how he was doing background on that man, Tito Morales. He said something didn't feel right, and now he's had the same accident.”

  “Unfortunately, street racing is a dangerous past-time, especially in the Pines at night,” Alina countered. “A deer ran out in front of them. You saw it.”