Next Exit, Quarter Mile

by CW Browning

  “I know, and I saw you call it out of the road,” Stephanie said slowly. “A lot of strange things happened. It's one hell of a coincidence though.”

  “They do happen,” Alina told her, resisting the urge to roll her own eyes.

  “Is that what you really think?”

  Alina hesitated, then sighed.

  “No.”

  “What are we going to do about it?” Stephanie asked after a brief moment of silence.

  “We aren't going to do anything about it,” Viper retorted. “I am going to find out what I can discreetly, while you are going to go back to work and act like you believe it was an accident.”

  “Like hell I am!” Stephanie shot back. “John's my partner. He's my responsibility.”

  “Then be responsible for work and let me take care of this,” Alina replied, unfazed. “I can get more done outside the law than you can with it.”

  “The sad thing is I know how true that is,” Stephanie muttered. “I'm not agreeing, but I'm done arguing about this right now. My boss is waving to me from his office door. We'll discuss this later. Dinner?”

  “I'll let you know,” Alina answered, glancing at the clock across the room. “Let me know how you find John.”

  “Will do. And Lina?”

  “Yes?”

  “For God's sake, don't kill anyone.”

  “'There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.'”

  Alina stood at the back of the large crowd gathered on the perfectly manicured grass. The road leading through the cemetery to this section was lined with a stunning array of both classic muscle cars and new, tricked out imports, all lined up and gleaming in the afternoon sun. They were washed, waxed and shined for the somber event, evidence of the respect the owners paid the man they were there to see buried. Lani stood in the front, before the coffin, dressed in a black dress, pale and resolute as the priest read from a small book in his hands.

  “'A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to uproot. A time to kill and a time to heal.'”

  Viper turned her head, her eyes sweeping the area once more from behind her sunglasses. There was no sign of the Camaro, but she had a strange sensation that someone was watching from afar. Slowly, she scanned the hill behind the road, lined with neat rows of headstones, looking for any shadows or glint of light to bespeak an observer. There was nothing.

  “'A time to tear down and a time to build. A time to weep and a time to laugh. A time to mourn and a time to dance.'”

  Turning her attention back to the graveside ceremony in progress, Alina frowned as the feeling persisted. Someone was watching. She couldn't see them, but she could sense them, and she knew better than to discount her sixth sense.

  Many of the faces gathered behind Lani were ones she recognized from Dutch's bonfire. A few were unknown to her, but obviously members of the racing community, and there were a few that had the clear stamp of extended family marked upon them. They stood close to Lani and appeared uncomfortable with the mixed crowd surrounding them.

  Viper watched them all. While she was here to pay her respects, and those on behalf of John as well, she was more interested in seeing who showed up. Tito wasn't here, but he would have someone there to report back to him. The question was, which one of these racers knew more about both Dutch's death and John's accident than they were admitting?

  '''A time to be silent and a time to speak. A time to love and a time to hate. A time for war and a time for peace.'”

  Movement in the road behind her drew Alina's attention away from the company and she turned her head, watching as a black BMW rolled to a stop opposite the burial gathering. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the vehicle. The back door opened and Dominic DiBarcoli got out, dressed in a black suit with shining Italian loafers. Alina raised an eyebrow, watching as he calmly buttoned his suit jacket before making his leisurely way across the black tarmac to the grassy burial plot.

  Now what on earth was he doing here?

  A distinct ripple shuddered through the crowd as he stood respectfully towards the back, his hands folded before him, his dark eyes watching the priest as he read the last scriptures over Dutch Baker's coffin. Alina watched the effect his presence was having on the mourners. By and large, there seemed to be a sudden undercurrent running through those near Dominic, but Alina didn't sense that it was hostility. They seemed more curious than anything, glancing at him covertly every few moments. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, watching as he ignored them and focused an appropriately serious countenance on the priest in the front.

  Alina turned her eyes to the front. Lani had no idea there was an additional guest at the back of the crowd. She was staring at her brother's coffin in an Ativan-induced daze, occasionally lifting her hand to brush away an errant tear. Viper suddenly had the illogical urge to personally escort Dominic from the cemetery. She frowned in reaction and watched as the priest closed the small book in his hands and began to offer his own words of comfort and support to the mourners.

  The priest finished up and motioned for the immediate family to come forward and pay their respects. Lani stood and watched as, one by one, they all stepped forward and laid a flower on the casket. Lani seemed to be in a daze until she was the last one left. Stepping forward, she laid her rose on the casket and rested her hand on the polished, gleaming wood. She bowed her head and Alina saw her lips moving as she bade her final farewell to her brother. Someone sneezed toward the back of the crowd and Lani lifted her head, turning away from the casket. She followed the rest of the family slowly, walking along the grassy carpet until she reached where they stopped to wait for the mourners to pay them their respects.

  Alina joined the line of mourners to pass the casket, all the while watching who skipped the line and went straight to Lani to offer their condolences. There seemed to be an even split between those wishing to say goodbye to Dutch Baker and those who felt their time was better spent consoling the living. The line to the casket moved quickly and before Alina knew where she was, she was waiting to give Lani her and John's condolences.

  “Miss Baker, I am truly sorry for your loss,” a deep voice reached Alina and her eyes narrowed. She watched as Dominic held his hands out to Lani, grasping one of hers between both of his intimately. “Dutch was a wonderful man. The racing community has lost one of our best.”

  “Thank you,” Lani murmured, pulling her hand away smoothly.

  “If there's ever anything you need, anything at all, please don't hesitate to contact me,” Dominic continued, reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a case and extracted a business card, handing it to Lani. “This has all my numbers on it. No matter what time it is, day or night, don't hesitate to call. I thought of Dutch as a son, and I want to extend that friendship to you.”

  “That's very thoughtful, but I'll be fine.”

  “Of course you will, of course you will,” Dominic smiled at her, tucking the case back into his pocket, “but there's always something. Something that a woman alone might not realize she needs help with until it happens. Sometime you might need an older and more experienced ear to listen.”

  Alina resisted the urge to roll her eyes and instead watched Dominic's body language. He was going out of his way to ingratiate himself into Lani's good graces.

  “Just hold on to that and give me a call if you ever need anything. Anything at all.”

  Dominic gave her one last dripping smile and moved away, heading back to the black BMW parked across the access road. Alina watched him go as she moved forward to approach Lani. He never once looked back or spoke to anyone else.

  “Lani, I'm so sorry,” Alina said, turning her attention to Dutch's sister.

  “Thank you, Raven.” Lani smiled and held out her hands to Alina. “I appreciate your coming. I heard about John. How is he?”

  “They have him in ICU. He's in a coma.”

  “Oh my God!” Lani gasped. “I didn't realize it was
that bad.”

  “I know he would be here if he could,” Alina said. “He loved Dutch and would want to be here for you.” She hesitated, then tightened her fingers slightly on Lani's impulsively. “I'm here for you as well. I can promise you that I'll make sure you don't have to call Dominic DiBarcoli for a damn thing.”

  “You heard that?” Lani shook her head in disgust. “What an ass. I didn't know where to look.”

  “I don't blame you,” Alina murmured. “You have my number?”

  Lani nodded.

  “John gave it to me,” she replied. “He said if I couldn't reach him to call you.”

  “Use it,” Viper advised, releasing Lani's hands. Something in her voice made Lani look at her sharply, her eyes widening slightly. Alina smiled faintly. “I may not have a badge, but trust me when I say I'm just as useful as John.”

  Lani nodded slowly.

  “You know, I believe you,” she murmured.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was long past visiting hours. The nurse had made her rounds a few moments before Viper slipped, unseen, into the silent room. She stood motionless, staring down at the battered body of John Smithe. A white bandage was wrapped around his head, and several abrasions, cuts and bruises on his face and neck left his skin tone looking more rainbow-inspired than flesh-colored. A breathing tube was inserted down his throat, taped into place at the side of his mouth with sheer tape, while IV lines ran from his arm to two separate bags holding clear fluids. John was hooked up to two different monitors and Alina watched his steady heart rate absently as she reached out to touch his hand. It was unresponsive, but she hadn't expected anything else. Deep in an induced coma, she knew he wouldn't respond to anything until his body healed enough to allow him to regain consciousness, if at all. According to Stephanie, the doctors were less optimistic this afternoon.

  She lowered her eyes from the heart monitor, returning them to his face as her fingers closed around his gently. Viper had seen her share of the dead and dying, and she fought the hollow feeling threatening to consume her at the absolute stillness of his face. Staring down at her hand closed around his, she sighed silently. His hand was limp, but warm. Raising her eyes, she glanced at the monitors again. The constant beeping was oddly reassuring. Perhaps there was still hope.

  Pulling her hand away, Alina sank into a chair next to the bed. She stared at her past, lying unresponsive before her, and something deep inside her twisted painfully.

  It wasn't supposed to be this way!!

  She wasn't supposed to be the one sitting at the bedside, willing him to live. She wasn't even supposed to be here! If someone told her two years ago, while she was on a self-imposed sabbatical in the mountains of South America, that one day she would be sitting at John's bedside in the ICU, she would have said they were delusional. Yet, here she was, and there was John.

  Viper's lips tightened grimly. Saturday night at Dutch's bonfire, she was reminded of how much she used to love John, something she made herself forget over the years. That love was gone now, and in its place was something far more alarming to her: the memory of what might have been, and what now could never be. The deep, unshakable knowledge of someone she would never get away from stayed with her. No matter where she went or what she did, no matter how far she ran, Alina knew she would never be completely rid of John. He was in her soul. He helped shape the woman she was now, both good and bad.

  A wave of angry panic welled up from depths inside her and her fingers curled into fists. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! It was supposed to be her who went first!

  All the fighting, all the hunting, all the killing was so that her friends and family could live long and healthy lives in freedom. She sacrificed herself, and her very humanity, in an ongoing attempt to keep America free and safe. It wasn't supposed to be John fighting for his life, just as it wasn't supposed to be Angela who got shot last year. They were supposed to be living happy, normal lives with their happy, normal jobs in their happy, normal homes.

  Not lying in the ICU, clinging to the tenuous bonds of life, supported by a cocktail of chemicals and machines.

  Alina shook her head, picturing the Firebird spinning out of control and flipping into the tree. He had it under control! What the hell went wrong?

  Slowly, without thinking or even being really conscious of her actions, she pulled her legs up onto the chair and arranged herself in lotus pose comfortably. Resting her hands on her thighs, palms up, she took a deep breath and allowed her eyes to slide shut. She concentrated on her breathing, centering herself, until her mind relaxed. Images began chasing themselves through her mind and Viper calmly sorted through until she found the one she wanted. Bringing it back into her conscious mind, Viper separated herself from the memory and watched dispassionately as the black Firebird hurtled through the night, neck and neck with the other car. She watched as the deer darted out into the road, gleaming large and white in the glare from the headlights. Breathing deeply, she slowed the memory down, forcing her mind to relax even more. Her breathing slowed as Viper began to recall the images she was unable to process at the time.

  She watched, detached, as the Firebird braked, controlled by an experienced driver. She watched as it slowed rapidly, still held under rigid control. Then, she watched as an orange spark glinted briefly in the darkness of the wheel well facing her. Immediately, the front right tire blew apart. With the blowout, the car spun out of control.

  Awareness returned to Viper slowly, and the quiet, steady beeping from the monitors roused her back to the present. She opened her eyes and looked at John, still and silent in the bed. In one fluid motion, Viper was out of the chair and heading for the door.

  The panic and deep sense of impending loss were gone, and in their place were burning flames of revenge.

  Viper strode along the sidewalk to the parking garage connected to the hospital, her lips pressed together grimly. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her black jacket as a brisk, Nor'Eastern wind whipped the few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail back from her face. Even with her head bent against the bitter wind, Viper was fully aware of her surroundings. A pair of male nurses crossed the road behind her, hurrying to the hospital. An ambulance swung into the ER driveway at the end of the building behind her, lights and siren blaring as emergency personnel rushed out of the sliding doors of the hospital. Across the road, a group of teenagers traded teasing insults loudly with each other. Ahead was the parking garage, quiet this time of night. The sidewalk was well lit and there was nowhere for anyone to hide as Viper strode up to the entrance and entered the garage. She had driven the Jeep into Camden and parked it on the ground level. That in itself was unusual. Habit born from painful experience led her to avoid parking on the ground floor of a parking garage. It was too exposed and too easy for enemies to find the vehicle. However, when she arrived an hour before, Alina swung into a secluded spot in a back corner at ground level before she could think twice. Now, crossing into that section of the parking garage, Viper shook her head in self-reprimand. What on earth had induced her to be so reckless?

  The heels of her boots echoed in the garage and out of the corner of her eye, Alina caught sight of shadows moving near a shiny black Cadillac Escalade with blinding chrome and spinning rims. Four large young men emerged, watching her as she crossed the tarmac, passing on the other side of the wide aisle.

  “Diablo! Mira las piernas de esa puta!”

  Viper's eyes narrowed slightly, her lips tightening.

  “Oh, estoy mirando. Estoy mirando a mucho más que eso!”

  Their laughter echoed through the deserted garage as they moved out from between the vehicles, their attention focused on Alina. The isolated shadows of the parking garage suddenly seemed to multiply, presenting any number of secluded spots. The cameras in the corners were non-functional, as Viper well knew, and the garage was deserted. Any other woman would turn and head back the way she came, running for the safety of the hospital. Knowing this, the f
our split into two pairs, one circling around to cut off escape back to the street and safety.

  “Ahi mucho que mirar,” the first one agreed, his eyes sweeping over her with a look meant to fill Alina with terror. “Ahi se me esta poniendo duro.”

  “Nosotrus puedemos arreglar eso,” the second replied, closing in on Alina.

  “Hey baby girl, why you look so sad?” he demanded, switching to English and stepping directly in front of her, blocking her path.

  Viper raised her eyes to his.

  “Yo no soy tu bebé,” she said softly in Spanish.

  The man's eyes widened briefly in surprise and there was a beat of silence before laughter erupted behind her.

  “Damn, Rico, you think you're so slick,” one chortled with a snort. “She understood every word!”

  Viper used the seconds of their distraction to take stock of the immediate opponent facing her. He stood about 6 foot and weighed around 200 pounds, mainly muscle. He was the largest of the four, and the one with most interesting artwork tattooed on his body. Two black tear drops rested permanently below his left eye, and the ink across the front of his throat told her which gang he called family.

  “Then she knows what to look forward to,” Rico retorted, his eyes locking onto hers. They were cold, filled with cruel promise and something else: the assurance of a man who had done this many, many times before. Pulling her hands out of her pockets, Viper met his gaze unflinchingly.

  “I think she's looking forward to it,” a voice spoke directly behind her.

  Viper felt a solid presence behind her and knew if she leaned back, she would be in the arms of one of the cohorts.

  “You have no idea,” she murmured, her eyes glinting.

  Rico moved close to tower over her, looking down into her face, his eyes inches from hers. He raised a hand to run a finger down her cheek. The tip of his finger touched her, and Viper smiled.

  The sudden look of alarm in Rico's eyes was short-lived. Before he could snatch his hand back, Viper captured his wrist with the fingers of her left hand. A quick twist and a howl of pain ripped from Rico as his wrist audibly snapped. Stepping swiftly to the left, Viper brought her right hand up and reached behind her. She made contact with the back of a head and pulled it forward, smashing it into Rico's. A second howl of pain echoed the first as two noses crunched together, hard. Without releasing Rico's broken wrist, Viper pushed the second man into the other two and spun Rico around by his limp arm. Wrenching it back and up behind him, she pulled until the bone snapped, the sickening sound echoing through the air. Rico doubled over in pain, letting out another howl, and Viper leveled her elbow down onto his temple. The howl was cut short and Rico fell to the ground onto his face, out cold.