Tall palm trees lined the road on their left, and Punky continued driving the muscle car as if she didn’t have a care in the world. The truth was, she was using the opportunity to open the aperture on her situational awareness and look for things that didn’t belong: idling cars at the curb or down side streets, pedestrians on the phone who gave the red Stingray more than the usual amount of attention, or dark SUVs with tinted windows. Like the one she saw in her rearview mirror following her onto Aero Drive.
“I’ve been investigating a sailor aboard the
“
She took her eyes off the rearview mirror and gave him a deadpan look. “I wish I was.”
His lilting smile vanished. “Okay. But why
“In 1985, John Anthony Walker, a former sailor, was arrested for selling secrets to the Soviets. When asked later how he had managed to get his hands on so many classified documents, he replied that ‘Kmart has better security than the Navy.’ So, now this bastard is
The entrance to Montgomery-Gibbs Executive Airport appeared on their left at the next intersection, but Punky turned right on Sandrock Road, keeping her speed low while staring in her rearview mirror.
“Uh, you turned the wrong way.”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t.”
The black Chevrolet Tahoe made the right turn behind her, and alarm bells started going off in her head. Two consecutive turns was hardly concrete proof they were being followed, but given what Rick had just told her, it seemed an unlikely coincidence.
Colt noticed her gaze fixed to the rearview mirror and started to turn, but she stopped him. “Don’t. Keep your head forward.”
“What’s going on?”
She made another right turn onto Glenhaven, slowly increasing her speed through the residential neighborhood. If the Tahoe followed, she would have no choice but to take evasive action and prepare for contact. “Open the glove box. My backup gun should be in there.”
“Gun?” He seemed shocked but didn’t hesitate and opened the glove box to remove the holstered SIG Sauer P365XL she normally carried when off duty. “You’re starting to freak me out here.”
She glanced over and saw him remove the pistol from the holster and conduct a press check to verify it was loaded. He appeared competent with firearms, but it still made her nervous having an unproven shooter with an unholstered weapon sitting next to her. “You’ve fired a gun before, I take it?”
He gave her a look that said,
The Tahoe turned the corner behind them. “Shit. Hold on.”
This time, she didn’t stop Colt from looking over his shoulder. She stomped her foot down on the gas pedal, and the Corvette’s engine roared a battle cry as it surged down the residential street, passing parked cars, white picket fences, and delinquent trash cans with shocking speed. Her eyes darted in front of her, looking for threats, and she took her hand off the shifter and tugged on her red hoodie, giving her a clear path to draw her pistol if it came to that.
“Is that the Chinese?” Colt yelled, twisting in his seat to keep sight of the Tahoe while pointing his muzzle at the floorboard.
“I don’t know. But I don’t want to find out.”
That was when the first shot rang out.
Colt had been in combat before, but from thirty thousand feet above the battlefield. Hearing bullets snapping through the air around his head and plinking into the Corvette’s rear end was a far cry from the type of combat he had experienced. To her credit, the NCIS agent comported herself well and ignored the gunfire as she focused on reaching the next cross street.
“Shit! It’s a school,” she yelled.
Colt turned and looked through the windshield at a tall chain link fence bordering a tan building with a blue roof. He racked his brain, trying to remember when school let out, but gave up when he saw mobs of children running on the playground. He wasn’t sure whether it was normal play or in response to the sounds of gunfire echoing up the street.
“Turn right!”
Without looking for crossing traffic, she cranked the steering wheel and skidded around the corner. Colt twisted his body and brought the pistol up, aiming it at the intersection as he waited for a shot. The Tahoe came into view just as the Stingray regained its traction and surged north on Afton, knocking his aim off. He took his finger off the trigger.
“No shot,” he yelled, then reached behind him and unbuckled his seat belt so he could plant his right knee in the seat and brace himself with his outstretched left foot on the floorboard. “Keep it steady!”
“I’m trying to get us outta here!”
