The Tahoe wasn’t as nimble or as quick as the Corvette, but the driver was doing a remarkable job keeping pace with them. He didn’t see how she was going to build enough separation so they could bug out and make it to his plane. Colt craned his neck over his shoulder and saw the looming traffic light glowing yellow.
“Go straight,” he said.
“It’s turning red!”
“Run it!” He felt her press harder on the gas pedal and listened to the engine straining as they closed to within one hundred yards of the intersection. The light turned red, and he shifted his body to sit in the seat, scrambling to buckle in as he urged her on. “Faster! Faster!”
Less than fifty yards from the stoplight, traffic began moving on the cross street, and he leaned into his seat belt as he looked for a gap they could dart through. If they made it to the other side, the Tahoe might be stuck behind a wall of traffic, giving them the opportunity they needed. He looked for a side-view mirror to see if their boldness was paying off, but the Corvette didn’t have one on his side.
“They’re falling back!” she yelled in triumph, as if reading his mind. He felt her ease off the gas.
“Don’t slow down!”
Twenty yards from the intersection, he felt another surge of acceleration as her foot dropped to the floor. His head whipped left and right, using his experience in judging closure to assess the crossing traffic.
“It’s going to be close!” he yelled.
They reached the intersection just as a white pickup truck crossed in front of them from left to right. They cleared its rear bumper by inches, and Colt thought he could almost reach out and touch it as they blazed across the eastbound lanes. When the truck cleared from his field of view, he looked up in time to see two midsize SUVs occupying both westbound lanes barreling down on them.
“Faster!”
There was nothing he could do but brace himself, but she seemed to coax just a little more power from the Corvette, and they reached the other side with less than a foot of clearance from the second SUV. His heart pounded in his chest, but he again craned his neck to look over his shoulder at the Tahoe, relieved to see it only nosing into the intersection.
“Holy shit!” she yelled, relaxing the throttle only a little.
“Right here,” Colt said, slinking back into his seat and closing his eyes with relief.
She made the turn, still faster than normal, but he could feel the Stingray slowing back to a comfortable speed. They had bought seconds at most, but they at least had options. They could run. They could hide. Or they could fight.
His eyes snapped open when she slammed on the brakes, horrified to see a car darting out from a parking garage in front of them. The overheated brakes locked up and the radial tires skidded across the ground, but still she tried turning to avoid the collision, and he felt the back end let loose.
Colt barely had time to brace himself before the Corvette slammed sideways into the Japanese import. His shoulder hit the door hard, and his head snapped to the side, connecting with something solid. The sound of squealing tires and roaring engine was replaced with splintering fiberglass and an anguished cry from the woman sitting next to him.
Like he had been trained to do during water survival, he waited until all motion had stopped before trying to move. The earsplitting clatter ended in an instant, and he tried making sense of the sudden silence. He shook his head, feeling woozy, and tried blinking away the stars twinkling at the edge of his vision. He looked to his right and saw a shattered window with deflated air bag curtains, and he had enough presence of mind to recognize they weren’t his.
“You okay?” he asked.
Silence.
He looked left and saw the NCIS agent hunched over with the right side of her face pressed against the steering wheel. Ignoring his own aches and pains, he reached out and shook her. “Hey! Wake up!”
Colt’s skull throbbed and his ears rang, but his only thought was on the unconscious woman sitting next to him.
At least until he saw the Tahoe turn the corner.
Colt shook her hard, ignoring the prevailing wisdom not to move a car crash victim. There was a good chance she had suffered at least a concussion — hell, he was pretty sure he had one himself — but if she didn’t come to soon, the car full of angry Chinese barreling down on them would be the bigger worry.
“You need to wake up!” he yelled.
He felt her stir but couldn’t take his eyes off the Tahoe. It had stopped in the road, twenty yards short of the mangled Corvette, as its occupants assessed the situation. He remained hunched over, his face hidden behind her long, dark hair, trying his best to appear as motionless as possible. Though he didn’t think they would simply drive off if he played dead, he needed the time to think.
“Unh…” The NCIS agent started to move, and he kept his hand pressed against her back to keep her still.
“Shhh. Don’t move.”
“Wha… happen?” Her words were slurred, her voice weak, but Colt knew it wouldn’t last long.
