Chapter 22
A ll three of them dove to the ground beneath the table as pandemonium broke out in the restaurant.
“I think that was a bullet,” Blue said.
“I think so, too,” Charles agreed.
“It could have been another drive by,” Jane added. They weren’t exactly in the chicest part of Philly.
“That’s not a chance I’m willing to take,” Blue replied.
“Me neither,” Charles agreed. They settled Jane between them and herded out of the restaurant’s back entrance on their hands and knees. Once they were outside, Charles withdrew a gun from the holster inside his jacket. Blue withdrew the one from the holster beneath his hoodie.
“Why are you armed?” Blue asked him.
“Because I was mugged last year, and I don’t intend to let it happen again. Why are you?” Charles returned.
“Same reason,” Blue lied, and the two men regarded each other with a wary, distrustful stare.
“Something is off about this whole situation,” Charles said. “And I’m taking Jane with me.” He drew her to him.
“She stays with me,” Blue said, drawing her back.
Jane rolled her eyes. “For goodness sake, why don’t we all get out of here before whoever did the shooting comes looking.”
Blue and Charles nodded their agreement, though neither wanted to be the first to break eye contact. Sighing, Jane turned and began heading out of the alley, forcing them to jog to catch up with her. They flanked her, both of them so tall next to her that they looked like an M in motion. On the street, nothing appeared amiss, but Charles’s car was toward the restaurant and Blue’s was away from it. They went there, intending to drive around until they were certain they were in the clear.
“This is your car?” Charles asked, stopping short in front of Blue’s Jaguar. He whistled. “The Smithsonian must pay better than my museum.”
“I never said I work for the Smithsonian,” Blue replied.
“Where do you work?” Charles asked.
“I never said,” Blue said. They got into the car, locked the doors, and started to drive. Charles turned to the back seat to look at Jane.
“What exactly are you into, Janie?” he asked.
“Nothing, a bit of consulting work,” she replied vaguely.
“Did it ever occur to you the source of your danger is also your driver?” Charles asked her.
“Hmm,” Jane said, pretending to consider Blue. “Now that you mention it, he is a little shifty, what with the tattoos and all.”
Blue smiled. “I thought we were past that.”
“Maybe I’m coming full circle,” Jane said.
Blue started to reply and stopped as his gaze slid to the mirror. “I think we have a tail.”
Charles turned to look. “How can you be certain?”
“Because I saw that same red sedan before we arrived at the restaurant. It only followed us a couple of blocks then, so I didn’t think much of it. But now it’s back, and there’s no reason for that.” He accelerated, heading onto the freeway. “How well can you shoot?”
“I’ll suffice,” Charles replied. “How well can you drive?”
“I’ll suffice,” Blue said, flooring it to a hundred as he wove in and out of traffic.
“Hey, Independence Hall,” Jane said, spying a sign for it.
“That’s my little nerd history buff,” Charles said, reaching behind to give her a pat on the knee.
No, that’s MY little nerd history buff, Blue wanted to say. But he didn’t because doing a hundred on the freeway wasn’t exactly ideal conditions for posturing with a rival.
The red car kept pace for a while, close enough to be menacing, not close enough to tell who was behind the wheel. No shots were fired, and eventually Blue was able to shake them. They circled for a while before heading back toward the restaurant where they’d been, along with Charles’s car.
The street was clear when they approached. The diner’s window had been boarded up but otherwise there were no signs of the earlier shooting. Blue double parked beside Charles’s car. Charles turned to the back seat, to Jane.
“Jane, get out of the car and come with me.”
Blue turned toward the back also. “Jane, stay in the car, you’re going with me.”
“She’s not safe with you,” Charles said, turning his attention to Blue.
“She’s still alive, isn’t she?” Blue replied, facing Charles.
“But for how long? Look, I appreciate that you believe you have her best interest in mind, but you’re up against armed men. What does a computer geek know about that?”
“As much as a museum geek, apparently,” Blue replied.
“Jane, tell him you feel safer with me,” Charles demanded, turning to face Jane again. But Jane couldn’t reply because Jane was gone.
Blue threw the car into park and both men bolted from the car, searching for Jane. They found her a few yards away, doubled over by the edge of the alley. “Jane,” Blue called while Charles called, “Janie.”
Jane held up a hand, warding them away. “Stay over there,” she called. Her voice sounded faint and she was gripping the wall to keep herself upright.
“Are you hurt?” Blue asked, advancing on her anyway. When he reached her, she stood upright, pivoted, and practically fell into his arms.
“No, I’m sick.”
Blue stopped short, his arms easing comfortingly around her. “You’re sick?”
She nodded against his chest. “Can we go home?” she whispered.
“Sure, sweetheart,” he soothed, trying hard to keep the smugness out of his tone. She had chosen him. True, she was sick and possibly delirious, but he would take it for whatever it was worth.
“I’ll call you,” Charles said as they passed, keeping a safe distance from her in case she was sick again. She nodded, not attempting to talk to him. Blue opened the car door for her and closed it once she was safely inside.
He started the car. Jane directed the air vents at her face, and he turned the air conditioner up a notch. His hand rested on her leg in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “Do you often get sick like this?” he asked.
She shook her head; her eyes were closed.
“Do you think it’s the flu?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Blue, please, I don’t want to talk,” she whispered, though she did rest her hand on his to soften any sting from her words. He clasped her hand, and she returned the gentle pressure of his touch.
They rode like that for a while until Blue’s stomach began to roil and pitch. Suddenly he understood why Jane might be ill. They had eaten the same thing and, based on the poor condition of the restaurant, food poisoning was almost a certainty.
Now it was his turn to crank up the AC and point it at his face. He felt hot and cold all at once. When was the last time he’d thrown up? He couldn’t remember, it had been so long. He had a cast-iron stomach, not prone to nausea or illness. But not now. Right now his stomach felt like a tiny airplane in high turbulence. Jane groaned, pressing her hand to her stomach.
“Can you pull over,” she moaned.
Blue yanked the car to the side of the road, tossed it into park, and they both dashed out, getting simultaneously sick a yard away from each other on the side of the road. Thankfully they were both too immersed in their own misery to be grossed out by each other.
“Oh,” Blue moaned, and Jane followed suit. They stumbled back to the car and leaned against it, too sick and weak to take the necessary steps to get back inside.
“Can you drive home?” Jane whispered. She was sprawled haphazardly on the car, her pale face pressed to the hood.
“It’s only a few blocks,” Blue said. He was in nearly the same position, only his face was pressed to the car’s top, given his greater height advantage. The cool of the metal felt heavenly beneath his sweaty, overheated face.
“Can you?” she pressed.
“I honestly don’t know,” Blue said. “I’m going to need a minute.”
“Blue,” Jane groaned, pressing her hand to her stomach.
“Mm,” he said, doing the same to his abdomen.
“You are never allowed to pick the restaurant again,” she said.
“Agreed,” he murmured before they ran to two new spots and got sick again.