Ten #3
Cristo’s ego had gotten the better of him, and he was standing there, yelling at me, letting all his associates know it, letting the whole pub know it. Like Sam and Dane always said, I could try the patience of a saint, and as Cristo Liron was not at all a saint, I drove him right over the edge.
Normally, I never meant to make someone else crazy, but I had purposely baited the man, and he was hooked. And he didn’t know me well enough yet to know that in a pinch, crazily enough, my brain actually kicked in. It was why I had never ever blown Sam’s cover. Even seeing the man hurt, I had not.
“Jor—”
“Are you done questioning me about blowing my load in clubs now? Or would you like to humiliate me some more, Mr. Liron?” I asked him, making my voice as surly as I could manage.
He said nothing, just glared at me.
I turned to Calhoun. “You’re Jace’s friend, right?”
“Yes.”
“You should take his ass to the hospital.” I turned to look at Cristo and said, “Unless, of course, you’re planning to take us both out back and put bullets in our heads.”
His eyes were flat, cold, and hard.
“You could send wrapped fish to my brother.”
“Fuck you!”
“No, fuck you!” I roared back.
It was a juvenile exchange that dissipated the last bit of fear from the table.
“I’ll drive you to the hospital,” Eddie offered Sam, getting up and coming around the table, reaching for him.
Sam’s eyes met mine. “We’ll wait until Jory here leaves too.”
“Let’s all get the hell out,” I announced, striding toward the front door, yelling to everyone I passed that it was time to go.
Everyone saw me, looking at me with wide, horrified eyes. I was causing a huge scene, and everyone wanted me to get out.
“Jory!”
But I didn’t stop. I would never stop again for Cristo Liron.
Outside on the curb, I shivered in the cold night air.
“Jory.”
I turned and looked at Eddie as he was walking Sam, with Agent Calhoun on the other side, toward the car I had ridden over in.
“I can take you home, Jory.”
“Hell no.” I shook my head. “I’m not going home. I’m gonna go visit my friend Joe.”
He looked confused because it was such a random statement. “Okay.”
“You take care, and thanks,” I said, turning away, not trusting myself to look at Sam.
“Jory!”
I looked back at Eddie.
“I’m so sorry for everything.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“You gotta not be around for a while, Jory. Get out of town until he cools down.”
“He had a meltdown in there,” I told him. “What’s the cooling off period on that?”
He just looked at me, and I turned away.
“Grab him!” Someone yelled behind me.
“Ah fuck! Jory, run!”
The command to run had been, surprisingly, Adan’s, so I bolted.
“Stop, you fuck! We know where you fuckin’ live!”
Not comforting, but what was, was that Sam was safe. I needed to be too.
I dragged quick air into my lungs and ran. Looking over your shoulder was overrated. I was pretty sure that if people in movies did less of it, more of them would live.
“No!” Eddie’s yell was almost a cry, his voice cracking and breaking.
There was a squeal of tires, and I heard the roar of an engine beside me at the same time I heard shoes on the pavement behind me. Maybe once my husband wasn’t a police detective anymore, I could stop running for my life. Although, in his defense, the first time around the park had been all me.
If it had been a straight length of road, I would have worried, but this was downtown before ten at night, and there were still cars, open restaurants and bars, patches of traffic, and crowded streets.
Me, by myself, weaving in and around people was easy, but not for the guys behind me.
They had to shove by strangers, and so it was slow going.
The car chasing me got wedged in traffic, and that was it.
I took a left into a hotel lobby because I was getting close to the train platform and I needed to ditch them before I got there.
They got close because I paused to figure out which way I wanted to go, but as they started pushing their way through the crowd, I went over and up on tables.
The hotel security was helpful as they started to yell, and someone said to call the police.
I was vaguely aware of my name being shouted, but I ran on, down a hall, the lights changing around me from low and elegant to bright and harsh as I went through the kitchen.
I swerved, leaped as pots and pans fell, but I was matched stride for stride, the space between us shrinking with every added movement I was forced to make.
I wanted to see who was chasing me, but it would take precious seconds, so I fought the urge and ran on, bouncing off walls. Someone had ahold of me for a moment before I careened around another corner and wound up back in the lobby.
There were stairs to the street, and I bolted into traffic. I heard the crunch of metal, the squeal of tires, but I ran on, and so did my pursuers. It was dark in the alley I ran down, but I knew they were still there because I could hear the panting and finally a roar of frustration.
I flew out the other end and went across another street.
A car almost hit me, and I had to stop, swerving around it, losing precious seconds.
The drizzling that had wet my hair and tracksuit suddenly turned to heavy rain, and I was running through a downpour.
I pushed harder and almost went down before I felt my stride even out and the speed kick in.
Chairs and tables set up for an outdoor bistro, freshly abandoned, proved too difficult for me to push my way through.
I fell, and someone was on me. We crashed together into wood and steel, and there was a hand on my throat and another on my jacket.
I pulled and twisted, but he was bigger, stronger.
I felt a lift, and then I was falling hard, fast. I smashed onto a table, but it didn’t break; it held, and I rolled off and hit the solid, gritty concrete.
It was dark for a second, and then I felt water splashing my face.
I got my hands under me, pushed up, but the ground tilted, and I couldn’t steady myself.
I saw him in pieces—backing away, staggering, and swaying, seemingly hurt, as he regarded me.
There were only the two of us. Everyone else had given up, and I was glad. My legs supported me, and I was up, but my head hurt, like someone had put an ice pick through my right eye, the pain instant and excruciating. But it receded fast enough for me to regain my balance and bolt.
I had to get safely to the train platform. I had to see Sam. I had to make sure he was okay.
“Jory!”
Not a roar, a call.
“Jory!”
I pulled up and saw the awning across the street, and under it were Fallon and Shane. I charged back across, nearly got hit by two cars, but reached them and dived hard. At Shane.
“What the hell?” he yelled, even as he caught me and clasped tight.
I slid down his body and crumpled to the cold, damp ground.
“Jory, what’s going on?”
I pointed across the street, and they saw the four men there now, standing, waiting.
“They think I know something about a case Sam is working on.”
“Your husband, the cop?” Shane asked me, still holding on to me.
I nodded.
“Call the police,” Shane ordered Fallon.
“Already dialing,” he said, phone at his ear.
“He’s calling the police!” Shane yelled across the street, beside me on the ground, letting me go to put a gentle hand on my chest. “It’s okay, Jory. We’re here. You’re safe.”
And when I rolled my head to look at him, I smiled. “Thanks, Shane.”
Fallon put his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, and when I looked up at him, his smile was enormous. Apparently, by choosing Shane to barrel into, I was collecting all kinds of brownie points.
It was like I told people; a lot of times, my brain actually did work, and I made conscious choices. It was just that no one ever believed me.