Chapter 23
LYRA
I’m in the back seat of the Uber; my duffel bag pressed against my chest like I’m eight years old, and it’s the stuffed elephant I sleep with every night. I open my phone, double-checking that my flight to Louis Armstrong International is still on time.
I booked a one-way ticket. I couldn’t commit to a return flight. This is my dad—I’ll be there for as long as I need to be.
The cabbie badge on the dash says the driver’s name is Youssef. I look out the window, watching Queens pass by, as I try not to think about the note I slid under Julian’s door.
I wonder if he’s read it yet.
I lean to the side and rest my head against the cool glass of the window. Dad is going into surgery soon. Mom is alone. And I still haven’t heard back from the insurance company.
I’ll worry about it when I get there.
The cab changes lanes, the driver muttering something about traffic. I close my eyes.
That’s when I hear it.
An engine revving loudly, too close. The vehicle pulls up along the driver’s side, aggressively accelerating. Youssef swears in another language. As I open my eyes, I see headlights—bright and blinding. A dark SUV presses into our lane, forcing us too close to the guardrail.
“Hey! What the hell!” Youssef lays on the horn.
It doesn’t do any good. The SUV pushes closer, and I let out a scream, realizing it’s about to hit the car.
There’s a horrible shriek of metal against metal when it does. Youssef pulls into the open lane on the other side.
“Oh my God!”
“Hold on, lady—”
Youssef pulls a hard right, and the cab lurches across the lane, tires screaming. The SUV pulls behind us, barely giving us a second to get away from it. Then it pulls alongside of us again, inching closer and closer, the SUV on one side, the concrete barrier on the other.
My eyes are wide, and I’m frozen in fear. All I can think about is that I could die, Mama getting a call that she’s lost me right in the middle of worrying about losing Dad.
A second car appears.
It comes up hard and fast on the SUV’s left. It’s a black sedan, low and sleek, moving with controlled aggression. It clips the SUV’s rear panel, hitting hard enough to turn it sideways. The SUV fishtails in the middle of the road, its tires smoking.
As traffic approaches, I wonder if any of the cars are going to slam into the SUV. But it peels away, swerving off the nearest exit ramp far over the speed limit and disappearing.
Everything happens in seconds. Youssef straightens the cab, both of us hyperventilating at the same time. He slowly pulls onto the shoulder and comes to a stop. For a long moment, the only sound is the engine and both of us breathing, like we just ran the damn New York City Marathon.
The black sedan that clipped the SUV pulls up behind us. The doors open, and Julian and Ethan get out.
Ethan’s arm is in a sling, the opposite hand holding his phone. Julian makes his way to my door and opens it. There’s rage in his eyes.
“Get out,” he says.
He takes my arm, then places his other hand on the small of my back, guiding me out.
He reaches in and grabs my duffle, which got tossed to the other side of the back seat during the mayhem.
The world is a blur around me as traffic roars past, headlights sweeping across his expressionless face as he straightens and stands before me.
Then Julian turns his attention to Youssef, who’s sitting still as a stone, eyes wide, like he’s not sure what to do. Julian takes a look at the damage along the driver’s side, then walks around to check out the rest of the vehicle.
When he comes back to the driver’s side, he reaches into his coat and pulls out a folded stack of hundreds. He holds it out to Youseff. “That should cover the damage and then some. You had an uneventful fare to the airport. You never saw any of us. Understand?”
Youssef takes the money and nods, then quickly pulls away.
Julian looks me over to make sure I’m not hurt. Ethan remains off to the side, busying himself with his phone to give us some privacy.
“You were leaving,” Julian says.
“Yes, I was.”
“Without telling me.”
“I tried to tell you, but you were busy. I left a note.”
“Your father.”
So he did read the note.
“Yes. His surgery got moved up to tomorrow, and I need to be there.”
“And you didn’t think to walk back into my office and say that?”
“I tried! You were in the middle of a meeting with men with guns! You told me it could wait until morning. But it couldn’t. I had to leave.”
He flinches. “Fine.”
“Fine what?”
“Fine. Your father needs surgery and you need to be there.” He flicks his eyes to the duffel bag on my shoulder. He gently takes it and walks over to the sedan, opens the back door, and sets the bag inside. “I’m coming with you.”
“Julian, you don’t have to—”
“I’m not asking permission. I’m telling you what’s happening.” He turns to me. “You were almost run off the road five minutes ago. Someone is following you, targeting you. And you think I’m going to put you on a plane to New Orleans alone?”
I should argue, but I’m too tired. I glance over at Ethan.
“He can’t fly like that. He needs to rest.”
“Ethan’s staying. He’ll run security from here.” He holds the door open and gestures for me to get inside.
I sigh heavily.
“Lyra.”
I sigh one more time, glancing at the highway as if some alternative might present itself in the middle of the road.
I get in the car, Ethan at the wheel. Julian climbs in beside me.
“Cancel your ticket,” he says, taking out his phone.
Before I can argue, I watch as he books two first-class seats, of course.
I stare out the window, trying to decide if I’m grateful, mad, or scared.
Probably a bit of all three.
I close my eyes.
When Julian’s hand finds mine, I let him take it.