Avery glanced over her shoulder, the lights blinding her. “He needs to dim his lights.”
“Yeah. And slow down.” Grant increased their speed. “I think he’s going to pass.” Avery noted the curve in the road ahead. “Curve ahead,” she warned.
Grant slowed.
Avery expected the trailing car to pass.
“Fuck,” Grant muttered. “He’s too close.”
The impact sent Avery lunging forward. The seatbelt across her chest kept her from slamming into the dash.
The rental car swerved and dove over the shoulder and down into a shallow ditch.
Grant held onto the steering wheel and fought for control as the SUV that had run into them sped past.
Grant gunned the accelerator and turned the wheel sharply, sending the car back up onto the shoulder and the pavement beyond.
Avery held on to the armrest, glad for the belt securing her to her seat. Once the car was back on the road, she stared at the taillights ahead of them. “If you catch up, we can get the license plate.”
Grant smashed his foot on the accelerator. The car shot forward, gaining on the other.
As they neared, brake lights flashed bright red.
Grant slammed on the brakes, but not soon enough to avoid the collision. The rental car smacked into the back of the other vehicle, sending it shooting past the shoulder, through a fence and into a telephone pole on the other side.
On impact, the driver’s door burst open and the person inside was flung from his seat.
Grant brought the rental car to a stop on the shoulder. He fished the gun off the floorboard and leaped from his seat.
Avery met him at the hood of their car and ran with him toward the crashed vehicle and the man lying on the ground.
The headlights of the rental car shone across the scene.
The man lay on his back, unmoving.
When Avery stepped out of the headlight beams allowing the glow to shine on the man’s face, she gasped.
“You recognize him?” Grant asked.
“I think he might be one of the hitmen who worked for the Miami Elite.”
Grant bent over the still figure and touched his fingers to the base of the man’s throat. For a long moment, he held his fingers there. Finally, he straightened. “He’s got a pulse.”
Avery pulled her phone from her pocket and called 911. She reported the accident and asked to be connected with the sheriff.
“Sheriff Taylor,” he answered.
“Agent Hart, here,” she said. “We had a vehicular altercation with a man I suspect was a hitman for the Miami Elite.” She gave him the location.
“Ambulance is on the way,” the sheriff said. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
While Grant and Avery waited, Grant handed Avery his gun. “I’ll be right back.” He returned to the rental and came back with his cell phone. After snapping a photo of the man’s face, he sent it to Swede to run it through facial recognition to get a more definitive ID on the guy.
“You think he was the one killing the other women?” Grant asked.
Avery rubbed her arms in the cool night air. “He could have been. Some of those hitmen liked playing with their victims before killing them, and they went after the family members of the victims as a lesson to anyone involved with the syndicate.”
Grant’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “I thought about you every day and wondered if you would live through that assignment.”
