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Two suits with matching Ray-Bans hustled up the sidewalk, and Hailey lifted her hand to Agent Porter. She’d discovered the man had played football at Stanford, and he still carried himself like an athlete.
The two agents stopped at her table, and Porter said, “We’ll go inside to get some coffee. Do you want a refill?”
She tapped her cup. “All set.”
Hailey watched the thin crowd on the sidewalk—too late for morning rush hour and too early for lunch...also known as debriefing, according to Joe McVie.
Her head jerked up at the squeal from a car’s tires, and her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses as she watched some idiot making a U-turn where six streets intersected. The car continued to careen down the street and swerved sharply.
Hailey’s heart slammed against her chest as the car leaped the curb, one set of its wheels on the sidewalk.
The out-of-control driver plowed through some foliage and knocked over a wooden sign, and still he kept coming straight toward the tables on the sidewalk...straight for her.
Chapter Five
Joe’s legs were pumping before the car even hit the sidewalk. By the time he made it to the other side of the street, several tables had been knocked on their sides, their spindly legs pointing at the sky.
Hailey, wide-eyed and white-faced, had plastered herself against the side of the building, debris from the wreckage at her feet.
The blue sedan that had jumped the curb squealed in Reverse, and Joe threw himself at the hood. The driver punched the accelerator. The car disappeared from beneath him, and Joe landed on the sidewalk in a belly flop, the smell of burning rubber and exhaust scorching his lungs.
“Joe!” A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and practically ripped it off him.
He rolled to his side and squinted up at Hailey looming over him, her sunglasses shoved to the top of her head.
“Are you crazy? He could’ve run you over.”
“Did you get a license number?” He scrambled to his feet, smacking his hands together to dislodge the grit embedded in his palms.
“It’s running through my head right now.” Hailey held up one incredibly steady finger. “Wait.”
As she dashed inside the coffeehouse, sirens wailed down the street, and the two FBI agents Hailey was meeting hovered over the scene.
They wouldn’t recognize him, would they? He’d never met them before, but he could bet they’d know his name and his connection with Major Denver. Joe ducked his head.
Hailey rushed back to the sidewalk, waving a white napkin with not a hint of surrender on her face. “I have it. I have the license plate.”
The two agents approached her, and the tall African American spoke first. “Are you all right? Did a car come up on the sidewalk? From inside it sounded like an explosion.”
Hailey’s gaze darted from the agent in front of her to Joe. He shook his head once.
“Yeah, the car jumped the curb, and I know why.”
The agent’s eyes bugged out from their sockets. “You think it was deliberate?”
In a harsh whisper just loud enough for Joe to hear several feet away, she said, “Someone was trying to stop our meeting, trying to stop me.”
The agent lifted his shoulders. “Ms. Duvall, nobody knows about this meeting.”
“I wouldn’t count on that.” She flicked the napkin in his face. “I got the car’s license number, and I’m giving it to the police.”
The agents hadn’t noticed him, so Joe busied himself with brushing off his jeans and then helping the store’s employees right the tables and chairs.
A cop car pulled up to the curb, and an officer stepped out. Before the cop could get one word out of his mouth, Hailey rushed up to him with her napkin.
“I got the license plate.”
“Slow down.” He plucked the napkin from her fingers. “What happened here?”
Hailey launched into her description of the events and jabbed her finger at the napkin in the officer’s hand when she reached the end of her narrative. “That’s the license number of the car, a blue four-door sedan.”
“Nobody was hurt?”
“I was the only one sitting outside, and the car didn’t reach the building.”
“Did the driver lose control of the car? Did he ever get out of the vehicle?”
