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He didn’t fire back, so she knew he didn’t want to take the chance he’d kill her. He shoved the door open and ran. Olivia jerked up, pulled herself free of the collapsed airbag, and saw him—a tall man in a long dark winter coat, his face hidden by a thick black scarf wrapped around his neck, clutching his shoulder. Her Walther was empty. She looked in the back seat, saw her Glock, grabbed it. Horns were blasting, people yelling, and the driver of the truck she’d hit jumped out and stared dazedly at the RAV smashed into the rear of his truck and the woman running with a gun after a fleeing man.
Olivia yelled “Federal agent!” and didn’t slow. The man was running flat out, shoving people out of his way, but she was gaining on him. He was only half a block ahead of her when he turned off Krager onto Baker Street, then ducked into an alley connecting Baker and Mansford. He was fast even holding his hand against his shoulder. When she came through the alley onto Mansford, she couldn’t believe it, he’d already jumped into a taxi. Too dangerous to shoot at him or the tires. She memorized the license plate, stood for a moment, hands on her thighs, panting. Then she pulled out her cell. She didn’t call Gay, she called Dillon.
When Savich jumped out of his Porsche twenty minutes later, Olivia was sitting on the sidewalk, her RAV’s engine still sending up small plumes of black smoke. Two police cruisers and a fire truck were blocking off traffic, an ambulance standing by with nothing to do. Chas Gaylin sat beside her, three METRO officers hovering nearby.
She jumped to her feet. “Please tell me you got him.”
“METRO’s all over the taxi. You shot him in the shoulder, so we’ve alerted the hospitals and clinics in the area. Are you all right?”
She smiled. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Dillon, I couldn’t see him through the front seat, the airbag was collapsed on me, so I just kept shooting until my Walther ran out of ammo. Luckily he decided he shouldn’t kill me, so he gave it up and ran.” She reached down, pulled the PP2 out of its holster. “I love this little pistol, it probably saved my life.”
Savich smiled. “My wife always wears her ankle pistol as well. You did very well, Olivia.”
Gay rose, introduced himself, and shook Savich’s hand. “If it’s all right with you, I’ve been told to take Olivia to another safe house.” He stared at Olivia, shook his head. “This shouldn’t have ever happened. I was an idiot to let you talk me into getting the fricking pizzas. Believe me, Mr. Grace isn’t happy with me. I’ve got a big dressing-down coming and I deserve it. I’ll probably be reassigned.”
Olivia said, “Gay, I’ll speak to him, explain it wasn’t your fault, that I insisted since it was only a short drive.” She glanced over at the intersection. “My poor RAV, it really came through for me, gave itself up. Now I’ll have to get another one. Hey, maybe the pizza’s still okay, just needs to be heated up—”
Savich nodded. “Yes, to all those things. First, though, I’d like you both to come with me to the Hoover. Agent Hildebrandt, I’m going to make sure you’re never lost to me again.”
