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The gate arm rose to its full extension.
Leilah rolled her neck and turned to meet Ryan’s horrified gaze. “And they’ll be waiting for us at the corner. We’re turning right. You should close your eyes.”
She hit the gas, the Forester bucked forward, and Ryan Hayes gripped the dashboard and squeezed his eyes shut as they shot out of the mouth of the garage and into oncoming traffic.
10
The entire worldnarrowed to the two lanes of traffic rushing headlong at Leilah. Her hands were light and sure on the wheel, her heart steady, her breath measured. Beside her, Ryan may or may not have been reciting a prayer. She left him to his bargaining with God and focused on flowing between the honking cars piloted by gesticulating, red-faced drivers. She didn’t dart or weave; she was water, and water flowed.
“This would be a lot easier in my Porsche,” she muttered.
At the corner, a bus idled, blocking her planned escape from wrong-way driving. She recalculated, recalibrated, and jerked the car to the left to swing wide around the bus, and shot onto the cross street against both the traffic and the light. She joined the sea of cars headed out of the capital toward suburban Maryland.
“It’s okay to look now,” she told Ryan.
He turned to face her. “That was—”
“—metal?”
“No.”
“Fire?”
“No, it wasn’t metal, fire, lit, or balling. It was reckless.”
She pulled a face. “What is the point of having a professional race car driver at your disposal if you’re not going to do race car things.”
“You did race car things on Massachusetts Avenue, Leilah!”
She scrunched up her nose. “Admit it, you feel more alive than you ever have before. Don’t you?”
He gave her an unamused look. “I feel fortunate tobealive.”
“I was in control the entire time. Also, you’re welcome.”
“I’m … what?”
“Your friends aren’t behind us.”
His eyes drifted up to the rearview mirror. “You’re right. They aren’t.” His jaw tightened.
“What?”
“What what?”
“You clenched your jaw. Why aren’t you relieved that they’re not following us.”
He exhaled through his nose. “If this were an official investigation, there would be a backup team—at least one—in position to take up the pursuit if the original team lost us. I don’t see a backup team, do you?”
She scanned the traffic behind them. “No,” she admitted.
“Which means this is likely an off-the-books operation. We’re dealing with rogue agents who almost certainly are acting without oversight or authority.” His tone was grim.
“Oh.”
“Still relieved?”
“Not really.” She changed the subject. “Did you find Grover’s address before we had to split?”
