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I run forward. “Excuse me! Sorry! Coming through!” I push past people as politely as possible while moving as quickly as I can to follow him.
He rounds a corner and stops just as I find a break in the crowd.
I take the opportunity to make a mad dash toward him as he looks left, then right. He steps toward the street, opening the door of a sleek black sedan that’s pulled up to the curb. Darn! He’s getting away.
“Hey!” I throw my hand up in the air, waving it frantically in front of a small, fast-looking car with a red-and-white DriveU sticker that’s parked a few cars back.
The driver motions me in. His dark brows rise in surprise to find me slipping into the front seat instead of the back. “Hi?”
“Sorry, but I need to follow that car.” I point to the black sedan pulling away from the curb as I slam the front passenger door closed and latch the seat belt.
“You’re the boss.” He gives me a warm smile. He slides the car onto the road, quickly bypassing two other cars to get behind Damian’s. “Let’s go.”
“Thanks,” I say, not tearing my eyes from the road. I wrap my arms around my body, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.
“This job gets a little boring. I’m all in for a good, old-fashioned car chase.” He cranks the heat up to its highest setting. “But you must be freezing.”
I hold my icy fingers up to the warm stream of air. “Thanks. I am.”
“Forgot your coat in your hurry to track down your boyfriend?” he asks, a hint of a British accent coming through. I wonder how long he’s been in New York.
I slide across the leather seat as we take a sharp right. “Not my boyfriend.”
“PI work? Detective? Ex-wife?” he says.
“Nope.” I laugh. “Just a concerned citizen.”
“Enrico,” he says. “Your name?”
“Lindy,” I say.
I turn to him, taking my eyes off the road for the first time since I got in, flashing a smile before I quickly glue my gaze back to the road.
He grins back, a mischievous grin in his eyes that tells me he’s totally up for an adventure. “Just call us Thelma and Louise. I love old American movies. Watch ‘em on my phone when things get slow. The cold usually drives walkers our way, but this has been, like, the longest shift ever. I was parked at that curb for the last hour, waiting for a text or for someone to walk by.”
The traffic disperses as he speaks.
The black sedan speeds up.
Enrico’s foot presses down on the gas pedal. “Let’s go.”
He floors it to catch up, then slows to keep some space between us and Damian. I grab onto the dash.
“You’re doing a great job of keeping close but not getting too close,” I say.
We’re in a quieter part of the city now, headed away from the main roads. Enrico asks, “Do you have any idea where he’s going?”
“Nope. Do you have any ideas? What’s around here?” I ask, peering down the street.
“Hmm… Let’s see. We’re near a small airport. Not many know of it. It’s private.” He thinks for a moment. “Is this guy rich?”
“Very. Why?” The sedan takes a right.
We follow. “Looks like we might be headed toward this airport I’m thinking of. It’s totally private. You have to own your own plane or jet to have access. The dues to be a member are twice my annual salary.”
Private jet? What could be more Bachman?
I try to keep the thrill out of my voice, playing it cool. “Sounds about right. How will we get in?”
