Chapter Twenty-Five

Jenna glanced at the detective who sat beside her on the back seat of an unmarked police car.

“Do you do this sort of thing often, Detective Jameson?”

The woman turned from staring out of the window and grinned. “No, but it makes a change from the office. And call me Sarah. I have a feeling we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

Jenna sighed. The euphoric feeling she had awakened to had evaporated, leaving her lethargic and drained of energy. Should she mention her illness, in case she passed out or something?

Then again, she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch the previous day. Maybe she was suffering from nothing more than low blood sugar, but she suspected not. She felt different, somehow changed inside, and her father’s warnings niggled in the back of her mind. All the same, food might help.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of something to eat?” she asked.

“You hungry?”

“Starving. I haven’t eaten today, and it’s been sort of stressful.”

“I bet.” Sarah leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “George, isn’t there a sandwich bar on the corner down here? If you get a chance, pull over.”

Ten minutes later, Jenna bit into the chicken sandwich, a Styrofoam cup of coffee gripped between her knees. She could almost feel the energy flooding through her. Looking up, she found Sarah watching her, a smile curving her lips.

Jenna smiled back. “How come you got stuck babysitting me? Wouldn’t you rather be out catching bad guys?”

“You’re joking. The boys were fighting over this job. I got sent because Mitch didn’t want any of them to spend time with you, and he’s too busy to do it himself. Believe me, he would have if he could.”

“He would?”

“Oh, yeah. Hasn’t stopped talking about you since that night.”

“He’s your partner?”

“Yes, but strictly work-wise, and we’ve been together only a month.”

“He seems like a nice man.”

“He’s okay. He’s also single; he told me to make sure I mentioned that. But I’d never have anything to do with a cop outside work.” She smirked as she studied Jenna. “So are you in any sort of relationship?”

Jenna had a memory of lying beneath Luke last night. Heat surged at the memory, and she silently berated herself. He’d been using her, getting her to trust him, and she wouldn’t be taken in again. “Is that a police question?”

“Nah, just told the boys I’d get the gory details.” She grinned, but the smile turned to a frown as she turned to look out of the window. Jenna followed her gaze. Up ahead there was some sort of crash, and the car slowed to a crawl.

“Turn around, George.” Sarah’s tone was terse and urgent.

The car came to a halt. Jenna twisted in her seat to stare behind her. A dark van was coming up close, preventing them from turning.

“I don’t like this.” Sarah reached up and pulled a pistol from the shoulder holster beneath her jacket before turning to Jenna. “I want you to get down on the floor. Stay there until I tell you.”

Jenna didn’t move. She was staying where she could see what was going on.

“George, radio in.”

“Not working.” He glanced back at the two women. “I’ll go see what’s happening.” He climbed out and hurried toward the crash. Sarah took a cell phone out of her pocket, pressed a button, and frowned. “I’m not getting a signal. That doesn’t make sense.” Her voice held the first hint of panic.

Jenna had a flashback to the night she’d been attacked in her father’s house. The phones hadn’t worked then, either. The thought focused her mind. Fear clawed at her gut, but she forced it down. “We have to get out of here.” When she reached for the door, Sarah stopped her with a hand on her arm. “No, we should stay in the car. Nobody’s going to do anything, not in the middle of London.”

Jenna gaped at her. Was she in denial?

Something caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to look out the side window. They’d stopped by the opening to an alley. Down it, Jenna could see a vehicle parked. As she watched, it began to roll slowly toward them.

She stared, mesmerized, as the car picked up speed. It was a black suburban of some sort, and she waited for it to stop, for something to happen. Instead, it sped up, and she grabbed Sarah and pulled her head down. “Get down,” she screamed. “They’re going to crash into us.”

The next instant, the vehicle slammed into them side-on. For a moment, all was chaos; the airbags in the front exploded with a loud roar, and the air inside the car filled with thick white dust. Jenna choked then coughed, trying to clear her lungs. The car was moving sideways, groaning with the strain until it hit something solid, and the metal started to buckle. Panic flared hot and hard. They were going to be crushed, but there was no way out. The front and sides were blocked.

Finally, they stopped moving.

Beside her, Sarah bent over, coughing, still holding the gun in her hand.

“Sarah,” Jenna shouted her name, and she looked up, her face white with dust and shock, a streak of blood on her forehead running down into her eyes.

“You need to shoot out the back window. We have to get out of here.”

Sarah wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “What?”

Her teeth gritted. “The back window. Shoot it.”

Sarah shook her head as though she couldn’t understand the question. “I can’t see.”

When Jenna reached for the gun, Sarah released her hold, and Jenna pulled the pistol from her fingers and pointed it toward the back. She fiddled with the safety and aimed the gun, but before she could fire, the side door was wrenched open from outside. Hiding the gun by her side, she dropped her arm.

A man Jenna had never seen before crouched by the door. He was dark-haired with olive skin. He studied the two women, drew a pistol from his waist, and shot Sarah once through the forehead. The detective fell back, her eyes staring, instantly dead.

Jenna’s mind froze. Then she was filled with a fury so strong it cleared the fear from her mind.

“Get out,” he said.

She kept her right arm by her side as she climbed slowly out of the car. Up ahead, the crowd milled around the crash. Their driver had vanished. Had he been part of the trap?

Don’t trust the police.

The man grabbed her left shoulder and pulled her forward, toward the dark vehicle. Jenna took a deep breath and swung her right arm up, pushed the gun into his side, and squeezed the trigger.

He went rigid beside her, and she pulled her arm free, twisted out of his grasp, stepped back, and kicked him in the chest. As he collapsed to the ground, she was off and running. Somebody was behind her, but she didn’t turn, just kept going.

Something slammed into her thigh, and she stumbled. She reached her hand down—it came up wet. She’d been shot. There was no pain yet, but she could feel a numbness washing through her. It spread from her thigh, up through her body. Though she tried to keep going, her leg gave out beneath her, and she crashed to the concrete sidewalk. Her vision blurred, darkening at the edges.

A man stood over her. Jenna concentrated on his face, but her field of vision got smaller and smaller until it flickered out, and she was left in darkness.