The SUV veered to the right, shot across two lanes, glanced the side of a red Ford pickup, then bowed back to the left—into oncoming traffic from Charleston Avenue.
After being tossed against the door, Manny balanced himself and lunged over the seat to grab the wheel, his face inches from Agent Frost’s semi-decimated head. The smell of blood and a strong odor of seared flesh invaded his senses, but he had no time to dwell on that reality. They would all be tangled in twisted metal if he didn’t get complete control of the vehicle.
Agent Frost’s foot was pressing the accelerator toward the floor. His body must have stiffened in reaction to the quick-kill shot. A glance at his leg told Manny that was true. It was almost fully extended and now they were roaring west in the eastbound lane. With all of his strength, trying to work around the headrest, he pushed Frost to his right so he could get both hands on the wheel.
Frost didn’t move. Manny did it again, and this time the body gave, and he could get his right hand on the wheel too.
His eyes grew large as Sophie screamed, “Look out!” He swerved to the right as the scrape of metal on metal told him he’d just missed hitting the Buick Lacrosse head-on. But there was no time to relax as the vehicle moved even faster.
Guiding the SUV over one more lane got them going with the traffic. That bit of comfort evaporated quickly. The stoplight a couple of blocks ahead had just turned yellow.
Shit.
Leaning as far over the seat as he could, he reached for the key. But it was just out of his reach. He strained again. Same result.
Shooting a look to Agent Wilkins, he could see she was still in shock at what had happened a few seconds ago. She had to get over it, now.
“Agent Wilkins, you have to turn the engine off. I can’t reach it.”
Unmoving, she simply stared at her dead partner.
“Agent Wilkins. Move your ass NOW!” he yelled.
She blinked, shifting her eyes between Manny and Frost, and then dove over the body of her friend and switched off the engine. Manny had braced himself for the loss of power steering, but it was more difficult than he’d believed it would be. Still, he held the SUV in a tight line.
Glaring into the late afternoon sun, he saw they were less than two blocks from stopped traffic as the light had turned a bright crimson. Worse than that, they were sprinting their way toward the larger-than-life, polished rear end of a gasoline tanker.
Panic whispered in Manny’s ear.
“Kim—”
He didn’t need to tell her. She’d recovered fully.
Moving quickly, she had twisted her body so that her feet were over Frost’s, smearing blood over her jeans as she did, and reaching for the brake as she tried to kick his feet out of the way. His right foot was still blocking hers by a fraction of an inch.
By then, Sophie had reached over the front seat and was pulling on the body of Agent Frost. He heard her swear as her hand slid over his moist face. She yanked again, and then again. Finally, Agent Frost slid a few inches toward Agent Wilkins; Sophie’s effort had been enough. Agent Wilkins stretched a tad more, and he felt it as her foot connected with the brake.
The brakes had lost power, but the emergency ABS system restored some of it. The vehicle lurched and began to slow.
Slower.
Slower.
Looking up, Manny held his breath. It wasn’t going to be enough. He could swear that his life passed in front of his eyes as he made an all-or-nothing decision.
Risking everything, he let loose of the wheel, forcing himself between the door and the dead Fed and found the emergency brake pedal with his hand. His fingers closed over the cold pedal, and he pushed with all the strength he possessed. He felt the pain shoot up his shoulder as he strained against the pedal. That was it. It was all he had.
Closing his eyes, he wondered if he’d get to see his new child in this life, or whether he and Louise would be talking about other things in the next.
The screech was immediate as the SUV slid sideways. It fishtailed, hit the curb, bounced back toward the ten-wheeler, then rose up on two wheels, still careening toward the silver tank.
He opened his eyes and read the California license plate of the truck as the SUV wavered in midair, as if it were deciding the destiny of everyone in the vehicle. To Manny, that microsecond seemed like a lifetime.
Destiny, or providence, Manny wasn’t sure which, smiled on them, and the vehicle began its descent to all four wheels, scraping the large, steel bumper of the truck and landing with a thump. The SUV remained perfectly still, which is far more than Manny could say for his insides.
All Manny heard was the sound of four people breathing hard, almost in harmony, each realizing, he suspected, that they’d cheated death . . . for now.
Sitting back in the seat, he felt Sophie’s leg under his, but neither moved. He was too drained to consider it, and his shoulder hurt like hell.
Finally, turning toward Sophie and Dean, he shook his head slowly.
“I need to open a flower shop,” he said softly.
“I’m in,” said Dean, trying to catch his breath.
“Me too,” said Sophie.
“Everyone all right?” he asked, exhaling.
Agent Wilkins nodded.
“I think so,” said Dean.
“Yeah, I guess,” answered Sophie. “What the hell was that? And Dean, you can take your hands off my ass now.”
“I was just trying to help you over the seat. I couldn’t reach around you, so I did what I could,” he said, pulling his hands back from underneath her.
Manny turned toward Sophie. “I don’t know what exactly happened.”
Sophie nodded then motioned with her head.
Peering back over the seat, he watched as Agent Wilkins drew herself away from the driver’s side area, took another look at Agent Frost’s gaping wound, then brushed at the tears that came with no shame. Manny felt his heart break for both of them, but they’d have to deal with that later. Life in law enforcement had taught him that much.
Placing his hand on hers, he squeezed. She looked up at him wearing that uncompromising mask of pain—one he recognized far too well in himself but had learned to hide when necessary.
“We need to get out of the car. We can’t help him now. By the sounds of the sirens, help is on the way, and we have to get back to that intersection.”
Her eyes locked onto Manny’s as the thin smile came and went. “He was here just two weeks. Two weeks, Manny. Hadn’t even been assigned an official case yet.”
He watched as she pulled her jacket from the floor and covered his face. She then swung her door open. It creaked and opened grudgingly, but she squeezed through.
Dean and Sophie climbed out the other side as Manny opened his door to escape. He hesitated, as the blood spatter laced across the windshield demanded his attention. An old quote came back to him that had been spoken by some long-dead philosopher.
For the dead, there are no more toils.
He wasn’t sure why, but there was a certain comfort in that. Eternal rest sounded far better than eternal work.
“Rest well, agent,” he whispered then exited the vehicle.