“Go!” he yelled again, firing back at Turov. The man on the sidewalk was crawling toward the door where Turov hid. Police sirens sounded in the distance and Chase’s blood chilled. They had to get out of there before the police arrived. Before Turov succeeded in hitting one of them.
Turov ducked out of the door again, raising his weapon. Chase took aim, intending to drop the son of a bitch—but he was thrown back into the seat when Sophie careened into traffic suddenly. Brakes squealed and horns sounded, but she hit the pedal and the car picked up speed, accelerating away from the scene.
Chase looked back to see Turov running out into the street. The bastard wanted a clear shot so he could take out the driver—
“Turn, now,” Chase ordered as Turov’s arm came up.
“It’s a one-way street—”
“Turn, goddammit it!”
28
Sophie’s heart felt like it was going to burst from her chest, but she whipped the car into oncoming traffic and prayed they didn’t crash. Drivers laid on horns, but they swerved out of the way. She kept going down the street, saying, “Sorry, so sorry, oh my God,” the whole way.
“Turn here,” Chase ordered.
She cranked the wheel, turning the car to the right and onto a street where they were now going in the right direction. Her heart still hadn’t slowed, however. The window beside his head was shattered, a big gaping hole with jagged glass hanging from it.
And then there was the bullet hole in the windshield. It had come in at an angle and passed low, but it was almost perfectly in front of her. If that had hit her… Oh God.
“Pull over.”
“Are you crazy? We have to keep going.”
“Turov is on foot, the police are coming, and even if he did get to his car, he’s facing the opposite direction. It won’t take long for us to switch places.”
Sophie swallowed the knot in her throat. Her hands were shaking and her heart thrumming—maybe it was better if she let him drive. She found a spot and pulled over. Her legs were rubber as she got out of the car and ran around to get in the passenger seat.
“Watch the glass,” Chase ordered as she pulled the door closed.
She snatched at the seat belt, buckling it in place while Chase did the same. And then they were accelerating down the street, whipping through traffic at a breakneck pace. They hit a roundabout, spinning through it and out the other side while Sophie clung to the door handle.
“We have to get rid of the car,” Chase said.
“Okay.” As if she would argue that.
He glanced at her, and she realized he was talking to his guy on the other end of the line. “Can Hawk get me something else? Or do I need to borrow a car?”
She didn’t like the way he said borrow. Clearly it was a loose term meaning he would have to steal a car. She hoped he didn’t. It was bad enough she’d performed a hit-and-run on someone else’s bumper. Crossing over into grand theft auto was just a bit much.
Sophie spied the padded envelope on the floor and snatched it up. When she turned it over, relief coursed through her at the familiar handwriting. Chase shot her a grin as she clutched it to her chest.
“Told you,” he mouthed.
“Thanks,” she mouthed back.
He’d done it. He’d gotten her to Paris, retrieved the package, and they were still in one piece. But it wasn’t over yet. She knew that much. First they had to get to the safe house, and then they had to hope there was information they could use on the flash drive. Information that would stop Grigori from harming anyone else.
“Copy that,” Chase said. “Heading for the rendezvous point now. Will send over the information as soon as we reach shelter.”
IT TOOK about two hours to reach the safe house in Montmartre. First, they had to ditch the car, which they’d done in a garage in the financial district. The garage attendant hadn’t even blinked an eye when they’d driven inside. Obviously on Hawk’s payroll, or at least paid well enough to turn a blind eye when the time came.
A BMW had been waiting for them. Chase transferred all their gear to it in a flash, wiped down the Audi for prints, and then jumped into the Bimmer and took off. He’d taken a circuitous route across Paris, always looking in the rearview for pursuers. But there were none, and he’d finally started to relax. He found the new building, parked the car on the street because that’s all that was available, and then he and Sophie took everything into the building.
This apartment was on the top floor too, but there was no elevator, only five floors of narrow stairs. This place was smaller than the last, mustier, which meant it wasn’t used often. It was a studio with a kitchenette, a small bed, and a balcony. Unlike the last place, it lacked an exciting view even though it was on a quiet street.