"Pierce will pick up my motorcycle here tomorrow and park it in his garage for a while." Nick started her car, maneuvered through the underground parking garage and drove onto the street. He made several turns and watched in the rearview mirror.
"Are we being followed?" She twisted around to peer through the back window. Despite the warmth of the night, cold seeped into her bones.
"Not that I can tell."
On a one-way street, they neared an intersection and an amber light. Nick pumped the brakes. "Shit!"
"What's wrong?" she asked, alarm chilling her.
The light changed to red. He floored the accelerator, squealing the tires. They flew through the intersection.
"No brakes!"
Chapter Five
"Oh my god! What happened to the brakes?" Emily yelled, terrified Nick might not be able to stop her car.
"How the hell should I know?" he snapped.
She dug her fingernails into the edges of her seat and peered at the string of cars blocking the intersection straight ahead. Nausea surged through her. "How are you going to stop before we crash into them?"
Nick yanked up the parking brake.
The car didn't slow down. Oh shit! She closed her eyes and braced for impact.
"I'll do a one-eighty. Hold on!" He jerked the steering wheel sharply to the left. The tires screamed. Emily's head thumped against the passenger window. Pain spiked through her skull.
The lights outside spun and blurred. The car's engine whined, horns honked and a siren blared.
"Nick!" she yelled.
The car jolted to a halt halfway on the sidewalk.
Pedestrians scattered and a patrol car slid in front of them, blinding her with flashing blue lights.
"Em. You okay?" Nick took her face between his warm hands. He frowned, his darkened eyes concerned.
Though she wanted to savor the comforting way he touched her, pain radiated from the lump on her head. "I'm alive. But my head got thwacked good."
"Let me see." He turned her head and pressed his fingers gently over the bump. "Hell, I'm sorry. I'll take you to the hospital."
* * * *
An hour later, a paramedic had checked Emily's head and determined she didn't have a concussion. Only a sore, swollen lump remained. Nick had stood nearby, talking to police officers about what had happened in the near crash. She'd taken an ibuprofen and now felt fine, physically. Mentally, not so much. They could've died. Someone had followed her from Savannah to Atlanta, sabotaged her car, and that same someone had probably murdered Jared.
Nick approached where she sat in the passenger seat of a police car, opened the door and leaned in. "You okay? How does your head feel?"
Taking in his worried frown, she forced a faint smile, hoping to ease his mind. "It's fine." She couldn't really blame him for the bump on the head. He'd had to stop the car any way possible or they could've been hurt much worse.
"We'll lay low in a hotel for the night while they determine what the hell's going on."
"What about my car?" She hoped it wasn't damaged beyond repair.
"They have to check it over for prints, then Pierce will take it to a repair shop. We'll need a different car to get out of town. Someone's following you and trying to kill you. Plus, we don't know yet if my cover's blown."
A renewed chill coiled down her spine at all the dangers they might face. She was relieved Nick was here to help her. "Thanks."
"No need to thank me," he said in a quiet tone. "Come on." He held out his hand. Though she didn't need to be helped from the car or escorted, she took his hand…simply because she liked touching him. He was always so warm and strong. Comforting in one way, disturbing in another.
Once at the hotel, Pierce accompanied them up to the room. He and Nick communicated with a minimum of words and one could probably tell what the other was thinking based on near imperceptible body language and facial expressions. She was certain this came from years of being partners in dangerous situations.
Two uniformed police officers followed them. She felt like a star witness with so many guards. But she knew they were mainly protecting Nick, a highly skilled, respected and valued undercover officer.
"We use this hotel because it already has a lot of security in place." Nick slid the key card into the slot and opened the door.
"Wait here with her while I check it out," Pierce said. Drawing a semiautomatic handgun, he stepped into the room. Nick gripped a similar weapon—stainless-steel and deadly. A shiver coursed down her spine.
Moments later, Pierce returned. "All clear."
Nick motioned her into the swanky hotel room carpeted in thick brown Berber. In the middle of the room, she halted, staring at the one king-sized, four-poster bed. And this wasn't a suite, though it did contain a nice sofa, chair, cherry dresser, chest and tables. But one bed…