The FBI Thrillers Collection(72)

“Not with the bikers still back there, we can’t. Just stay close.”

“In exactly one more minute she’s going to look back,” Dillon said.

“She’s never seen the Porsche.”

“Great. So she’ll think not only some insane bikers are after her but also a guy in a sexy red Porsche.”

“If I were her, I’d opt for you.”



Why didn’t the car pass her?

She pulled even further over toward the shoulder. Still the car didn’t pull around. There were two bloody lanes. There were no other cars around. Did the idiot want three lanes?

Then something slammed into her belly. The guy in that Porsche was after her. Who was he? He had to be connected with Quinlan—she’d bet her last dime on it.

Why hadn’t she stayed in her motel room, quiet on that nice hard bed, and counted sheep? That’s probably what James would have done, but no, she had to come out on a motorcycle after midnight.

Then she saw a small, gaping hole in the guardrail that separated the eastbound lanes from the westbound. She didn’t think, just swerved over in a tight arc and flew through that opening. There was a honk behind her from a motorist who barely missed her. He cursed at her out his window as he flew by.

There was lots of traffic going back into Philadelphia. She was safer now.

“Jesus, I can’t believe she did that,” James said, his heart pounding so loud in his chest that it hurt. “Did you see that opening? It couldn’t have been more than a foot. I’m going to have to yell at her when we catch her.”

“Well, she made it. Looked just like a pro. You told me she had grit. I’d say more likely she’s got nerves of steel or the luck of the Irish. And yeah, you’re sounding like you’re her husband again. Stop it, Quinlan. It scares me.”

“Nothing short of a howitzer firing would scare you. Pay attention now and stop analyzing everything I say. We’ll get her, Dillon; there’s a cut-through just ahead.”

It took them some time to get her back in view. She was weaving in and out of the thicker traffic going back into the city.

“Hellfire,” Quinlan said over and over, knowing that at any instant someone could cut her off, someone else wouldn’t even see her and would change lanes and crush her between two cars.

“At least she thinks she’s lost us,” Dillon said. “I wonder who she thought we were?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she guessed it was me.”

“Nah, how could that be possible?”

“It’s my gut talking to me again. Yeah, she probably knows, and that’s why she’s driving like a bat out of hell. Jesus, look out, Dillon, oh, my God! Hey, watch out, bubba!” Quinlan rolled down the window and yelled at the man again. He turned back to Dillon. “Damned Pennsylvania drivers. Now, how are we going to get her?”

“Let’s just tail her until we get an opportunity.”

“I don’t like it. Oh, shit, Dillon, the bikers are back, all four of them.”

The four bikers fanned through the traffic, coming back together when there was a break, then fanning out again.

Sally was feeling good. She was feeling smart. She’d gotten them, that jerk driving that Porsche and the four bikers. She’d gone through that opening without hesitation, and she’d done it without any problem. It was a good thing she hadn’t had time to think about it, otherwise she would have wet her pants. She was grinning, the wind hitting hard against her teeth, making them tingle. However, she was going the wrong direction.

She looked at the upcoming road sign. There was a turn onto Maitland Road half a mile ahead. She didn’t know where Maitland Road went, but from what she could see, it wove back underneath the highway. That meant a way back east.

She guided her bike over to the far right lane. A car honked, and she could have sworn she felt the heat of it as it roared past her. Never again, she thought, never again would she get on a motorcycle.

Although why not? She was a pro.

She’d driven a Honda 350, just like this one, for two years, beginning when she was sixteen. When she told her father she was moving back home, he refused to buy her the car he’d promised. The motorcycle was for the interim. She saved her money and got the red Honda, a wonderful bike. She remembered how infuriated her father had been. He’d even forbidden her to get near a motorcycle.

She’d ignored him.

He’d grounded her.

She hadn’t cared. She didn’t want to leave her mother in any case. Then he’d just shut up about it. She had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t have cared if she’d killed herself on the thing.