“Mrs. Grey is driving?”
“Yes. She is.” Ana turns onto Eighty-Fourth Avenue.
“The Dodge set off after you left. The driver was waiting in the car. We ran the plates. They’re fake. We don’t want to take any chances. Could be nothing. Or it could be something.”
“I see.” Myriad thoughts dart through my mind. Maybe this is just a coincidence. No. After everything that’s happened recently, this can’t be a coincidence. And whoever is following us could be armed. My scalp prickles with alarm. How could this have happened? Sawyer and Ryan were out there the whole time. Weren’t they? They didn’t think it odd that someone was sitting in a car? Did it follow us to my parents’ place?
“Do you want to try to lose them?” Sawyer asks.
“Yes.”
“Will Mrs. Grey be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
When has she ever let me down?
Ana is concentrating on the road ahead, but her earlier spirit has vanished and her grip on the steering wheel has tightened; she’s figured out something’s wrong. “We’re fine. Keep going,” I tell her in the most soothing tone I can muster.
Her eyes widen, and I know I’ve failed to reassure her.
Shit. I pick up the phone again. Sawyer is talking. “We haven’t been able to get a close look at the driver. The 520 is probably the best place to try. Mrs. Grey could try to lose them there, too. The Dodge is no match for the R8.”
“Okay, on the 520. As soon as we hit it.” I say.
Damn, I wish I was driving.
“We’ll be right behind the Dodge. We’ll try to come alongside it. Are you okay with this?
“Yes.”
“Do you want to put us on speaker, so Mrs. Grey can hear us?”
“I will.”
I slot the phone onto the speaker cradle.
“What’s wrong, Christian?”
“Just look where you’re going, baby,” I murmur gently. “I don’t want you to panic, but as soon as we’re on the 520 proper, I want you to step on the gas. We’re being followed.”
Ana blinks several times as she absorbs this news, and the color drains from her cheeks.
Shit.
She sits up straighter and squints into the rearview mirror, no doubt trying to identify our pursuer.
“Keep your eyes on the road, baby.” I speak softly. Calmly. I don’t want to spook Ana any more than she’s spooked already. We just need to get back to Escala as quickly as possible and lose this asshole.
“How do we know we’re being followed?” Her voice is high-pitched and breathless.
“The Dodge behind us has false license plates.”
She drives carefully across the Twenty-Eighth Street intersection, around the roundabout and up the 520 on-ramp. Traffic is light, so that’s something. Ana’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, then she takes a deep breath and abruptly seems to slow down.
Ana, what are you doing?
She’s studying the flow of traffic; suddenly she drops a gear and floors the gas so we shoot forward through a break in the traffic onto the highway. The Dodge has to slow right down to a crawl to wait for a gap to follow us.
Whoa. Ana. Clever girl!
But we’re going too fast!
“Steady, baby.” I keep my voice even, though inside my stomach is in knots. She drops her speed and starts to weave between the two lanes. Knotting my hands together, I hold them in my lap so I don’t distract her. “Good girl.” I glance behind us. “I can’t see the Dodge.”
“We’re right behind the unsub, Mr. Grey,” Sawyer’s voice says over the speaker. “He’s trying to catch up with you, sir. We’re going to try to come alongside. Put ourselves between your car and the Dodge.”
“Good. Mrs. Grey is doing well. At this rate, provided the traffic remains light, and from what I can see it is, we’ll be off the bridge in a few minutes.”
“Sir.”
We speed past the bridge control tower. We’re halfway. Ana is traveling fast, but smoothly and confidently. She’s got this. “You’re doing really well, Ana.”
“Where am I headed?”
“Mrs. Grey, head for I-5 and then south. We want to see if the Dodge follows you all the way.”
The lights on the bridge are green, thank goodness, and Ana continues at speed. “Shit.” There are cars backed up coming off the bridge. Ana slows, and I see her glance in the rearview mirror, looking for the Dodge.
“Ten or so cars back?” she says.
Staring behind us, I spot it. “Yeah, I see it. I wonder who the fuck it is?”
“Me, too. Do we know if it’s a man driving?” Ana directs her comment to my phone.
“No, Mrs. Grey. Could be a man or woman. The tint is too dark.”
“A woman?” I ask.
Ana shrugs. “Your Mrs. Robinson?”
What? No!
I’ve not heard from Elena since—well, since the wedding, when she sent that fucking text. I reach for my phone and pull it out of the cradle to mute it.
“She’s not my Mrs. Robinson,” I grumble. “I haven’t spoken to her since my birthday.”
That’s not right, Grey. I called her when I gifted her the business, but now is not the time to mention that. “Elena wouldn’t do this. It’s not her style.”
“Leila?”
“She’s in Connecticut with her parents. I told you.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. But if she’d absconded, I’m sure her folks would have let Flynn know. Let’s discuss this when we’re home. Concentrate on what you’re doing.”
“But it might just be some random car.”
“I’m not taking any risks. Not where you’re concerned.” I sound brusque, but I don’t care. Ana, as ever, is challenging. Unmuting my BlackBerry, I place it back in the speaker cradle.
The traffic starts to ease, and Ana’s able to increase her speed along the intersection.
“What if we get stopped by the cops?” she asks.
“That would be a good thing.”
“Not for my license.”
“Don’t worry about that.” The arson attempt and Charlie Tango’s sabotage are all part of a police investigation. I’m sure any police officer would be more interested in our stalker.