A Fare To Remember_ Just Whistle_Driven - Vicki Lewis Thompson [68]
Which wasn’t any safer. A dark sedan peeled away from the curb in front of the hotel, revving up to intercept. Roman grabbed Rachel by the elbow, and just as the car cut off their escape, he dragged her behind a parked delivery van. Shots rent the air and Roman pulled his gun.
“We’re sitting ducks here,” he said.
“The park,” Rachel said, panting.
Roman nodded. He headed around the back of the van and upon emerging, picked off the gunman.
Rachel didn’t have time to scream. She ignored the splash and splatter of the gunman’s blood against the white, dirt-encrusted van and instead concentrated on dashing into Central Park, where they would have the thick cover of trees to shield them. They ran past the gilded bronze statue of Sherman on his horse, past the manicured and sculpted shrubbery, into the winding paths that might give them the edge to escape the second gunman and his possible accomplices.
They stopped just inside the darkness so Roman could get his bearings.
“This way,” he directed.
They’d taken a few steps out from their cover when shots pricked at the concrete, sending shards chasing after their ankles. Roman spun and fired, ordering Rachel to dive into the trees. Just as she landed with a thud, she heard the distinctive grunt of a slug to the chest. Behind them.
Roman joined her in the trees.
“Who’s trying to kill you this time?” she asked.
With a grunt, Roman led Rachel to an opening on the other side of the foliage. They rounded a large planter blooming with fragrant flowers and stopped long enough to catch their breaths. There were no footsteps behind them. No shouts in what Rachel suddenly processed had been a foreign language. For now, they were safe.
“Domino warned me that a second sleeper group had been ordered to eliminate me,” he explained.
“To stop you from figuring out how they are getting their messages into my graphics?”
“Yours and that of other artists. I don’t think they believe we’ll ever figure out their pattern, but they want to kill me for trying. Send a message to the Agency not to fuck with them.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like that’s going to deter the U.S. government.”
“Exactly.”
Once they’d regained their ability to breathe, they doubled back. Roman estimated they’d have better luck escaping if they caught a cab near the plaza across from the hotel, since authorities would already have been alerted to the shooting. They approached with caution and stayed in the square. They saw no one lingering, no one in pursuit. Chances were high, Roman explained, that the gunmen had given up quickly rather than risk detection.
But they’d strike again at another time and place.
Remaining cautious, he ducked with her behind a semipermanent structure at the far corner of the plaza. Clearly erected for some upcoming event, the booth looked like it wouldn’t do much to keep bullets from slicing through them, but maybe if they could hold out a few minutes until the police arrived, they’d be free and clear.
“Now what?” Rachel asked.
“I’m getting you out of here.”
“Like I’m going to leave you to fend for yourself?”
Roman stared down at her, his eyebrows nearly touching, thanks to his vexed expression. “What exactly are you going to do to help me, Rachel?”
She smirked. “I don’t know, slowing you down and screaming like a girl every time a bullet whizzes past my ear can be helpful in some situations, right?”
Despite the direness of their situation, Roman chuckled as he checked his weapon. “That’s why I have to let you go, Rachel. I can’t drag you into my lifestyle.”
“More like death-style if you ask me,” she muttered.
“Exactly.”
She glanced over her shoulder and, certain they were still alone, whispered at him harshly. “These guys with the guns, they’ve seen me with you twice now, yes?”
Roman squeezed his eyes shut for a split second.
That’s all he needed to change his mind, apparently. “You win. You’re coming with me to headquarters.