The In Death Collection Books 26-29 - J.D. Robb [349]
“Don’t, ah, pet or pat me or anything until we’re out of here. It makes me look weenie.”
“Far be it from me.” He got behind the wheel, threaded through the opening the uniform made for him. He headed up Madison to circle the great park, and head home.
“What happened?”
“I was an idiot. Fell for it. Stupid. Goddamn it.”
“Other than that, what happened?”
“Did a search and seize on Ricker’s place, which he was expecting. Still, it had to be done. I split off after, to head home, work from there. Spotted a tail. I should’ve known. It was sloppy, obvious, and I got smug. Had my attention on the tail, and verifying the registration, start to cross at the light, and wham.”
She slapped her hands together for emphasis, and the movement had the wound on her head throbbing in double time. She hunched, and resisted poking at it since Roarke would notice.
“Then this van comes out of nowhere, laying for me. I punched it, over and up, but a vehicle like that, it doesn’t respond like the freaking wind. So he caught my rear wheels, sent me into a dive. I crash, wreck my ride. The woman behind me at the light catches my fender, sends me into another spin. I’m padded in there, but Jesus, round and round. Meanwhile, the guys—or guy and a woman—who may be white, or Hispanic, may be goddamn aliens from the planet Vulcan according to witnesses—are out and gone before I can get out of the car. The sedan’s shooting up Madison and was dumped on Eighty-sixth and Third. No wits forthcoming there, so far.”
Since he seemed to be watching traffic, she did a cautious little poke at her throbbing forehead. And, of course, pushed the throb to triple time.
“Leave it be,” Roarke said mildly.
Annoyed, embarrassed, she dropped her hand. “The van was reported stolen by some delivery company in the Bronx this morning,” she continued. “The sedan is registered to a guy in Queens, and according to his wife and his boss, he’s in Cleveland on business, and has been for two days. The vehicle was boosted from long-term parking at the transpo center in Queens.”
She slumped down in her seat. “Damn it.”
“It’s a stupid way to try to kill you,” Roarke said after a few moments.
“They weren’t trying to kill me. Just mess me up, shake me up, screw me up. Good job. But what’s the point?” She pushed up in her seat again. “Even if you mess me up, the investigation’s ongoing. We’ve got the electronics from Ricker’s. I’ve got the security discs. It’s not like we’re going to say, oooh, somebody wrecked Dallas’s ride, so we’ve got to shut down our investigation and hide.”
“Why didn’t you answer your ’link?”
“My ’link? It didn’t signal.” She dug it out of her pocket, scowled at it. “It’s dead. Must’ve gotten gunked up. Nature of the crash. The gel just exploded. Not just cushy bags, but the gunk. Everywhere.” She scratched her head and rained little specks of blue gel out of her hair. “See?”
“I’m grateful for it.”
She gave herself the indulgence of a sulk. “They’ll never put that vehicle back together. It’s the best one I’ve ever had. Now it’s trashed.”
“A worry for another day.”
He drove through the gates, stopped. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a weenie now, as I intend to pat and pet.”
“I’m really okay.”
He drew her in, held her, breathed her. “I’m not, so you’ll have to give me the next bloody minute or two.”
He turned his lips to her cheek, then touched them lightly to her injured forehead. Then found her mouth, and gave way to some of the fear.
“I’m sorry.” She cupped his face, moved him back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about you coming that way, coming in on that. Getting scared that way. I’d’ve been scared if it’d been vice versa.”
“Peabody contacted me.” He pressed his finger to her lips now before she could curse. “To assure me you were all right, not seriously hurt. She was afraid they’d flash it on the media reports, on traffic, on something, and I’d hear about it that way. She didn’t want me to worry.”
“And I didn’t think of it. Sorry again.”
“You were a little preoccupied.