Victor Kane’s voice filled Ethan Cole’s car as headlights swallowed the rear window.
“Give me the girl and the folder, Mr.
Cole.”
Ethan pressed a button on the steering wheel.
A small red symbol appeared on the dashboard.
The call was recording.
He kept his eyes on the rain-slicked road.
“Mr.
Kane, are you instructing me to surrender a distressed woman who has requested police assistance?”
Victor paused.
He had expected fear, not precise language.
“She is confused,” he said.
“She stole confidential documents and attacked me inside a private residence.”
My bleeding ankle throbbed against the floor mat.
I could still feel Victor’s fingers around my wrist and hear Marissa telling the guests that I was having an episode.
Ethan glanced at the blue folder inside the evidence bag.
“Then you can make that statement to the police.”
The pursuing SUV surged closer.
“You do not understand who you’re interfering with,” Victor said.
“Actually,” Ethan replied, “understanding your business is why my firm was hired.”
The line went dead.
A second later, the SUV struck our rear bumper.
My body snapped forward against the seat belt.
Ethan corrected the skid before the sedan crossed into oncoming traffic.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No.”
It was not entirely true, but terror had become strangely organized inside me.
Each new threat seemed to prove that the documents mattered more than I had realized.
Ethan called emergency dispatch, gave our location, and described the vehicle pursuing us.
Then he told me to open the glove compartment.
Inside was a compact first-aid kit.
As I pressed gauze against my ankle, he asked the question that had been sitting between us.
“How did your folder get into my car?”
“I don’t know.
I hid it inside my suitcase this afternoon.”
“Who could access the suitcase?”
“Marissa.
Her housekeeper.
Security.”
“Anyone loyal to you?”
I thought of the board member who had quietly opened the front door while everyone else watched me run.
“Daniel Mercer,” I said.
“My father’s oldest friend.
He was at the party.”
Ethan nodded once, as if filing the name away.
Blue lights appeared ahead.
The pursuing SUV braked hard, turned down a side street, and vanished between two office buildings.
Ethan pulled into the police station parking lot.
Before we reached the entrance, my confiscated phone began ringing from the cup holder beside him.
I stared at it.
“That is mine.”
“It was on the passenger floor when you got in.”
Marissa’s name glowed across the screen.
Ethan activated the speaker and recording.
“Where are you?” she demanded.
