Chapter Seventeen: Eggs in a Basket
Alex's palms were scratched and bleeding slightly from the roughness of the brick as she lowered herself down the fire escape.
She barely felt it.
Her body moved instinctively, breathing hard and even, in and out, as she wrapped fingers around the iron and manipulated her body, twisting like the gymnast she was to get a grip on the rung below it.
The Sunset hospital had ten floors.
It took Alex less than thirty seconds to hit the ground, stilettos causing a jarring jolt up her heel that she didn't register, before she carefully slinked against the brick.
Her car, (or, in this case, Anthony's car) an escape that was only across the street, was blocked by scads of reporters and cops milling about.
Closing her eyes, she took a breath, carefully wiping the blood on her hands away on the inside of her shirt, combing through her hair as best she could.
From her pocket, she removed a pair of glasses, a tube of lipstick, and her set of keys.
It was fine. Alex wasn't worried.
It was simply a matter of walking through.
Biting her lip in anticipation, Alex allowed one precious second to scan the crowd.
On the fringe of the chaos, a bored looking reporter was making his way to her end of the building, digging in his pockets for what she guessed could have been a cigarette.
She smirked. "Like I tell Dylan, those things will kill you," she whispered matter-of-factly.
The young man smiled, presumably finding his pack.
He never got a chance to reach for them. In two seconds she had pulled him into the alley, slammed him against the wall, and wrapped an able palm around his throat.
"Jacob Wriley? ABC News?" His response a startled nod. Alex grimaced. "I'm very sorry about this."
With a prim smile, Alex gave a swift squeeze, twisting her fingers carefully and quickly.
As he slumped to the floor, Alex removed the microphone and pressbadge, patting the unconscious man gratefully on the head before stepping out.
Entering the swarm of reporters, she held her microphone deftly, barking orders to her imaginary cameraman, moving swiftly, shouldering past cops and reporters alike.
Mary Briggs pushed her way outside, a flood of uniformed officers following her, guns drawn. The sharp-eyed woman spotted her in less than five seconds, just as Alex was ten feet from the car.
With a shout and a grin, Mary began to point, moving with the cops in her direction.
"Look!" Alex shouted, flapping her arms in commotion. "Mary Briggs! Ms. Briggs! Some questions!" She rushed forward, and like lemmings, the reporters followed.
Mary's steps faltered, looking almost wild-eyed as the pack of reporters converged, shoving microphones in her face, and effectively blocking her path.
Ha.
With a smile and a wave, Alex dropped the microphone, jogging as well as she could the last few steps to Anthony's black convertible, popping the handle, and sliding inside.
"MOVE!" Mary barked. "Get out of my way - YOU STEPPED ON MY FOOT!"
Slamming down on the clutch, Alex twisted the car ignition. The engine sputtered into a wonderfully oiled purr.
With a grim smile, she glanced back, and then forward.
Her nemesis was now waving her gun almost maniacally.
Alex winked, blew her an air kiss, and jerked the wheel.
Mary only had time to skid back when the car veered dangerously in her direction, and sped down the street.
The reporters now scattered, each moving to their vans, screeching into the microphones, cameramen hobbling to catch up.
In the chaos, Mary's face was a myriad of rage and fear.
"God, this isn't good," she whispered. Taking in a breath, she spoke louder, tone almost singsong as she slid her gun back into her blazer, bitter twang on her drawl. "Let's go boys, we got ourselves a chase."
--
Bosley was tired of being the only one showing up for work.
Like the wishful thinking sap that he was, every day he opened the office, spruced up, duds on, waiting on the edge of the desk for that eight o'clock call from Charlie.
For the past couple days, he had been waiting alone.
It wasn't that Bosley wasn't used to the girls not showing up. Sometimes on their cases, they had to miss a meeting or two, cause of being in China, or Mongolia, or being stuck at the bottom of a bottomless pit somewhere. Bosley wasn't going to fault them that.
But God-Dangit - this was a place of business!
You didn't just go running out on your job because you were wanted by the law!
"Shit," Bosley said, grumbling as he sank further in his seat. "I've been wanted by the law hundreds of time, you don't see me running away like some scared little ferret!"
Charlie's call had come and gone without event. Bosley had felt slightly bad about telling him that there was no news, but the old boy seemed chipper as ever.
"That's alright, Bosley," he said warmly. "Just let me know if there's any change in the situation."
"Sure will, sir," Bosley said dutifully. "I'll track those skinny crazy girls all the way to Russia if I have to."
The rest of the afternoon had been spent watching ESPN on the big LCD screen.
Of course, Bosley had managed to put on the closed captioning and had spent the last hour and a half trying to figure out how to turn it off.
Instead he managed to have the thing start talking in Spanish, too.
"Blasted piece of shi-"
The phone rang, making an already jumpy Bosley nearly fly off the leather seat. Slipping over the edge, he felt the rump go, barely managing to catch himself before he fell to the floor.
"God-dammit!" he groused, heaving himself up and floundering for the phone. Finally getting his fingers over it, he forgot the nice, polite greeting he normally used in favor of, "Whatchoo want?"
"Bosley!"
The shock that came from hearing the unexpected caller made him lose his grip, and Bosley fell out of the seat altogether.
"WOAH!"
"Bosley?! Are you okay?"
Scrambling up, Bosley somehow managed to keep his grip on the phone, slamming it against his ear.
"DYLAN?!"
"Hey, Bos."
"Don't you 'Hey Bos' me, girl! Where the hell have you been?"
The voice hesitated. "Well, it's kind of a long story."
"I got the time."
"I don't," Dylan said quickly. "Bos, we need a favor."
Bosley bristled, plucking at his tie as he growled back, "Oh, no, girl. You don't get to do that. You don't run off and start acting all renegade and then just call me up and ask me-"
"Bosley."
"What?"
The sweetest little twang came from her voice as it lilted up slightly. "Please?"
Damn.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
His resistance fell faster than a wet tissue.
With a bittersweet sigh, Bosley closed his eyes and wished he had something better to do that listen to Angels in his head.
"Fine."
--
Natalie's abs definitely needed more exercise.
Making a mental note, she grit her teeth, keeping her stomach tight as she lowered her body, hair now swinging down below her while her legs curled around the beam.
The blood rushing to her head was slightly uncomfortable, but she was still able to focus, as she glanced at the landing below her and quickly twisted herself up, tugging to make sure the anchor held.
Criss-crossing her legs over the rope, she finally let go, sliding down, and then gritting her teeth, ignoring the burn of the rope against her palms as she stopped just as the long blonde strands of hair were painting the floor.
Blowing out a relieved sigh, she dropped, rolling into a ball to absorb the impact and coming up easily.
The area she had entered was empty, but Nat wasn't taking chances.
Ducking back into the shadows, she carefully tapped at her molar mike, whispering carefully, "I'm free."
Dylan didn't answer. More than likely she was still occupied. She wasn't inside yet. There was nothing to worry about.
But Natalie wouldn't feel completely at ease until this was all over with, even if she didn't want to know how it would all end.
Static in her ear made her wince, and she gasped as she crouched, reaching a finger to her ear.
"God!"
"Natalie?!"
The tinny voice that barely managed to come through was Alex. At least Natalie thought so. The noise behind her friend's gravely tone seemed to be a loud cacophony of sirens, shouts, and honks.
"Alex?"
"Hey." Alex's tone was breathless, strained. "Just... uh... wanted to let you know I might be a little late to the festivities."
"What's going on?"
"Your standard car chase," Alex answered hurriedly.
"Are you serious?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm serious - hold on-" A loud screech was heard, along with some sorts of shouts, and Alex came back. "Sorry about that."
"Alex, please don't die today."
"Please. At this rate I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Just be here alive."
"I don't plan on dying," Alex snorted. Natalie shook her head, leaning against the wall to gather herself. As if anything else could go wrong. "I could use a little back up, though - get me out of this?"
Her eyes snapped open, and her mouth twisted into a smirk.
"We're already on it, babe."
--
So far only NBC, CBS and FOX had managed to pick up on the car chase. Mary had ordered a clear airspace, but the damned helicopters were coming as close as they could.
Sitting in the passenger seat, she found herself battling her captain on the phone, barking at him as the flustered detective beside her lurched, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Will you watch it?!"
"She's like - a maniac!"
"Yes, well - it takes one to know one." Shutting the phone with a clip, she shoved on her seat belt, eyes now on the narrow blur of the black car that was weaving expertly through traffic.
So now she was a race car driver too? What the hell? Was there anything these bitches weren't able to do?
"I hate them," she muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"Shut up and drive," she snapped.
This was just peachy. Chances are - Alex would get away, and she would lose them again, and she was just getting tired. She wasn't up to doing this ten times a day.
These girls were like Energizer Bunnies.
Her phone vibrated on her hip, and without a second's hesitation, she unclipped it and pressed it to her ear. "Briggs." The caller was quick, concise. Her eyes flew open. "Are you sure?" He responded in the affirmative.
Mary licked her lips. "Holy shit."
"What?"
"Shut up and keep driving," she snapped. The detective narrowed his eyes, but looked back toward the road.
Mary shut off the phone, sinking further into the passenger seat as her eyes followed the black car as it swerved in and out, getting farther and farther away by the second.
"I'll be damned..." she whispered.
It was perfect. It was just perfect.
Every little stress pick that had been sticking her in the head, and the arm, and every other part of her body, could be done away with in one, simple move.
It'd be like it never happened.
Except, she just might come out of it with not only her career intact, but another commendation.
Hell, yeah.
Opening her phone, she deliberately dialed numbers, listening to the ring with a satisfying warm feeling in her stomach that made her think of hot chocolate.
When he picked up, she had nothing else to say to him, but, "Marlin, they're all going Irish."
He knew what she meant.
"Who's Marlin?" the detective asked curiously.
"Shut up and drive," she snapped automatically. Her mind caught up with her, and with a lazy smile, she said, "Actually, take that exit there. I feel like stopping at Starbucks, don't you?"
--
Bosley's telltale nervous exhale made Dylan smile.
"Well," he said shakily. "I did it."
Dylan's sigh rattled her ribs. She kept her head against the crate, body relaxed, if only for the moment. "You're the best, Bos."
"I hope you ladies know what we're doing."
Her eyes opened. Wincing, she grabbed hold of the crate and pulled herself up, glancing over the top to see the guard standing near the boat.
"I know we know what we're doing," she said matter-of-factly. "We'll see you soon, Bos."
"You better."
"Love you," she answered. "Gotta go."
She cut off his rambling, "Crazy ass white girls-" speech in favor of placing her phone into the pocket of her jeans. Tapping twice at her cheek, she found the connection, opening it up as the molar mike kicked in.
"Poetry in motion," she said quickly. "How's the limericks?"
--
The cargo area was one of the most heavily guarded.
Natalie was sweating, arms shaking from exertion, but she kept her movement still, hands still pushing hard against the boxes, watching the men as they filed past right under her.
She waited until they turned the corner, and silently dropped down.
Wiping back the bangs, she glanced around, shimmying down the small walkway between cargo.
"Jack be nimble," she whispered firmly, maneuvering a free plan into her hand with a twist of her foot and a deft catch. "I'll be watching."
--
Gritting her teeth, Alex jerked the wheel in a hard right, tasting the burn of the tires as the gravel spit up at the car, trinkling dangerously down the windshield.
Still, it was enough to clip into the police car directly behind her, tipping it over her, and rolling into the camper right before her.
There was a loud crash, and she had to jerk the wheel again to avoid hitting the collision, but she managed only a minor dent and now there were only two cars behind her.
"Jack be quick," she said with a grim smile. "I'll be there."
Her voice was almost drowned out by sirens.
--
Poetry in Motion.
Dylan felt her heart beat slow down. She never realized it was beating as fast as it was until she felt the shift, a thump in her rib cage that made her bite her lip, closer her eyes for a half a second.
Anthony was in there, with Seamus.
Natalie and Alex were sure taking a hell of a lot on faith.
Swallowing hard, she made her choice. She wouldn't disappoint them.
With a ragged breath, she answered, "Jack jumped over the candlestick. I'll see you on the inside."
With two taps, she cut off the molar mike.
She couldn't do this hearing the sirens, feeling Natalie's heavy breath in her ear.
She had to do it alone.
Biting down on her lower lip, she jerked her arm behind her back, slipping the weapon free.
It was black and smooth, sleek.
Charlie had mandated after Madison Lee that Angels were never to use guns unless absolutely necessary - which should have been never. There was always another way.
She had never questioned him before, and had vowed never to, after Madison.
Gently, she placed the gun on the ground, moving her palm away from it.
With effort, she moved her gaze from it, forcing her concentration instead on the boat.
Anthony.
She couldn't do it.
Dropping to the ground, she closed her fingers over the gun, hating herself for her weakness.
Pushing it into the holster on her back, she let her shirt cover it, and rose from her haunches.
Natalie had snuck in using terror as her weapon. Alex was more or less going to blast her way in.
Dylan had a simpler approach.
She was walking right in.
One foot in front of the other, she pasted a gorgeous smirk of a smile on her face as the guard finally spotted her.
He froze, unsure of what to think of her striding up to casually. By the time he figured he should react, she already had her fist in his face.
He crashed to the ground.
Already used to this type of entrance, another had a gun pressed to her back before she had a chance to turn.
It didn't bother her.
Seamus would want to kill her herself.
Turning around slowly, she kept her arms up and out of the way as she asked simply, "You going to let me in?"
He regarded her, eyes roving up and down, before motioning with a jerk of the gun to the doorway.
With a small, polite nod, Dylan made her way up to the open hatch, stepping and disappearing in the darkness.
--
Okay, she would admit it.
This was a tiny bit stressful.
Alex was sweating, and more than ever she wished for driving gloves as she slammed the clutch and shifted the gear, eyes flipping from the rear view mirror to the chaos of the maze that was right before her.
With a twist, she zipped between a volkswagon and a Mercedes, winking at the staring business man on the cell phone before nearly cutting him off.
Behind her, sirens kept blaring, warning cars ahead of her that she was coming.
That really sucked, because it slowed them down and made her job that much harder.
With a ragged sigh, she saw her chance to lose another two.
Okay...
One deep breath in , and she slammed the breaks, arms aching against the strain as the car swiveled, dangerously close to running out of control.
The cars, now suddenly faced with a game of chicken, freaked out, swerving on either side of her - one toppling into the oncoming traffic lane, and another over the curb and into the embankment.
Heh.
Alex smiled, shifting gears and getting back into the fast lane, free for at least a few minutes.
Looking down at the radio, something caught her attention.
She grit her teeth, wanting more than anything to wipe the sweat off her brow, heart pounding erratically.
"What the hell," she muttered. "When in Rome..."
She pressed play.
Frank Sinatra crooned his way into the car, and this time, Alex found herself smiling, bobbing her head to the music as she swerved side ways to avoid a truck and nearly collided with a Jetta, who honked angrily.
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars...
--
From this angle, he looked pathetic.
Thin form was slumped, hunched over, head down, chin against his chest.
The black suit, eloquent and expensive, was marred with blotches of a dark color that was indistinguishable against the suit.
The shadows played starkly against his sharp features, making him look like some sort of vampire.
Bangs fell forward, free of the gell that he liked so much.
And dripping from his nose, over his chin, and splashing messily on the floor, were red trickles of blood.
Seamus regarded him.
He was a fascinating man. The Thin Man refused to look up, merely raised the smoking cigarette to his lips, biting down and taking a long, shaky drag.
When he brought down the cigarette, the tip of it, and his fingers were painted blood red.
He smirked, chuckling slightly.
"Gotta admit," he found himself saying sincerely. "Even if ya are a murderin' bastard, I kinda like ya."
He didn't respond. Then again, he never did. Trying to control the man was like trying to control a snake.
Maybe that's why it was so much fun.
"I'm a regular snake charmer, I am," Seamus muttered.
A motion from a sailor caught his attention, and he wasn't ashamed to say, his heart skipped a beat just slightly.
He had waited years for this.
As he passed the Thin Man, he pushed at the back of his head companionably.
Anthony never regarded him.
Seamus didn't care.
He was almost giddy.
"'Bout time she made it," he said with a drawl. "I was beginnin' ta think she had missed the invitation."
With long, powerful strides, he moved toward the doors.
--
end chapter
Alex's palms were scratched and bleeding slightly from the roughness of the brick as she lowered herself down the fire escape.
She barely felt it.
Her body moved instinctively, breathing hard and even, in and out, as she wrapped fingers around the iron and manipulated her body, twisting like the gymnast she was to get a grip on the rung below it.
The Sunset hospital had ten floors.
It took Alex less than thirty seconds to hit the ground, stilettos causing a jarring jolt up her heel that she didn't register, before she carefully slinked against the brick.
Her car, (or, in this case, Anthony's car) an escape that was only across the street, was blocked by scads of reporters and cops milling about.
Closing her eyes, she took a breath, carefully wiping the blood on her hands away on the inside of her shirt, combing through her hair as best she could.
From her pocket, she removed a pair of glasses, a tube of lipstick, and her set of keys.
It was fine. Alex wasn't worried.
It was simply a matter of walking through.
Biting her lip in anticipation, Alex allowed one precious second to scan the crowd.
On the fringe of the chaos, a bored looking reporter was making his way to her end of the building, digging in his pockets for what she guessed could have been a cigarette.
She smirked. "Like I tell Dylan, those things will kill you," she whispered matter-of-factly.
The young man smiled, presumably finding his pack.
He never got a chance to reach for them. In two seconds she had pulled him into the alley, slammed him against the wall, and wrapped an able palm around his throat.
"Jacob Wriley? ABC News?" His response a startled nod. Alex grimaced. "I'm very sorry about this."
With a prim smile, Alex gave a swift squeeze, twisting her fingers carefully and quickly.
As he slumped to the floor, Alex removed the microphone and pressbadge, patting the unconscious man gratefully on the head before stepping out.
Entering the swarm of reporters, she held her microphone deftly, barking orders to her imaginary cameraman, moving swiftly, shouldering past cops and reporters alike.
Mary Briggs pushed her way outside, a flood of uniformed officers following her, guns drawn. The sharp-eyed woman spotted her in less than five seconds, just as Alex was ten feet from the car.
With a shout and a grin, Mary began to point, moving with the cops in her direction.
"Look!" Alex shouted, flapping her arms in commotion. "Mary Briggs! Ms. Briggs! Some questions!" She rushed forward, and like lemmings, the reporters followed.
Mary's steps faltered, looking almost wild-eyed as the pack of reporters converged, shoving microphones in her face, and effectively blocking her path.
Ha.
With a smile and a wave, Alex dropped the microphone, jogging as well as she could the last few steps to Anthony's black convertible, popping the handle, and sliding inside.
"MOVE!" Mary barked. "Get out of my way - YOU STEPPED ON MY FOOT!"
Slamming down on the clutch, Alex twisted the car ignition. The engine sputtered into a wonderfully oiled purr.
With a grim smile, she glanced back, and then forward.
Her nemesis was now waving her gun almost maniacally.
Alex winked, blew her an air kiss, and jerked the wheel.
Mary only had time to skid back when the car veered dangerously in her direction, and sped down the street.
The reporters now scattered, each moving to their vans, screeching into the microphones, cameramen hobbling to catch up.
In the chaos, Mary's face was a myriad of rage and fear.
"God, this isn't good," she whispered. Taking in a breath, she spoke louder, tone almost singsong as she slid her gun back into her blazer, bitter twang on her drawl. "Let's go boys, we got ourselves a chase."
--
Bosley was tired of being the only one showing up for work.
Like the wishful thinking sap that he was, every day he opened the office, spruced up, duds on, waiting on the edge of the desk for that eight o'clock call from Charlie.
For the past couple days, he had been waiting alone.
It wasn't that Bosley wasn't used to the girls not showing up. Sometimes on their cases, they had to miss a meeting or two, cause of being in China, or Mongolia, or being stuck at the bottom of a bottomless pit somewhere. Bosley wasn't going to fault them that.
But God-Dangit - this was a place of business!
You didn't just go running out on your job because you were wanted by the law!
"Shit," Bosley said, grumbling as he sank further in his seat. "I've been wanted by the law hundreds of time, you don't see me running away like some scared little ferret!"
Charlie's call had come and gone without event. Bosley had felt slightly bad about telling him that there was no news, but the old boy seemed chipper as ever.
"That's alright, Bosley," he said warmly. "Just let me know if there's any change in the situation."
"Sure will, sir," Bosley said dutifully. "I'll track those skinny crazy girls all the way to Russia if I have to."
The rest of the afternoon had been spent watching ESPN on the big LCD screen.
Of course, Bosley had managed to put on the closed captioning and had spent the last hour and a half trying to figure out how to turn it off.
Instead he managed to have the thing start talking in Spanish, too.
"Blasted piece of shi-"
The phone rang, making an already jumpy Bosley nearly fly off the leather seat. Slipping over the edge, he felt the rump go, barely managing to catch himself before he fell to the floor.
"God-dammit!" he groused, heaving himself up and floundering for the phone. Finally getting his fingers over it, he forgot the nice, polite greeting he normally used in favor of, "Whatchoo want?"
"Bosley!"
The shock that came from hearing the unexpected caller made him lose his grip, and Bosley fell out of the seat altogether.
"WOAH!"
"Bosley?! Are you okay?"
Scrambling up, Bosley somehow managed to keep his grip on the phone, slamming it against his ear.
"DYLAN?!"
"Hey, Bos."
"Don't you 'Hey Bos' me, girl! Where the hell have you been?"
The voice hesitated. "Well, it's kind of a long story."
"I got the time."
"I don't," Dylan said quickly. "Bos, we need a favor."
Bosley bristled, plucking at his tie as he growled back, "Oh, no, girl. You don't get to do that. You don't run off and start acting all renegade and then just call me up and ask me-"
"Bosley."
"What?"
The sweetest little twang came from her voice as it lilted up slightly. "Please?"
Damn.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
His resistance fell faster than a wet tissue.
With a bittersweet sigh, Bosley closed his eyes and wished he had something better to do that listen to Angels in his head.
"Fine."
--
Natalie's abs definitely needed more exercise.
Making a mental note, she grit her teeth, keeping her stomach tight as she lowered her body, hair now swinging down below her while her legs curled around the beam.
The blood rushing to her head was slightly uncomfortable, but she was still able to focus, as she glanced at the landing below her and quickly twisted herself up, tugging to make sure the anchor held.
Criss-crossing her legs over the rope, she finally let go, sliding down, and then gritting her teeth, ignoring the burn of the rope against her palms as she stopped just as the long blonde strands of hair were painting the floor.
Blowing out a relieved sigh, she dropped, rolling into a ball to absorb the impact and coming up easily.
The area she had entered was empty, but Nat wasn't taking chances.
Ducking back into the shadows, she carefully tapped at her molar mike, whispering carefully, "I'm free."
Dylan didn't answer. More than likely she was still occupied. She wasn't inside yet. There was nothing to worry about.
But Natalie wouldn't feel completely at ease until this was all over with, even if she didn't want to know how it would all end.
Static in her ear made her wince, and she gasped as she crouched, reaching a finger to her ear.
"God!"
"Natalie?!"
The tinny voice that barely managed to come through was Alex. At least Natalie thought so. The noise behind her friend's gravely tone seemed to be a loud cacophony of sirens, shouts, and honks.
"Alex?"
"Hey." Alex's tone was breathless, strained. "Just... uh... wanted to let you know I might be a little late to the festivities."
"What's going on?"
"Your standard car chase," Alex answered hurriedly.
"Are you serious?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm serious - hold on-" A loud screech was heard, along with some sorts of shouts, and Alex came back. "Sorry about that."
"Alex, please don't die today."
"Please. At this rate I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Just be here alive."
"I don't plan on dying," Alex snorted. Natalie shook her head, leaning against the wall to gather herself. As if anything else could go wrong. "I could use a little back up, though - get me out of this?"
Her eyes snapped open, and her mouth twisted into a smirk.
"We're already on it, babe."
--
So far only NBC, CBS and FOX had managed to pick up on the car chase. Mary had ordered a clear airspace, but the damned helicopters were coming as close as they could.
Sitting in the passenger seat, she found herself battling her captain on the phone, barking at him as the flustered detective beside her lurched, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Will you watch it?!"
"She's like - a maniac!"
"Yes, well - it takes one to know one." Shutting the phone with a clip, she shoved on her seat belt, eyes now on the narrow blur of the black car that was weaving expertly through traffic.
So now she was a race car driver too? What the hell? Was there anything these bitches weren't able to do?
"I hate them," she muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"Shut up and drive," she snapped.
This was just peachy. Chances are - Alex would get away, and she would lose them again, and she was just getting tired. She wasn't up to doing this ten times a day.
These girls were like Energizer Bunnies.
Her phone vibrated on her hip, and without a second's hesitation, she unclipped it and pressed it to her ear. "Briggs." The caller was quick, concise. Her eyes flew open. "Are you sure?" He responded in the affirmative.
Mary licked her lips. "Holy shit."
"What?"
"Shut up and keep driving," she snapped. The detective narrowed his eyes, but looked back toward the road.
Mary shut off the phone, sinking further into the passenger seat as her eyes followed the black car as it swerved in and out, getting farther and farther away by the second.
"I'll be damned..." she whispered.
It was perfect. It was just perfect.
Every little stress pick that had been sticking her in the head, and the arm, and every other part of her body, could be done away with in one, simple move.
It'd be like it never happened.
Except, she just might come out of it with not only her career intact, but another commendation.
Hell, yeah.
Opening her phone, she deliberately dialed numbers, listening to the ring with a satisfying warm feeling in her stomach that made her think of hot chocolate.
When he picked up, she had nothing else to say to him, but, "Marlin, they're all going Irish."
He knew what she meant.
"Who's Marlin?" the detective asked curiously.
"Shut up and drive," she snapped automatically. Her mind caught up with her, and with a lazy smile, she said, "Actually, take that exit there. I feel like stopping at Starbucks, don't you?"
--
Bosley's telltale nervous exhale made Dylan smile.
"Well," he said shakily. "I did it."
Dylan's sigh rattled her ribs. She kept her head against the crate, body relaxed, if only for the moment. "You're the best, Bos."
"I hope you ladies know what we're doing."
Her eyes opened. Wincing, she grabbed hold of the crate and pulled herself up, glancing over the top to see the guard standing near the boat.
"I know we know what we're doing," she said matter-of-factly. "We'll see you soon, Bos."
"You better."
"Love you," she answered. "Gotta go."
She cut off his rambling, "Crazy ass white girls-" speech in favor of placing her phone into the pocket of her jeans. Tapping twice at her cheek, she found the connection, opening it up as the molar mike kicked in.
"Poetry in motion," she said quickly. "How's the limericks?"
--
The cargo area was one of the most heavily guarded.
Natalie was sweating, arms shaking from exertion, but she kept her movement still, hands still pushing hard against the boxes, watching the men as they filed past right under her.
She waited until they turned the corner, and silently dropped down.
Wiping back the bangs, she glanced around, shimmying down the small walkway between cargo.
"Jack be nimble," she whispered firmly, maneuvering a free plan into her hand with a twist of her foot and a deft catch. "I'll be watching."
--
Gritting her teeth, Alex jerked the wheel in a hard right, tasting the burn of the tires as the gravel spit up at the car, trinkling dangerously down the windshield.
Still, it was enough to clip into the police car directly behind her, tipping it over her, and rolling into the camper right before her.
There was a loud crash, and she had to jerk the wheel again to avoid hitting the collision, but she managed only a minor dent and now there were only two cars behind her.
"Jack be quick," she said with a grim smile. "I'll be there."
Her voice was almost drowned out by sirens.
--
Poetry in Motion.
Dylan felt her heart beat slow down. She never realized it was beating as fast as it was until she felt the shift, a thump in her rib cage that made her bite her lip, closer her eyes for a half a second.
Anthony was in there, with Seamus.
Natalie and Alex were sure taking a hell of a lot on faith.
Swallowing hard, she made her choice. She wouldn't disappoint them.
With a ragged breath, she answered, "Jack jumped over the candlestick. I'll see you on the inside."
With two taps, she cut off the molar mike.
She couldn't do this hearing the sirens, feeling Natalie's heavy breath in her ear.
She had to do it alone.
Biting down on her lower lip, she jerked her arm behind her back, slipping the weapon free.
It was black and smooth, sleek.
Charlie had mandated after Madison Lee that Angels were never to use guns unless absolutely necessary - which should have been never. There was always another way.
She had never questioned him before, and had vowed never to, after Madison.
Gently, she placed the gun on the ground, moving her palm away from it.
With effort, she moved her gaze from it, forcing her concentration instead on the boat.
Anthony.
She couldn't do it.
Dropping to the ground, she closed her fingers over the gun, hating herself for her weakness.
Pushing it into the holster on her back, she let her shirt cover it, and rose from her haunches.
Natalie had snuck in using terror as her weapon. Alex was more or less going to blast her way in.
Dylan had a simpler approach.
She was walking right in.
One foot in front of the other, she pasted a gorgeous smirk of a smile on her face as the guard finally spotted her.
He froze, unsure of what to think of her striding up to casually. By the time he figured he should react, she already had her fist in his face.
He crashed to the ground.
Already used to this type of entrance, another had a gun pressed to her back before she had a chance to turn.
It didn't bother her.
Seamus would want to kill her herself.
Turning around slowly, she kept her arms up and out of the way as she asked simply, "You going to let me in?"
He regarded her, eyes roving up and down, before motioning with a jerk of the gun to the doorway.
With a small, polite nod, Dylan made her way up to the open hatch, stepping and disappearing in the darkness.
--
Okay, she would admit it.
This was a tiny bit stressful.
Alex was sweating, and more than ever she wished for driving gloves as she slammed the clutch and shifted the gear, eyes flipping from the rear view mirror to the chaos of the maze that was right before her.
With a twist, she zipped between a volkswagon and a Mercedes, winking at the staring business man on the cell phone before nearly cutting him off.
Behind her, sirens kept blaring, warning cars ahead of her that she was coming.
That really sucked, because it slowed them down and made her job that much harder.
With a ragged sigh, she saw her chance to lose another two.
Okay...
One deep breath in , and she slammed the breaks, arms aching against the strain as the car swiveled, dangerously close to running out of control.
The cars, now suddenly faced with a game of chicken, freaked out, swerving on either side of her - one toppling into the oncoming traffic lane, and another over the curb and into the embankment.
Heh.
Alex smiled, shifting gears and getting back into the fast lane, free for at least a few minutes.
Looking down at the radio, something caught her attention.
She grit her teeth, wanting more than anything to wipe the sweat off her brow, heart pounding erratically.
"What the hell," she muttered. "When in Rome..."
She pressed play.
Frank Sinatra crooned his way into the car, and this time, Alex found herself smiling, bobbing her head to the music as she swerved side ways to avoid a truck and nearly collided with a Jetta, who honked angrily.
Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars...
--
From this angle, he looked pathetic.
Thin form was slumped, hunched over, head down, chin against his chest.
The black suit, eloquent and expensive, was marred with blotches of a dark color that was indistinguishable against the suit.
The shadows played starkly against his sharp features, making him look like some sort of vampire.
Bangs fell forward, free of the gell that he liked so much.
And dripping from his nose, over his chin, and splashing messily on the floor, were red trickles of blood.
Seamus regarded him.
He was a fascinating man. The Thin Man refused to look up, merely raised the smoking cigarette to his lips, biting down and taking a long, shaky drag.
When he brought down the cigarette, the tip of it, and his fingers were painted blood red.
He smirked, chuckling slightly.
"Gotta admit," he found himself saying sincerely. "Even if ya are a murderin' bastard, I kinda like ya."
He didn't respond. Then again, he never did. Trying to control the man was like trying to control a snake.
Maybe that's why it was so much fun.
"I'm a regular snake charmer, I am," Seamus muttered.
A motion from a sailor caught his attention, and he wasn't ashamed to say, his heart skipped a beat just slightly.
He had waited years for this.
As he passed the Thin Man, he pushed at the back of his head companionably.
Anthony never regarded him.
Seamus didn't care.
He was almost giddy.
"'Bout time she made it," he said with a drawl. "I was beginnin' ta think she had missed the invitation."
With long, powerful strides, he moved toward the doors.
--
end chapter