Identity Unknown (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 1) Read Free

breath, our chests heaving, the two other passengers onboard staring at us as if we were contaminated by something viral.
    I looked at Parker and said, "You know, this would be a heckuva lot easier if you'd take these stupid cuffs off me."
    "Now why on earth would I want to do that?"
    "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you've got the wrong person ?"
    "Tell it to the judge," he said.
    I probably could have slapped him with a nice juicy comeback, because according to every movie I've ever seen, that's what a girl's supposed to do in this type of situation. But all my best comebacks tend to pop into my head about ten minutes too late, and I was too scared and winded to think of anything clever.
    Instead, I concentrated on the poor, world-weary businessman who was standing at the back of the tram, staring at my cuffs and Parker's gun like a child who had just witnessed a horrible car accident.
    I said to him, "If you've got a cell phone, do me a favor and the call the police. Because this guy's certifiable."
    Parker nudged me. "Shut up, Duncan."
    "My name isn't Duncan."
    "Oh? Then what do you prefer? Foster? Abernathy? Yates? You've used them all."
    "I prefer Kelsey," I said. "Kelsey Coe. And I want you to remember that so you'll know what to call me when this all gets straightened out and your buddy the judge tells you to apologize."
    "The only thing needs straightening out is you, hot stuff. You've got a rap sheet about as long as my joystick."
    Ten minutes later, the words must be an awfully short list popped into my head, but it was much too late by then.
    I told you I'm not very good with comebacks.
    But back to the tram:
    It came to a stop and the doors hissed open. Parker hustled me off before the other two passengers could even blink, then pushed me across the platform toward a waiting train. I'm not sure if he knew where it was headed—because I certainly didn't—but we once again barely beat the closing doors.
    And across the platform, another door—this one marked STAIRS—crashed open and the two thugs from the SUV appeared, looking all hot and bothered after an arduous jog.
    But much to my relief, they were too late. The train was already in motion. Parker played the smart-ass, giving them a cute little wave as they watched the train disappear down the tracks, the bigger one scowling at us, looking as if he was about to go postal.
    Parker chuckled softly, his hand on my arm, his gaze on the thugs, as I was struck by a sudden need for spontaneity.
    Wrenching away from him again, I bolted down the aisle toward the vestibule door.

SIX

    Have I mentioned how those cuffs were a pain in the ass?
    Well, nothing had changed and it took considerable effort to run, but I managed to reach the vestibule door (you know, the one that connects the train cars?) and slam against it hard enough to trigger whatever hydraulic mechanism controlled it.
    It slid open with a whoosh and let me through as Parker shouted behind me. I didn't have to look to see if he was coming. That was a given. My only goal was to get through to the next car, and the next one after that and hopefully get lucky enough to bump into a transit cop making his rounds.
    Not that I'm the luckiest person in the world. Lottery tickets hate me, and if I'm anxious to register for a ten-thirty class, I'll inevitably wind up with the one that starts at eight. But I was determined to make my luck by keeping up my pace and staying separated from Mr. Zachary Parker for as long as humanly possible.
    And surprise, surprise, it actually worked .
    Three cars later, I saw a stocky woman in a dark uniform with a gun and holster on her hip and the patch on her sleeve said TRANSIT POLICE . I ran up to her, breathlessly begging her to "Help me, help me, please. There's a guy trying to—"
    "Hold it, Duncan!"
    Parker stood behind us near the door I'd just run through. He shifted his gaze to the transit cop.   "Officer, don't listen to her, she's a wanted fugitive and she's in my