Pursuit Read Free Page B

no-man’s-land between the legally parked cars and the traffic light. Red parking lights glowing at them through the darkness told Jess that the driver had, as instructed, kept the engine running.
    “Oh, shit, there’s Prescott.” Ducking her head, Mrs. Cooper picked up the pace. She moved quickly between Jess and the buildings on her right, her shoulders hunched now as she sought to deflect the casual glances of passersby.
    “Who’s Prescott?” Voice hushed, Jess cast a hunted look over her shoulder.
    “One of my detail.”
    “Secret Service?” Jess perked up. At least the responsibility for keeping this woman safe would no longer be hers alone. Yes, there he was, a tall, well-built man in a tailored dark suit talking to the doorman in front of the hotel. White shirt, dark tie. Short, neat, dark hair. Handsome, clean-shaven face. Lifting his hand to his mouth to say something into his fist. He might as well have been wearing a flashing neon sign.
    Reinforcements at last. Thank God.
    “What are you doing?” Mrs. Cooper grabbed her hand when Jess started to wave at Prescott to signal their location.
    “You need protection and . . .”
    “Protection?” Mrs. Cooper’s laugh was bitter. The hand holding Jess’s tightened until Jess’s fingers hurt. “They’re more like wardens.” Her eyes blazed into Jess’s. “Don’t you understand, you stupid little girl? I’m a fucking prisoner. ” Her gaze shot past Jess’s shoulder. “Get back in the car.”
    By this time they had reached the Lincoln. Mrs. Cooper’s fierce command was hurled at the driver, a burly redhead in a black chauffeur’s uniform who was at that moment coming around the front of the car, presumably to open the door for his passengers.
    As she spoke, Mrs. Cooper jerked open the rear passenger door and ducked inside. With one hand on the open door, Jess exchanged glances with the startled driver. He shrugged and obediently reversed directions. Her gaze slid toward the Secret Service agent, who was looking their way.
    Jess hesitated. The First Lady was way more upset than a simple fight with her husband should dictate, and . . .
    “Get in,” Mrs. Cooper barked.
    The driver was already sliding behind the wheel.
    His eyes fixed on the Lincoln, now clearly suspecting that his principal was inside, the Secret Service agent turned, waved, and started to jog their way.
    “Go. Now,” Mrs. Cooper shrieked. Jess looked down just in time to watch as the First Lady’s hand slapped the back of the front seat hard.
    There was no time. The driver put the car in gear. Heart thudding, Jess flung one more doubtful glance back at the man who was now racing toward them. Then, throwing herself into the backseat with the woman she’d been sent to collect, she slammed the door just as the Lincoln screeched away from the curb.

2
    T he crash scene was horrific. Smoke roiled in thick gray coils from the overturned car. Having blazed so hot that the tires had exploded and the pines in which the vehicle had come to rest had gone up like torches, the fire, courtesy of the multitude of orange-coated firefighters who were still wetting down the surrounding areas, was now out. Shortly after the crash, the flames had blazed so high that he had been able to see the bright red glow from ten miles out as he had raced to the scene. The smell on the wind—Secret Service Agent Mark Ryan didn’t want to think about that. It reminded him of charred meat.
    Word was, three people had died in the overturned black Lincoln at the bottom of the ravine. Officially, the identities of the dead had not yet been confirmed, but unofficially he knew that one of them was Annette Cooper, the First Lady of the United States. Mark thought of the thousands of threats against the First Family that poured into the White House monthly, of the hairy foreign tours to hostile regions they’d shepherded the First Lady through, of the dozens of protesters waving signs and shouting slogans at