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She tapped on the driver’s side, and the window rolled down. It was a different driver, not the elderly black man who’d brought her to the airport the day before.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’m Jane Rizzoli.”
“Going to Claremont Street, right?”
“That’s me.”
The driver stepped out and opened the backseat door for her. “Welcome aboard. I’ll put your suitcase in the trunk.”
“Thank you.”
She slid into the car and gave a tired sigh as she leaned back against rich leather. Outside, horns blared and tires skidded in the pouring rain, but the world inside this limousine was blessedly silent. She closed her eyes as they glided away from Logan Airport and headed for the Boston Expressway.
Her cell phone rang. Shaking off her exhaustion, she sat up and dazedly dug around in her purse, dropping pens and loose change on the car floor as she hunted for the phone. She finally managed to answer it on the fourth ring.
“Rizzoli.”
“This is Margaret in Senator Conway’s office. I made the arrangements for your travel. I just wanted to double-check that you do have a ride home from the airport.”
“Yes. I’m in the limo now.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Well, I’m glad that was cleared up.”
“What was?”
“The limo service called to confirm that you’d canceled your airport pickup.”
“No, he was waiting for me. Thank you.”
She disco
Slowly she sat up.
They had just entered the Callahan Tu
Navy-blue nylon six, six DuPont Antron. Standard carpet in Cadillacs and Lincolns.
She remained perfectly still, her gaze turned toward the tu
She thought of Alexander and Kare
And she thought of Ke
Is this how he finds them?
A couple step into his car. The woman’s pretty face is reflected in his rearview mirror. She settles back in smooth leather seats for the ride home, never realizing that she’s being watched. That a man whose face she has scarcely registered is, at that very moment, deciding that she is the one.
The tu
Traffic was stalled now. Far ahead, she could see the tu
Slowly she took the phone from her purse. Flipped it open. In the dim tu
The tu
She disco
Get out. Get out of the car!
She lunged for the door handle, but he had already triggered the locks. Scrambling to override it, she clawed in panic at the release button.
It was all the time he needed to reach back over the seat, aim the Taser, and fire.
The probe hit her in the shoulder. Fifty thousand volts pulsed into her torso, an electrical jolt that shot like lightning through her nervous system. Her vision went black. She dropped to the seat, her hands useless, all her muscles contracting in a storm of convulsions, her body out of control, quivering in submission.
A drumming noise, pattering above, drew her from the darkness. A fog of gray light slowly brightened on her retinas. She tasted blood, warm and metallic, and her tongue throbbed where she had bitten it. The fog slowly melted, and she saw daylight. They were out of the tu
Open the door. Unlock the door.
She opened her eyes, fighting vertigo, her stomach roiling as the world spun past the window. She forced her arm to straighten, every inch a small victory. Hand now reaching toward the door, toward the lock release button. She pressed it and heard the loud click as it snapped open.
Suddenly there was pressure on her thigh. She saw his face glancing back over the seat as he shoved the Taser against her leg. Another burst of energy pulsed into her body.
Her limbs spasmed. Darkness fell like a hood.
A drop of cold water falling on her cheek. The screech of duct tape being peeled off a roll. She came awake as he bound her wrists behind her back, wrapping the tape several times around before he slit it off the roll. Next he pulled off her shoes, let them thud onto the floor. Peeled off both her trouser socks so the tape would adhere to bare skin. Her vision slowly cleared as he worked, and she saw the top of his head as he leaned into the car, his attention focused on binding her ankles. Behind him, through the open car door, was an expanse of green. Marsh and trees. No buildings. The fens? Had he pulled off in the Back Bay Fens?
Another screech of duct tape, and then the smell of adhesive as it pressed to her mouth.
He stared down at her, and she saw details that she had not bothered to register when the car window had first rolled down. Details that had then been irrelevant. Dark eyes, a face of sharp angles, an expression of feral alertness. And excitement about what came next. A face that no one would register from the backseat of a car. They are the faceless army dressed in uniforms, she thought. The people who clean our hotel rooms and haul our luggage and drive the limousines in which we ride. They move in a parallel world, seldom noticed until they are needed.
Until they intrude into ours.
He picked up her cell phone from the floor where it had fallen. Dropped it onto the road and slammed his heel down, smashing the phone into a bundle of crumpled plastic and wires, which he kicked into the bushes. No enhanced 911 would lead the police to her.