Fifty Shades Freed

I glance nervously around the large room, but we are out of earshot.

“Only if you misbehave, Mrs. Grey.” He bends and murmurs in my ear.

How can he put so much sensual promise into six words?

“I’ll see what I can do.” I grin.

Once we’ve said our good-byes, we walk over to the car.

“Here.” Christian throws me the keys to the R8. “Don’t bend it”—he adds in all seriousness—“or I will be fucking pissed.”

My mouth goes dry. He’s letting me drive his car? My i

“Are you sure?” I mouth, stu

“Yes, before I change my mind.”

I don’t think I have ever gri

passenger side, and he jumps in quickly.

“Eager, Mrs. Grey?” he asks with a wry smile.

“Very.”

Slowly, I ease the car backward and turn it in the driveway. I manage not to stall it, surprising myself. Boy, is the clutch sensitive. Carefully navigating the

driveway, I glance in my rearview mirror and see Sawyer and Ryan climb into the Audi SUV. I had no idea our security had followed us here. I pause before I set

out onto the main road.

“You’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” Christian says tightly, telling me he’s not sure about this at all. Oh, my poor, poor Fifty. I want to laugh at both him and myself because I’m nervous and

excited. A small part of me wants to lose Sawyer and Ryan just for the kicks. I check for traffic then inch the R8 out onto the road. Christian curls up with tension

and I can’t resist. The road is clear. I put my foot down on the gas and we shoot forward.

“Whoa! Ana!” Christian shouts. “Slow down—you’ll kill us both.”

I immediately ease off the gas. Wow, can this car move!

“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to sound contrite and failing miserably. Christian smirks at me, to hide his relief, I think.

“Well, that counts as misbehaving,” he says casually and I slow right down.

I glance in the rearview mirror. No sign of the Audi, just a solitary dark car with tinted windows behind us. I imagine Sawyer and Ryan flustered, frantic to catch

up, and for some reason this gives me a thrill. But not wanting to give my dear husband a coronary, I decide to behave and drive steadily with growing confidence

toward the 520 bridge.

Suddenly, Christian swears and struggles to pull his BlackBerry from the pocket of his jeans.

“What?” he snaps angrily at whoever it is on the other end of the line. “No.” he says and glances behind us. “Yes. She is.”

I briefly check the rearview mirror, but I don’t see anything odd, just a few cars behind us. The SUV is about four cars back, and we’re all cruising at an even

pace.

“I see.” Christian sighs long and hard and rubs his forehead with his fingers, tension radiates off him. Something’s wrong.

“Yes . . . I don’t know.” He glances at me and lowers the phone from his ear. “We’re fine. Keep going,” he says calmly, smiling at me, but the smile doesn’t

touch his eyes. Shit! Adrenaline spikes through my system. He picks the phone up again.

“Okay on the 520. As soon as we hit it . . . Yes . . . I will.”

He slots the phone into the speaker cradle, putting it on hands-free.

“What’s wrong, Christian?”

“Just look where you’re going, baby,” he says softly.

I’m heading for the on-ramp of the 520 in the direction of Seattle. When I glance at Christian, he’s staring straight ahead.

“I don’t want you to panic,” he says calmly. “But as soon as we’re on the 520 proper, I want you to step on the gas. We’re being followed.”

Followed! Holy shit. My heart lurches into my mouth, pounding, my scalp prickles and my throat constricts with panic. Followed by whom? My eyes dart to the

rearview mirror and, sure enough, the dark car I saw earlier is still behind us. Fuck! Is that it? I squint through the tinted windshield to see who’s driving, but I see

nothing.

“Keep your eyes on the road, baby,” Christian says gently, not in the truculent tone he normally uses where my driving is concerned.

Get a grip! I mentally slap myself to subdue the dread that’s threatening to swamp me. Suppose whoever’s following us is armed? Armed and after Christian!

Shit! I’m hit by a wave of nausea.

“How do we know we’re being followed?” My voice is a breathy, squeaky, whisper.

“The Dodge behind us has false license plates.”

How does he know that?

I signal as we approach the 520 from the on-ramp. It’s late afternoon, and although the rain has stopped, the roadway is wet. Fortunately, the traffic is reasonably

light.

Ray’s voice echoes in my head from one of his many self-defense lectures. “It’s the panic that’s go

breath, trying to bring my breathing under control. Whoever is following us is after Christian. As I take another deep steadying breath, my mind begins to clear and

my stomach settles. I have to keep Christian safe. I wanted to drive this car, and I wanted to drive it fast. Well, here’s my chance. I grip the steering wheel and take a

final glance in my rearview mirror. The Dodge is closing on us.

I slow right down, ignoring Christian’s sudden panicked glance at me, and time my entrance on to the 520 so that the Dodge has to slow and stop to wait for a

gap in the traffic. I drop a gear and floor it. The R8 shoots forward, slamming us both into the backs of our seats. The speedometer whips up to seventy-five miles

per hour.

“Steady, baby,” Christian says calmly, though I’m sure he’s anything but calm.

“Steady, baby,” Christian says calmly, though I’m sure he’s anything but calm.

I weave between the two lines of traffic like a black counter in a game of checkers, effectively jumping the cars and trucks. We’re so close to the lake on this

bridge, it’s as if we’re driving on the water. I studiously ignore the angry, disapproving looks from other drivers. Christian clutches his hands together in his lap,

keeping as still as possible, and in spite of my fevered thoughts, I wonder vaguely if he’s doing it so he doesn’t distract me.

“Good girl,” he breathes in encouragement. He glances behind him. “I can’t see the Dodge.”

“We’re right behind the unsub, Mr. Grey.” Sawyer’s voice comes through the hands-free. “He’s trying to catch up with you, sir. We’re going to try and come

alongside, put ourselves between your car and the Dodge.”

Unsub? What does that mean?

“Good. Mrs. Grey is doing well. At this rate, provided the traffic remains light—and from what I can see it is—we’ll be off the bridge in a few minutes.”

“Sir.”

We flash past the bridge control tower, and I know we’re half way across Lake Washington. When I check my speed, I’m still doing seventy-five.

“You’re doing really well, Ana,” Christian murmurs again as he gazes out the back of the R8. For a fleeting moment, his tone reminds me of our first encounter

in his playroom when he patiently encouraged me through our first scene. The thought is distracting, and I dismiss it immediately.

“Where am I headed?” I ask, moderately calmer. I have the feel of the car now. It’s a joy to drive, so quiet and easy to handle it’s hard to believe how fast we are

going. Driving at this speed in this car is easy.

“Mrs. Grey, head for I-5 and then south. We want to see if the Dodge follows you all the way,” Sawyer says over the hands-free. The traffic lights on the bridge

are green—thank heavens—and I race onward.

I glance nervously at Christian, and he smiles reassuringly. Then his face falls.

“Shit!” he swears softly.

There is a line of traffic ahead as we come off the bridge, and I have to slow. Glancing anxiously in the mirror once more, I think I spot the Dodge.