Page 49 of S.O.S. Billboard

In this instance, however, the situation felt personal. He’d met Marin over at Prez’s house, and the girl was a hoot. Even though he knew her to be a bit ditzy and impulsive, she was a really good, funny kid. They needed to find her. Which meant they needed to apprehend that vehicle before it drove too many miles west, where cameras were fewer and farther between.

Everyone convoyed single file once they pulled out of headquarters, and all of them proceeded along the same route. But once on the Pike, they diverged. Del hung back, calling everyone to keep them linked, while Prez sped ahead and took point, his foot heavy on the gas. Billboard followed Prez, but at a distance, hoping that if Prez was spotted and the van driver was spooked, his teammate would pretend to back off, after which Billboard would tail the target.

Ten minutes in, Billboard spotted lights behind him. A cruiser was approaching fast.

Seriously?

There were a few others behind the frontrunner, in the distance, but it seemed that they were adhering to the rules Steven had most likely spelled out; a quiet pursuit. This yahoo, however, was not.

“Shit, Del. Call Steven and tell him to have that idiot turn off his blues. The last thing we need is to have that van driver get spooked, speed up and crash with our girl inside.”

“Already on it,” Del growled. “Daire’s got Steven on the line and he’s reaming him a new one as we speak.”

O’Shea scoffed, shaking her head at the approaching cruiser. “Another jackass wanna-be cowboy, going in with his dick swinging. Orhertits swinging because idiocy is not gender exclusive.” She shook her head. “It’s the same everywhere, and unfortunately, consequences for that kind of stupidity are hit or miss. In this case, I hope your friend Steven sidelines that prick and gelds them.”

Billboard let out a snort. He still wasn’t sure he wanted O’Shea on this chase, but…she certainly made him laugh, which wasn’t his norm.

The offending lights behind him suddenly turned off, and Billboard drew in a relieved breath. Asort-ofrelieved breath. The cop was still making his presence known, weaving in and out of traffic while sporadically chirping his siren to let people know he was there,andhe was approaching Billboard, fast.

“Yeah, we get it, asshole,” O’Shea snarled, gazing at the looming cruiser in her side mirror. “You’re better than… Son of a bitch!” she suddenly shouted.

“What?” Billboard asked.

O’Shea’s face resembled a thundercloud.

“That’s Murphy,” she spat.

“Murphy?” Billboard repeated. How the hell did O’Shea know this person, or anybody on the BPD for that matter?

“Yeah. An officer who gave me shit at the airport.”

“Someone gave you shit?” he marveled. “Why?”

She launched into a story that eventually had Billboard seeing red. He wished O’Shea had called him for assistance instead of Mizzay. He would have set the overbearing asswipe straight…or gotten thrown in jail for assault and battery.

Right.

Maybe it was for the best that Mizzay had gone through more diplomatic channels.

That asswipe, however, was currently on his tail, and looking for trouble. The loose-cannon cop kept flashing his lights so that Billboard would move aside.

“Daire, do you still have Steven on the line?” Billboard barked into the car’s Bluetooth speaker.

“I do,” Daire’s voice came back.

“Tell him Murphy’s a dead man if he continues with his nose up my exhaust pipe. I’m trying to—”

His tirade was cut off by Prez, up ahead.

“The van driver has spotted me,” Prez barked. “He’s headed…”

Shit!” Billboard lost the rest of what Prez said as he watched the van driver cross three lanes, causing cars to throw on their brakes and skid out in front of him, willy-nilly. He took evasive maneuvers, and—

A clip on his right rear quarter had Billboard bellowing.

It wasn’t a civilian that had made contact.

“God-damned-son-of-a-bitch. That prick Murphy just hit me.” Luckily, Billboard was able to recover, expertly crossing over to the exit the perp had taken on two wheels. “Tell Steven I’ll be billing his department.”

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