Page 71 of S.O.S. Mizzay

Her reply—which had incorporated the accent that popped out whenever she was nervous or excited—did nothing to dispel the dread rising in Cobble’s stomach.

She went on breezily. “Youze are on Bluetooth, so don’t worry. And I have my hands at ten and two.”

Cobble was not comforted.

“How about I come get you?” he barked. He didn’t have a car, but he’d damned well find one. He couldn’t simply sit and wait. He wanted to be at Andy’s side, protecting her. Which was completely irrational, since—as she’d told him many times—she’d been taking care of herself for years. But flying solo was no longer necessary. Cobble wasn’t stuck in East Bumfuck anymore; he was within striking distance of Andy’s position, and he couldn’t abide the thought of her handling danger by herself.

“That’s nice of you, Cobble, but no,” she told him.

“Do you need tocall your guys, then?” He couldn’t let it go.

“Chill, Cobble. I don’t have to call them, I have them on comms. Andthey’rethe ones who told me I’m being followed.”

What the fuck?

This clearly wasn’t the right time to get into semantics, but…

“Which one is it, Andy?” Cobble growled. “First you said you ‘might’ have a tail, now you’re saying youarebeing followed.”

“Fine,” she groused. “There’s definitely someone on my ass. But so far, whoever it is seems to be staying outta my line of sight, and of course,” she laughed, “they have no idea that my guys are up their tailpipe.” She snickered. “They’re driving a shitty white Camry and an old blue Civic. My stalker isn’t gonna notice them in traffic.”

At least that was something.

“So, what’s your move?” Cobble asked nervously, making another pass across the living room. It was a good thing Tucker was going to tear this bungalow down. Cobble’s relentless pacing was going to wear a hole in the floor.

“Drive around for a while,” Andy replied nonchalantly. “Lead whoever it is in the opposite direction from where you’re staying. Then once me and the boys get the suspect out of the city, I’m gonna play his ass.”

“Play his ass, how?” Did Cobble even want to know?

She chuckled. “I bet you don’t know that a few years back I participated in a defensive driving course. And I don’t mean the kind the RMV makes new drivers take. I’m talking the evasive maneuvers kind.”

That didn’t do much to calm Cobble. “Wouldn’t any agent who is after you have taken that same course?” he rebutted.

“Yeah, but not to get cocky. Itaughtthe class, and I’m better than whoever it is.”

Cobble detected a smirk in Andy’s voice.

He was glad one of them was enjoying themselves.

Cobble tried again. “It won’t do me a bit of good to ask you to let Wiley and Billboard handle this, will it?” he posed as a last-ditch effort.

“Not remotely,” she confirmed. “I want to nail this SOB.”

“Where are you now?” Cobble asked, needing to keep track ofsomething.

“Chelsea, headed north toward Boxford. Mistah Seingold says there’s a buncha roads there where we can test our perp’s skills; fairly remote, windy, and unpopulated. It’s only a few miles of rough pavement, but I think that should be enough.”

She sounded positively gleeful.

“What happens then?” Cobble held his breath.

“I’m gonna test this guy’s driving skills. See if he can keep up.”

Cobble groaned. “Andy. Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Who, me?” she responded cheerfully, then a second later, she laughed. “Mistah Seingold says not to worry. I’m not the one who’ll be ass over teakettle in the end.”

“Yeah. That makes me feel a lot better,” Cobble moaned.

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