Page 147 of Guarding Grace
We peeled out of the garage like a cat with its tail on fire.
Winston punched up the call on the screen as I drove.
“We’ve also got Zane and Constance on,” Jordy told us when he answered. “I’ve got her phone. She’s turned east on Warmwood Drive. It looks like she might be headed for the freeway.”
I took the next right at speed and let the twin-turbo V8 loose. “Hold on.”
Winston braced. He was no wilting violet, but I was pressing pretty hard to catch up to Grace.
“Jordy, what’s her destination?”
“I don’t see a ride booked under her name,” he said.
That sucked. Now catching up to her was the only option.
Winston hit the mute button. “Why is she doing this?”
“Whoever it is took one of her people, and they’re like family to her. She’ll sacrifice herself for them.” Saying it out loud made the stakes all the more real, because I was certain Grace would take any risk to help one of her people.
“She’s now northbound on the four-oh-five,” Jordy announced.
I unmuted the phone line. “Copy that. We’re only about a minute from the freeway entrance.”
“Grace planned to visit a customer’s residence today for measurements,”Constance said. “But I vetoed that, and she sent Marci and Paul instead.”
“So where is Paul?” Winston asked.
“On it,” Constance replied.
It took ten minutes of weaving through freeway traffic to get near Grace.
“You’re very close to her signal,” Jordy said.
“She went old school.” Winston pointed. “See that Yellow Cab up there?”
I saw the taxi ahead, and a half mile later, I pulled up alongside when he moved to the center lane to pass a slower car.
“You’re right on top of her,” Jordy confirmed.
I didn’t see her, but she could have been lying down on the backseat.
I honked.
Winston held his credentials up to the window when the driver looked over, and pointed to the side of the road. When the driver didn’t move over or slow, Winston pulled his weapon and tapped the window again.
This time the cabbie got the memo and quickly pulled over to the shoulder.
I parked us behind the taxi. “Jordy, it’s Yellow Cab number triple three seven.”
Winston beat me out of the car. “She’s not here,” he yelled over the traffic noise.
When I reached him, the driver rolled down his window and put his hands up. “I don’t carry cash.”
I holstered my SIG. “You can put your hands down. We’re only looking for a woman we thought was in your cab.”
“Grace Brennan?”
“That’s the one. Where is she?”
