Page 55 of Married to My Master

“All right,” he said to body double Emily, who was securely strapped into the seat “Let's do this shit.” Dane threw the Escalade in reverse, braced his hand on the passenger seat headrest, and looked back over his shoulder. He nodded to himself and slammed on the gas.

The tires squealed at the sudden acceleration, their spinning rubber treads scrambling for purchase on the smooth concrete floor. When they caught, the giant black car zoomed backwards, crashing into the metal garage door, knocking its wheels from the tracks.

Dane kept his foot on the gas, even through the momentary slow down when he hit the barrier, and plowed on through the wreckage. The steel of the door shrieked as the sheet metal scraped over the roof and outsides of the car doors.

He saw police officers in their black uniforms and plain-clothed detectives scrambling out of the way of Dane's oncoming SUV. They went running behind the big utility vans and armored transports they'd lined the street with.

“Come on, fuckers!” Dane hooted, as the SUV sped down the driveway toward them.

Screams of protest erupted from the police surrounding the scene.

Dane cut the wheel at the end of the driveway, just before his car hit the street, forcing the rear-end of the SUV to careen into Emily's front yard. The top-heavy SUV swayed ominously from side-to-side as the car turned, but Dane could tell the chassis was stable. He glanced around briefly at all the SWAT trucks parked on the street and blocking off the area. He blinked at all the flashing lights.

“Dane Bishop!” announced a voice through a megaphone. “We have you surrounded! There's no way out!”

Then, another voice piped up. “He's got the woman! Hold your fire. She's inside with him! Hold your fire!”

Having not been certain the body double trick was going to work, Dane grinned to himself at his luck. He slammed the Cadillac into drive before the SUV came to a complete stop, his foot slamming back onto the gas. Sure, driving this way wasn't good for the transmission, but Dane was pretty sure nothing he was going to do to the car today would be great for it.

“He's going to ram the barricade! Out of the way!”

The SUV lurched forward again, chewing up the front lawn's turf as nearly six thousand pounds rocketed forward. He fought the steering wheel for control as the Escalade, angered at the impromptu off-roading lesson, slid sideways. Rubber hit the grass on the other side of the driveway, its rear wheels fishtailing into Emily's brick-and-mortar mailbox with a satisfying crunch. Then, he was on asphalt. The tires found purchase, and he slammed on the horn as he went flying towards the police barricades.

Cops pushed reporters and civilians out of the way, tackling them to the ground on either side of the wooden barricade, which looked more like a giant orange and white sawhorse than anything. Screams of terror rose from the crowd as the crush of people parted like Moses' sea, and the SUV slammed into the obstruction in a hail of splinters and a crash of metal and glass.

Then, he was through, the pedal still to the metal as he raced down the neighborhood’s streets, heading for the exit.

He took the first turn wide, the tires squealing like four stuck rubber pigs as he righted the SUV with another wobble of the compartment, and slammed back on the gas for the main road.

Behind him, he could hear police sirens over the roar of the engine and could see the flashing red-blue lights as the police engaged in their pursuit.

Perfect. This was exactly what he wanted. All the cops' eyes on him, the barrels of their guns pointed his direction, so Emily would be safe. That was the important part of this. “Next stop,” he said to body double Emily through gritted teeth, as he spun the wheel and raced out onto the main road without looking, “BioSphere.”

He hardly lifted his foot from the gas pedal for the next ten miles. He blew through stop lights, he went over sidewalks when he had to, and weaved in and out of traffic. The cops steadily fell behind him, trapped in the gridlock of traffic that his wild, unnerving driving created. Every minor accident he caused bought him a few more seconds.

Soon, though, the police were gone. Their lights no longer lit up his rear-view mirror and their sirens didn't fill the air. He'd lost them! Wait, he'd lost them?

What the hell was he supposed to do now? He honestly hadn't thought this far ahead, since he'd figured he'd have a tougher time getting out than this, or that they'd manage to set up blockades along the way. Now, though, he was saddled with the decision of what to do next. Not sure of his end game for the whole plan, he just kept on his way to BioSphere.

Above him, the chopper beat out their wicked tattoo, their sights set on the SUV as they shadowed him over the city. No matter how fast he went, or how many problems he could cause for the cops on the ground, the police helicopters would always find him.

He sped along to BioSphere, pulling the SUV up in front of the home office's front door. The Escalade lurched as he slammed into the curb out front, the front axle grating and breaking as the car went up onto the front plaza sidewalk. Dane hopped out of the car, glancing back as squaddies showed up in their black and white cars, their lights whirling like a Saturday night disco as they came down the main road toward the entrance. Above him, the choppers circled the building low, keeping him in under surveillance.

He didn't know if Charlene Padilla had gotten his and Emily's story out yet, so he wasn't sure if the truth was on the airwaves, but he couldn't worry about that now.

This was it. This was his chance to get Edward Barker. He sprinted inside the building, knowing he had one final thing to do: find Edward and make him confess.

# # #

Emily

It was like she'd been scooped up fromFifty Shades of Greyand dumped intoDie Hard.

Duct tape still over her mouth, Emily screamed wordlessly as SWAT and police came bursting through the front and back doors simultaneously, screaming, “Police! Everyone get down!”

Emily screamed in wordless terror again as the men, at least a dozen, poured into her house, submachine guns in hand, tricked out in full armor and helmets, red lasers like they'd focused on Dane earlier dancing around the house like demonic will-o'-the-wisps.

“Secure!” shouted one team, as they cleared her dining room and kitchen.

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