Beneath the Surface

“Where’s Shannon?”

“She’s in the shop doorway. It’s recessed.”

Rafe knew he didn’t have time to get out of the car to intercept the man. Besides that, with the way his knee was hurting, he wasn’t sure how much mobility he’d have. It already felt as if it was swelling.

Instead he switched off the headlights and aimed the car at Drago. He hoped that Shannon didn’t step out of the doorway at the wrong time.

Even driving far too fast for street conditions, Rafe barely arrived in time. Drago had reached the doorway and was raising the pistol. He was so intent on his prey that he didn’t hear the car bearing down on him.

Rafe hit the horn. The strident noise rang out and drew Drago’s attention. At that moment Rafe switched the lights back on. He hoped they would stun Drago and present a warning to Shannon to stay put.

Drago knew he couldn’t run, but he was a predator. He didn’t give up. He turned the pistol in the direction of the car and fired. Two shots tore through the windshield. One of them ripped the passenger seat headrest into a flurry of padding that filled the car’s interior.

Rafe stayed on track. He put the car in close to the wall. His side mirror disappeared in an explosion of twisted metal and shattered glass. Then the whole side of the car turned into a stream of rushing sparks that bounced off the window and trailed behind him.

At the last minute Drago tried to break and run. He didn’t even get turned before the car struck him.

The air bag exploded into Rafe’s face at the same time. The gunshot of propellant setting off temporarily deafened him. His face stung from the impact and he was blinded.

Shut it down, shut it down, he told himself. He put his foot over the brake and shoved. The antilock braking system kept the tires from locking up as he slewed around. He hit another object and felt certain from the weight and mass involved that it was a car. He remembered there’d been a line of them.

There was a sickening moment of not knowing what was going on, then the car came to a stop. The smoky haze left by the air bag deploying burned his nose and mouth, then his lungs. The gunpowder taste was all too familiar.

His face and chest felt as though he’d gone rounds with a heavyweight. He had no doubt that bruising would show in a few days.

“Are you there?” Allison asked.

“Yeah.” Rafe reached into his jeans and took out a small lock-back knife. A quick flick of his thumb deployed the blade. He pierced the air bag and it deflated in a rush. By the time he got out of the car, he had his pistol in hand.

Drawn from her hiding place, Shannon watched the maniac driver force the door of his vehicle open. It screeched as it yawned wide.

At first Shannon had thought her salvation had been luck. In this part of Washington, D.C., there were plenty of bars. It would have been easy to believe a drunken driver had come along fortuitously.

Not that Shannon’s luck ever really ran that way. She wasn’t the lucky one in any group. She’d had to work for everything she’d gotten. Whatever luck she’d had had gone away while she was at Athena Academy.

Then, when she recognized the man stepping out of the car as the man from Drago’s bar, she knew her luck was running true to form. She held her position even though every nerve in her screamed, Run!

The man limped a little, but he moved quickly and efficiently. He kept the pistol in his hand close to his side as he surveyed the street.

Several curious pedestrians hovered along the sidewalk. Three young men hurried over to Vincent Drago’s body lying a hundred feet from where the car had hit him.

“Get away from him,” the man ordered.

“He’s hurt,” one of the onlookers yelled back.

The man lifted the pistol as he stepped into the headlights of his car. “Get away from him. Now!”

“Dude, that guy’s got a gun,” one of the other pedestrians said. He grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him back.

Go, Shannon told herself. Get out of here while you can. But she couldn’t move. The story hadn’t finished. Her reporter’s instincts and curiosity refused to let her budge.

The man walked to Drago and pointed the pistol at the prone man. For a moment Shannon thought the stranger was going to shoot Drago on top of hitting him with the car. She couldn’t help wondering what the man had against Drago.

Then the man knelt and quickly ran his free hand through Drago’s clothing. He took out a wallet and a PDA, a few papers and anything else he could find. He removed his beanie and tucked everything he’d collected inside the hat. Then he stood.

It didn’t make any sense to Shannon. Robbers didn’t commit their crimes by taking out victims with cars.

More than that, why had the man left the bar looking for Drago? Shannon’s curiosity was in full bloom.

The man returned to the car long enough to stash the beanie in the backseat while police sirens filled the air. Flashes from brave onlookers using the camera function on their phones flickered along the sidewalk.

Ignoring the fact that he was getting his picture taken, the man turned his attention to Shannon. He walked toward her. The pistol was still naked in his fist.

Shannon pushed out of the alcove and started to run. She didn’t know how far she’d get before a bullet punched through her back.

“Shannon!” the man called. “Don’t run!”

She kept waiting for the “or I’ll shoot” addendum. It didn’t come.

“Please.”

That was even more surprising.

“If you run,” the man said, “they might get you.”

They?

“I can help you.”

The sirens sounded closer. Shannon looked around the street. Only then did she realize how much trouble she could be in. The police would want to know what she was doing there. If she told them she’d employed Drago, which might be something they learned anyway, she was going to be buried in legal difficulties.

She didn’t know enough about what was going on to feel safe. Not only that, but Drago had been convinced that the federal government was interested in the inquiries she’d asked him to make.

It wasn’t a good position to be in. There would be a lot of questions, and she wasn’t liked by many in the police departments or political offices. In fact, she’d covered a story for ABS three years ago concerning politically motivated murders that had involved a particularly offensive cover-up.

The District of Columbia Police Department and the Hill had gone ballistic when she’d broken the story without their approval. She’d barely escaped town one step ahead of the lynch mob. Only the news station’s lawyers had kept her from being brought back and charged.

The man made no move to pursue her. He didn’t put the gun away.

If he really wanted to hurt you, he’d have shot you by now, Shannon told herself. And if you run, you’re never going to know what’s going on. Or who he is.

She took a deep breath and walked back to him.

“Get in,” he growled.

Evidently politeness wasn’t his forte. Or maybe he had an issue with cops. Tall, dark and mysterious, he definitely looked like the type who would have a chronic problem with law enforcement.

Dirt streaked his hard, angular face, but Shannon could still make out the small scars on his right cheek and his neck. Another small scar stood out at the outside of his right eye.