1st Case - James Patterson Page 0,74

any wiggle room on the shoulder.

Bring it, I thought. If I could ride six-inch-wide trails in the woods, I could thread this needle, too.

As I passed inside, daylight gave way to a sickly green glow from the electric fixtures, mixed with a red blur of taillights ahead. I mostly kept my eyes on the cars, checking to the right every few seconds to keep from crashing into the side wall. There was a raised walkway above me, but I couldn’t get to it.

Drivers kept edging past my bike. A few yelled, and several of them blared their horns, which were amplified by the tunnel’s acoustics. It was an all-out war on my senses. I had no choice but to gut it out.

Eventually, the road curved right, and I could see a tiny square of daylight several hundred yards ahead. I focused on my breathing, in and out with the rhythm of the pedals, counting as I went.

On the twenty-fourth breath, I broke free, into the daylight again. Thank God. Not that I could feel relieved for long. I was getting close now.

The traffic only got hairier outside of the tunnel, with everyone suddenly changing lanes. I swerved right onto Porter Street to avoid getting shunted up to the expressway, where I would have really been screwed.

Then a quick left onto Chelsea for a couple of blocks, and another left, onto Brooks, for one last stretch before I reached the river.

The closer I got, the more my thoughts turned to what might happen next. The police were on their way. Hopefully word had filtered over to someone at the Bureau as well.

I pulled the phone back out of my pocket to try Billy again, but it had locked up in the meantime. The only thing I could manage from the lock screen would be another emergency call, which was better than nothing—

But I never got that far. I didn’t even see the car coming until it was too late.

He’d pulled out from between two buildings, both of us moving too fast. I swerved into the middle of the road to try to avoid him, but it didn’t do me any good. His bumper caught me from the side, full on.

An explosion of pain shot up my leg. I flew sideways, leaving the bike behind. My body was airborne just long enough for me to register that fact, before I came down hard on the cement. Ears ringing. Head spinning. Vision blurred.

Game over.

CHAPTER 81

I HEARD VOICES before anything else.

“Oh, my God!”

“I’ll call 911.”

“Is she okay?”

Someone came around the front of the car. I saw a pair of feet, then felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Can you stand?” he asked.

“I … I think so,” I said. I needed to get back on my bike. Some part of me knew that wasn’t going to happen, but I wasn’t letting go of it yet.

“Go slow. Let me help you.”

He put an arm around me and got me onto my feet. As soon as I put any weight on my right leg, the pain came screaming back, and doubled down on itself. Jesus, what had I done? My leg buckled, and he boosted me up again, all but carrying me toward his car. I felt like I was going to puke.

“I need to call someone,” I slurred.

“My phone’s in the car,” he said. “I’m taking you to the hospital right now.”

“Ambulance is on the way,” someone else said from a distance.

“I’ve got her,” the guy said. “Can you open that passenger-side door for me? I think she’s going to pass out.”

“Got it.”

“Thanks.”

It was all happening without me. I couldn’t think straight. I vaguely caught sight of my bent and twisted bike in the middle of the street.

“Eve …” I croaked out.

“Yes, we’re leaving now.”

“No. Eve … ”

“I’ve got you,” he said. And then from in close, right next to my ear, “Poor Angela. Did you really think you were going to pull this off?”

That’s when I looked up and saw his face clearly for the first time. It was the Brit. Or whoever he was. Strong nose, sandy-brown buzz cut, cleft chin. The one from the coffee shop, but there was no accent now.

Before I could even speak, I felt a sharp stab under the arm. My scream didn’t even form. All I heard was a rasping sound from my throat, like air escaping a ruined tire.

I felt weak. And then weaker again.

“She’s losing consciousness,” he said.

“No,” I said. “Help …”

“Yes, we’re getting you help.”

“No.”

“There she