Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,131

Her engine is faster, newer, stronger — even with my foot pressing the pedal to the floor, she’s eating up ground twice as fast as my car.

“Gemma, they’re gaining on us,” Chrissy says, looking over her shoulder through the rear window.

“I can see that, Chrissy.”

She swallows nervously, but falls silent as we barrel through the exit and swerve onto the empty access road. Squinting at the sudden brightness, mere seconds later I watch in my rearview as the Mercedes flies out of the garage.

“Can’t you go faster?” Chrissy asks, sounding nervous.

“Going as fast as I can.” I clench my jaw.

“Well, can’t you do any evasive maneuvers, like in the movies?”

“Chrissy, do I look like James Bond, to you?”

She sighs.

“If we can make it to the end of this stretch, we’ll be back in semi-civilization,” I say, not sure whether I’m reassuring her or myself. “They won’t be able to follow us, with other cars and people around.”

My car starts to rattle, a sure sign the engine is straining as we fly down the seemingly endless straightaway. Chrissy moans in the backseat, her back arching as another contraction hits her, hard.

They’re getting closer together.

“How you doing back there, Chrissy?”

“Just.” Deep breath. “Peachy.” Deep breath.

“Uh huh.”

“The other moms.” Deep breath. “At my birthing class.” Small moan. “Can shove it.” Deep breath. “With their water births.” Bigger moan. “And private midwives.” Deep breath. “I’m in a freaking car chase!”

“Glad you can see the silver lining,” I mutter, watching as the entire steering column of my car starts to shake beneath my hands. A strange, burning smell has begun to drift back from the engine and fill the interior — definitely not a good sign.

I dart a glance ahead and see we’re nearly halfway back to the main road; my eyes snap up to the rearview, and I see the Mercedes has crept closer, the front mere feet from our back fender, so near I can make out Vanessa and Ralph’s faces through the windshield. She beeps, loudly, and it sounds like a threat.

Shit.

“Where’s the closest hospital, Chrissy?”

“Don’t know.” She’s breathing through clenched teeth, her face pinched in pain, but I think the contraction is starting to pass. “Not even sure… where we are.”

“Maybe Roxbury? Mattapan?” I swallow. “I don’t know.”

“Not exactly… our kind… of neighborhood,” she pants.

“Did you find the phone? Are the police coming?”

“Called Chase. Then police.” She shudders with pain. “But the phone ran out of battery before I could describe where we are.”

“Shit!”

Could they track the call? Triangulate our signal? Or is that just something that happens in the movies?

“Seriously.” She takes another deep breath, her hands pressed against her swollen stomach. “Don’t you ever charge that thing?”

Um… no?

“It’s not even my phone!” I say, my voice defensive.

“You have to charge it every night, when you go to sleep,” Chrissy informs me, sounding a bit more like her old self. “Put a charger next to your nightstand.”

“Really not the time to lecture me on proper iPhone maintenance.” I sigh. “And I don’t have a bed, remember? Homeless, for the time being.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story. Chase gave up my lease and now I have to either move in with him or find a new place—”

“What?!” Her voice goes up an octave. “You don’t tell me anything!”

“Chrissy, it’s really not the time—”

My words cut off abruptly when something rams into us from behind, sending a jolt through the entire car.

“Shit!” I glance back just in time to see the Mercedes — its shiny silver front crunched in from the impact — preparing to charge us again.

“Hold on!” I yell, my hands curling tighter around the wheel as I brace for another hit.

I’m so worried about the danger coming from behind, I don’t even think about what might be coming at us in the front. My eyes go wide as I see a large black SUV fly onto the access road, its turn so sharp it nearly goes up on two wheels. It’s maybe the length of a football field away — a distance rapidly shrinking, at this speed — and it’s heading straight for us.

I can’t brake; going this fast, there’s no time. Plus, there’s the small matter of Vanessa.

As soon as I think her name, the Mercedes slams into us again, its impact hard enough to give me whiplash, not to mention make my already-struggling car start to wheeze in a not-so-good way. Distantly, I hear Chrissy trying to soothe Winnie in the backseat, but I can’t spare much thought to