my own. But you have to go. Now.”
She stared at him for a moment. Then swore, quietly, under her breath. Then she asked, “Are you completely out of your mind?”
“It’s not safe to be around me—”
“Shut up,” she said, her voice like a door being slammed. “Do you really expect me to run away just because you tell me to? You think I didn’t know this was dangerous? I am trying to keep you alive. I will not let you run off and commit suicide now.”
“I am dying anyway—”
“So you’re just going to give up? Really? You? You never give up. Never. Remember? Not on your patients. Not when you think you’re right. So don’t ask me to do it, either.”
Beck shrugged. He was too tired to argue with her. And it didn’t help that she was right. “Fine,” he said. “What do you suggest?”
“I know you’re frightened. But I really believe our best chance is to go to the police. Whoever is behind this, they cannot control everything. That’s the problem with conspiracy theories. No one has that much power. There are still people we can trust. They cannot possibly control all the cops—”
The sound of sirens and screeching tires drowned out whatever Susan was going to say next.
They both looked up the street and saw several squad cars barreling around the corner, lights flashing, zeroing in on the bus shelter.
Beck watched, helplessly. He should have known. The woman kept him on the phone to trace his location. It was so obvious.
Now the police were headed right for them.
Chapter 20
The Metro PD’s squad cars raced toward them on the street. Beck hunched back inside the bus shelter, as if that would protect them.
Then the cars skidded to a halt a block away.
They surrounded the assassin’s car.
Where Beck had dropped the phone.
The cops were out of their cars, guns up, almost before their tires had stopped spinning. One officer grabbed his mike from the dashboard and began shouting into it.
“You! In the car! Come out with your hands up! Now!”
Beck realized they couldn’t see inside the car. The windows were tinted, and the glare from the sun made it impossible.
“I said, come out now or we—”
Whatever the officer said was lost in a sudden hail of gunfire.
Someone decided not to wait for the order to fire, and the rear windshield exploded. The other cops, afraid that someone inside the car was shooting at them, unloaded their weapons as well. The entire street echoed with staccato pops and cracks as the bullets slammed into the car. The windows disintegrated first. The door panels deformed and crumpled as they were hit by ammo from both the pistols and shotguns of the police.
It seemed to take forever before the shooting stopped, as the officer in charge bellowed, “Cease fire! Cease fire!” over and over through his car’s PA system.
A moment later, the car sat in the street like a wounded, dying animal. It had been torn apart by the shots.
It was clear that if anyone had been inside the vehicle, they would have been dead many times over.
A police officer carefully moved toward the shot-up car. He swung the passenger door open. Then he looked at the other cops. He shook his head.
The officer in charge dropped his mike and yelled at the other cops. “All right! Who shot first? I want to know! Who shot first?!”
No one spoke up.
Beck and Susan sat in the bus shelter, hardly breathing. No one had seen them. No one had even glanced in their direction.
The police were arguing among themselves now. Beck, carefully and quietly, stood up, and Susan followed.
They walked away.
The entire time, Beck felt an itching between his shoulder blades, just waiting for someone to shout for him to stop.
Or a bullet.
But they made it around the corner to Susan’s car and got inside without getting caught or shot.
Beck collapsed into the passenger seat and sighed deeply.
Susan did the same. “They knew where we were,” she said numbly. “It’s like they were tracking down terrorists or something.”
“For all we know, that’s what they were told,” Beck said.
“I take back anything I told you about being paranoid.”
Beck chuckled a little at that. Then he sat straight up as he remembered.
“The laptop!” he said.
Susan put a hand on his arm. She opened her bag. The laptop was inside.
Beck sighed again, in relief. She’d remembered it. Thank God.
“I can’t believe I forgot it.”
“You’ve got a few other things on your mind,” Susan said.
“Including a tumor,” he muttered.