Black Widow (19 page)

I swiveled back and forth, half-expecting to see some uniformed officers running in my direction, drawn by the sounds of the explosion and the continued
crack-crack-crack
s of gunfire. But no one appeared. Looked like the po-po thought that the fence was enough to keep the cars safe and secure in the lot. Well, it wasn't going to keep me penned in. Not for long.

I'd taken a beating during the bull-pen fight, but I made my legs churn as fast as they could as I raced through the rows of cars. I must have been in the junk section because all I saw were rusted-out rattletraps that should have been compacted years ago. I stopped at the first decent-looking ride I came to—a late-model Dodge Charger—grabbed a metal pipe that was sticking up out of a nearby trash can, and used it to shatter the driver's-side window. A second later, I was inside the vehicle, ripping into the wires under the dash.

It took me longer than I would have liked, since I wasn't as good with cars as Finn was, but the engine finally rumbled to life.

Good thing, since the cops had arrived.

They poured out of the hole in the wall, all of them drenched by the still-gushing water, but all of them still clutching guns. Dobson was leading the charge.

I snapped the seat belt into its buckle, then shoved the gearshift into reverse and slammed my foot down on the gas, peeling out of the parking space and steering straight for the wall.

The cops realized that I was zooming toward them, and they all yelled and scrambled to get out of the way. I
was hoping to pancake Dobson against the stone, but he threw himself to one side just before the rear bumper of the Dodge Charger slammed into what was left of the back of the station.

The impact jarred me, but I threw the car into drive and stomped down on the gas. Directly across from me, five hundred feet away, lay the main gate that led out of the impound yard.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

More and more bullets zipped in my direction as the cops got back onto their feet and fired at the vehicle. The back windshield busted out, the driver's mirror flew off the side of the car, and gray stuffing puffed out of the passenger's headrest, but I didn't care. I was only using this vehicle to get out of the impound yard and then as far away from the station as I could. After that, I needed somewhere to regroup, at least for a few minutes, and I needed to find some way to let my friends know what was going on. I had no doubt that they had been at the station all day long, trying to get me released, but the information coming out of there would be garbled—if the cops didn't cover up my escape completely.

But where to go? Madeline had done her homework on me, so she knew all of my friends and family. A fact that she'd demonstrated over the last two days as she'd screwed with their businesses, jobs, and more. She'd be expecting me anywhere I went, and she had enough men at her disposal to follow and track me all through Ashland.

The Pork Pit, I finally decided. I needed knives, fresh clothes, money, a burner cell phone, and some tins of
Jo-Jo's healing ointment, at the very least, if I was going to survive the rest of my escape, and that was the closest place to get them. It was a calculated risk, and I was sure that Madeline, Dobson, and the rest of the waterlogged cops would be right on my heels, since that would be the first place they would look for me.

But since the restaurant was closed, courtesy of Madeline and her machinations, none of my friends, family, or employees would be there. I didn't want any of them getting caught in the cross fire if Madeline and the others did catch up to me.

While I was mulling over my options, the impound gate zoomed up to meet me. A cop was stationed in a white guard shack to the left of the entrance, and I could see his mouth hanging wide open as he watched the car approach. He wasn't used to people driving out, only those going in.

I pressed my foot down on the gas as far as it would go and reached for a bit of my Stone magic, preparing myself for what was to come—

CRASH!

The Charger ripped through the metal gate as if it were paper, since it was just shut, instead of being padlocked. I lost control for a moment, the wheel whipping back and forth under my hands, and the vehicle careened out onto the street, sideswiping a parked patrol car.

I fought the wheel and wrenched it back into place. Above the roar of the engine, I could hear more
crack-crack-crack
s of gunfire, along with the wail of sirens. Dobson wasn't wasting any time dispatching his men to hunt me down.

So I put my foot back down on the gas, blew through the red light at the end of the block, and made the sharp turn toward the Pork Pit.

*  *  *

The restaurant was only a few blocks away, so it took me less than five minutes to get there. I didn't know if I had enough of a head start, but I didn't waste any time trying to hide my stolen car. Instead, I parked it right in front of the Pork Pit and left it running so I wouldn't have to hot-wire it again. Besides, if the cops found it before I was done inside and I had to ditch the car, I could always go out the back and disappear into the alley and the maze of side streets behind the restaurant.

I didn't have time to be subtle, so I put my hand against the panes of glass in the front door and then froze and shattered them with my Ice magic. I hated desecrating my own restaurant—Fletcher's restaurant—but I didn't have a choice. Time was the most important thing right now. Not feelings.

I reached through the opening, turned the lock, and stepped inside. Then I sprinted through the storefront and shoved through the double doors. The back of the restaurant was pitch-black, but I'd long ago memorized the layout, so I was able to slap on the lights with no problem.

I went over to the freezer in the back and dragged a black duffel bag out from behind it. I stopped long enough to open the top, feel around in the bag until my hand closed over a knife, and slide it up my sleeve. The second thing I rooted around for was the burner phone
tucked away inside. It took the phone far too long to light up and even longer still for my bruised, bloody, damp hands to punch in his number, but I managed it. He answered on the first ring.

“Gin!” Owen's worried voice filled my ear. “Is that you?”

“It's me,” I said, zipping the bag back up and slinging the strap over my head and across my chest.

“Where are you? What's going on? I'm at the police station. There's been some sort of explosion, and now the cops are yelling and running around everywhere.”

“I'm at the Pork Pit,” I said, opening one of the double doors and peering out into the storefront. “I busted my way out of the station, and the cops are searching for me.”

I paused a moment to listen, and the wail of sirens got closer and closer and louder and louder. Too risky to go back for the car now, not with the cops so close. Besides, it would be too easy for them to track me from behind, shoot out the tires, and close in for the kill. Out to the alley it was, then.

“What do you need?” Owen asked. “Tell me how to help you. Whatever it is, I'll do it. Finn, Bria, Xavier, Silvio, and I are still at the station, but we're going to the parking lot right now. We'll get there as fast as we can.”

His words warmed my heart and brought a smile to my face as I unlocked and opened the back door, ready to step out into the alley and make my escape—

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Bullets slammed into the doorframe, and I saw three cops standing in the alley, guns up, firing at my location.

I cursed, ducked back inside, and shut the door. The
cops had already blocked off the back of the building, but I didn't want them getting inside, so I threw the locks and toppled a metal shelf full of ketchup bottles in front of the door for good measure.

“Gin?” Owen asked, his voice sharpening with worry. “What's that noise? What's happening?”

I didn't have time to answer him as I shoved through the double doors and ran back out into the storefront. Looked like I'd have to risk using the car after all.

Outside, the street was still clear. My heart lifted. I was going to make it out of here after all—

Madeline Monroe stepped into sight.

I hesitated, just for a second, but that was long enough for Emery Slater to appear beside her, with Jonah McAllister and Captain Lou Dobson on the other side. Behind them, blue and white lights flashed, and several police cars
screech-screech-screech
ed to a halt at the intersections. Even if I could have taken out Madeline, Emery, Jonah, and Dobson, there was no way I could get past the cops at the ends of the blocks without getting pumped full of bullets.

Trapped—I was trapped inside the Pork Pit.

14

“Gin?” Owen asked again, his voice louder and more worried than ever before. “What's going on? What's happening?”

“Madeline's outside the restaurant,” I said, my voice calm, even as my mind churned and churned, trying to think of a way out of this. “The cops have the Pork Pit surrounded.”

Owen sucked in a ragged breath. “Gin”—his voice came out as a low, agonized whisper—“tell me that you can get out of there. Please,
please
tell me that.”

More and more cops arrived, stopping their cars at both ends of the block and cordoning it off, the blue and white lights on their vehicles spinning around and around. Some of the cops took up positions behind their cars, using the open doors as shields, while others jogged down the street and out of sight, no doubt to further block off the alley behind the restaurant.

“I'm sorry, Owen.”

He let out a choked cry, the anguished sound piercing my heart, but I forced myself to tune him out and to concentrate on the most important thing right now—staying alive.

Madeline stepped up to the front door of the Pork Pit. Still clutching the phone to my ear, I approached the door from my side until only about five feet separated us. We stared at each other through the empty space where the glass had been.

“I knew that you'd come straight here.” Madeline shook her head as though I'd disappointed her. “So predictable, Gin. I expected more from you.”

“Let's see, I took out five inmates all by my lonesome, escaped your bull pen of death, and busted out of the police station,” I drawled back. “I think that I'm doing pretty well so far, considering that you and your proxies haven't been able to kill me yet.”

She shrugged. “It's only a matter of time now. We both know that. The entire restaurant is surrounded. There's no escape for you, Gin. Not this time.”

Through the phone, I could hear Owen cursing Madeline for all that he was worth. Yeah. Me too.

Still, I kept my face calm as I stared her down. “I might die here tonight, but you're not going to get off so easy. How are you going to explain this? I doubt that even your pet stool pigeon there can cover up all of this. Especially since I left such a glaring reminder of my presence back at the police station.”

Madeline gave me a thoughtful look, then glanced at Dobson. “You know, Gin, I think you're right. Best to cut off any loose ends now.”

“Don't listen to her,” Dobson growled, glaring at me
through one of the windows. “I can handle everything, just like I promised, just like I have so far.”

“Sure,” I mocked. “If letting me kill four people, escape police custody, steal a car, and roar out of your own impound yard is your idea of
handling things
.”

“You fucking bitch!” he yelled.

The giant drew his gun out of his holster and started firing at me.

Crack!

Crack! Crack!

Crack!

But instead of punching through the window and then my skull, the bullets snagged in the thick glass, with spiderweb cracks zigzagging out in all directions from the sharp impacts.

“Bulletproof glass,” I said, leaning to one side of the cracks so that Dobson had a clear view of my smug smile. “A girl's best friend.”