He cursed again.
“Yeah, that’s going to help.”
A MINUTE LATER, John pulled the car to the curb, trying not to go ballistic as he grimly watched Sal get away. The prick had been right there, and if he hadn’t slashed his tires.
His passenger hadn’t even opened her door. He looked at his phone, but calling in was useless. Sal would be long gone by the time another unit could be dispatched. He turned to his unwilling passenger only to find her bent over the backseat. Great. Now he’d have to pay to get the cab cleaned. He didn’t hear anything, though. “Ma’am?”
“What?” she asked, surly as hell.
“I’ve pulled over.”
“Your reckless driving tossed my bag all over the floor. You’ll sit there and wait while I get it picked up.”
He turned back to the wheel. Anger flared again as he realized he’d have to come up with a way to explain all this to the captain. As a rule, they frowned on cops commandeering a working hack to go in pursuit. Especially one with a passenger on board.
“Dammit, I can’t find my cell phone. Look under your seat.”
She didn’t sound like a native, but her attitude was pure New York. “Yes, ma’am.”
He bent, awkwardly, and fished around for the cell, knowing he wouldn’t find the damn thing. Not the way this day was going. “Nothing.”
“My whole life is on that cell. It has to be here.”
“What’s the number?”
She was silent for a moment. Then she gave it to him, her voice slightly mollified. Maybe even impressed enough not to report him.
He dialed and a tune rang out. Jesus, the opening notes from A Chorus Line. Shaking his head, he turned to give her a hand. That’s when he saw the gun. Sticking in through the window. Pointed at her.
John dropped his cell and went for his weapon.
“Uh-uh, Johnny. I don’t want to hurt the pretty lady, but if I have to, I will.”
John stared at the beefy man, slowly showing him his hands. Clearly he knew who John was, but John didn’t recognize the guy. He wasn’t from the neighborhood, even though he had a trace of an Italian accent. Was this even about Sal? Or another case John had been working on?
“You wanna go down with Sal?” he asked the man, who smiled calmly as if he knew John was fishing.
“Pass me your gun. Nice and easy.”
Shit. John picked up from where he’d left it on the seat and slowly handed it over his shoulder.
“Excuse me. Sir?”
His passenger’s voice was remarkably steady, given the circumstances. John finally got a good look at her. She was pretty, all right. A damn knockout. Long, silky, brown hair. Red lips, pale skin. But her eyes, they were light blue, aquamarine. Doe eyes with dark lashes.
She turned to the guy with the gun. “I don’t know this man,” she said. “I’m just trying to get to Eighth Avenue, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just slip right away and leave you two to work this out.”
“Sorry, doll. I can’t let you do that.”
The woman faced John again. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Let the lady go. Whatever this is about, she has nothing to do with it.”
“No can do, Johnny.” He opened the back door and stuffed himself into the rear seat, forcing the woman to slide over. She reached for the door handle, but the guy’s thick hand stopped her. “Unless Johnny here does something stupid, you’ll be fine. So sit back, relax, and before you know it, you’ll be where you need to go.”
“I’m already late for an audition. This is a callback for me. I’m so close. I know the director wants me and I’ll be the lead ingenue. Please, try to understand my position.”
The big man sighed, and Johnny could swear he smelled garlic. “You seem like a nice lady, but I don’t got a choice here. Shut up and you’ll be all right.” Keeping his gun pointed straight at his target, he said, “Drive.”
“Where?”
“Just go straight till I tell you to turn.”
John put the car in gear and took off, slowly, down the street, trying to think of a way to get Blue Eyes out of this. “You wanna be in the cell next to Sal’s, is that it? So he won’t be lonely?”
“He’s not goin’ to jail, Johnny, and neither am I. Turn right.”
“Sal’s crazy if he thinks I’m gonna let this go.” John’s mind raced. The guy hadn’t denied knowing Sal. But how? What had that idiot gotten himself into?
“Yeah, well, we’ll see who’s crazy. Take the second left.”
John’s gaze darted between the road and the rearview mirror. Maybe there was something familiar about the guy’s thick black brows and the droop to the left side of his mouth. But John still couldn’t place him. Shit, he’d probably seen him in a mug shot.
“Another left at the light.”
John’s hands tightened on the wheel as he realized where he was heading. “What is this? Some kinda joke? You takin’ me to the neighborhood?”
“You’re really a very attractive girl,” the man said. “So what are you, an actress?”
Bella, who’d held her breath at every bump and turn, terrified the gun would go off, looked up in surprise. She’d hoped the detective and the maniac would get so caught up in the conversation that she’d have an opportunity to get out of this stupid car. “I do my best,” she said, channeling the ballsy babe she’d played in her last stint off Broadway. “But you gentlemen seem determined to keep me away from the biggest audition of the year.”
“Given this is the last day of the year, that can’t be too bad, right?”
“It was an expression, somewhat hyperbolic, but close enough.”
“Hyper what?”
“Never mind. What is this neighborhood you’re dragging me to?”
The man gave her an oily smile instead of an answer, and met John’s eyes in the mirror.
“Is this neighborhood in the city?”
“It’s not far.”
“Then you’ll let me go?”
He shrugged. “It’s not up to me. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“My name is inconsequential. Just think of me as the innocent bystander. The one who’s done nothing whatsoever that would cause anyone to shoot me.”
He laughed. At least she thought it was a laugh. It could have been a cough. The man had a very thick neck, topped by a couple of chins. His face had that ruddy, unhealthy look, as if one more plate of spaghetti would send him to the hospital. Counseling him on his eating habits probably wasn’t a good idea. She just hoped he didn’t have a stroke before he stopped pointing that gun at her.
“You can call me Vince,” he said, his gaze going to her chest.
She pulled her coat closed.
“Where you takin’ us?” The detective glanced back at the big man. “A warehouse? That field by Tony’s? You don’t want to kill a cop. That’s life, buddy. Hard time.”