Baggage Claim (Tru Exceptions - Christian Romantic Suspense Book 1) (3 page)

Rachel felt the anger and embarrassment staining her cheeks bright red. It seemed as if he had just mocked her entire life and threw her most personal struggles back in her face. It hurt to have Rachel Saunders reduced to the bare facts that in no way said who she really was.

"Let me repeat," Rachel said, her voice quiet yet tense with emotion. "You know nothing about who I am." Pausing, her voice brightened. "However, since you obviously know so many facts about me, I think it only fair to know one more fact about you."

Dawson's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You said your name was Dawson Tate. But, obviously that's a fake name--an alias, a stage name, whatever you want to call it. Great name for Hollywood, but in real life? Not so much. So, Mr. Hollywood, what's your real name?"

Rachel lips curved in a rather evil smile of satisfaction as she watched Dawson's sudden fury as he sputtered to find a response.

"Uh, Daws," Joe called from the front. "As much as I hate to interrupt the most entertaining conversation I've heard in weeks, we've got a problem. It looks like our friends are going to be insisting on that interview after all."

Both Dawson and Rachel turned around to see two dark sedans weaving through traffic behind the taxi, rapidly closing the gap between the vehicles.

"And the honeymoon is over," Dawson said. "They just figured out we know about the bomb. Joe, I hope you're current with your evasive driving training. We're going to have to lose them."

"Hang on," Joe replied.

Joe accelerated and began swerving around cars. After several sharp turns around corners, Rachel thought there were probably permanent imprints on the seat from her fingernails. It was just about as bad as the rides that spin at the fair, and Rachel already felt the carsickness coming in waves.

Dawson's phone beeped and he answered it, listening.

"You think?" He said, obviously angry. "We kind of already figured that out since we're currently being chased by the terrorists! You could have given us a warning that you were about to disable the tracking device."

Dawson was silent a moment. "You've got to be kidding," he finally said in disgust. "We can't hold them off indefinitely and, if you don't do something, you'll either have us dead and the bomb back in the hands of the terrorists or you'll have a bomb of unknown magnitude detonated in the middle of Manhattan! Since neither of those options are acceptable, figure this out NOW!"

Dawson pressed the button to end the call.

"What's going on?" Joe asked, his tone hesitant and suspicious.

Dawson punched the headrest in front of him in frustration. "I thought we had our best and brightest working on this thing, but instead it sounds like they've assigned the task to a room full of chimps. They hacked into the computer and were able to disable the tracking device, but not the bomb itself. They said they had intended to do both simultaneously, but only the tracking part worked. So now, the terrorists know we're on to them and might blow the bomb up at any time. "

"Okay, so where's the cavalry?" Joe asked, squealing the tires as he rounded a corner. "We need to take down these terrorists chasing us and get the bomb to a secure location, like five minutes ago."

"They aren't coming, at least not yet," Dawson replied. "The powers that be feel that if they show up in full force to take this thing down, the terrorists will detonate the bomb immediately. They are unwilling to risk it. Everything we know about this terrorist cell says they meticulously planned this and might be unwilling to forgo Plan A if it's still within reach. Bottom line, all enforcement has been ordered to stay away until the geeks can get this thing disarmed. We're on our own for now."

Joe let loose an impressive string of profanity. Followed by an immediate, "Sorry about that, Rachel."

"So they aren't going to help us all?" Rachel asked, her voice sounding small and frightened even to her own ears. Her eyes kept darting back to the bomb, expecting to see angry red numbers flash on the display at any second.

The two men didn't answer. All three were completely silent for the next few minutes as Joe drove like a maniac.

"Joe, you have to stay away from Midtown Manhattan,” Dawson urged, apparently not liking Joe's choice of direction. "We're going to be too close to Times Square."

"It’s not like I have a lot of choice here, Daws!" Joe replied rapidly spinning the steering wheel like it was the wheel of fortune. "They've tied my hands. I can't go near Times Square, the financial district, or any other major tourist destinations. Added to that, I can't go near any bridges or leave Manhattan. It's an island! And there are millions of people in the streets alone! Please tell me, where can I go?"

"You're right, Joe. Just do your best," Dawson answered.

Joe's best was pretty impressive. He must have been a star pupil in training for evasive driving. The scene out the front window looked almost like a video game; vehicles, people, and buildings going by in a blur. Rachel noticed, though, that he was trying to avoid the danger of traffic lights, choosing alleyways and side-streets with less congestion. Rachel periodically glanced to the rear and was amazed to see the two dark sedans keeping up despite Joe's talents.

"I'm not shaking them!" Joe finally admitted, his brow lined with sweat and frustration increasingly evident in his jerky movements.

"Joe, they've got guns!" Dawson yelled from where he was angled looking over the back seat.

"Get down and stay down, Rachel!" Dawson ordered, pushing her to the floor of the taxi. Putting the suitcase on the seat beside her, he further ordered, "Shut this."

As she hesitantly pushed the screen down into its original position and carefully zipped the suitcase back together, Dawson suddenly scrambled into the front seat while Joe was rounding a curve.

Rachel watched Dawson ready his gun and get into position, using the seat as a shield and cover.

Bullets hit the rear window, sending thousands of spider web cracks through the glass. Rachel ducked and covered her head.

"What are they doing?" She yelled to Dawson. "Aren't they afraid they'll hit the bomb?"

"It wouldn't cause any damage even if it did," Dawson replied. "The bomb is unbelievable in its technology. It would take an explosion to set it off accidentally. Otherwise, it will only go off if purposely programmed to.

Dawson peeked around the seat, but couldn't see through the rear window that was shattered yet still in place. Climbing back over Rachel, he leaned back and used his feet to repeatedly kick the window as hard as he could. It came apart in chunks that spun off behind them. Dawson scrambled back and took his position, now clearly able to see the enemy. Yet, he didn't fire his weapon.

"This is going to be tricky," he said. "I'm going to have to wait for the right shot. I don't want to encourage them to return fire. This area is too heavily populated. We can't risk any collateral damage."

It was driving Rachel crazy not to be able to see what was going on, but she was also too frightened to move a centimeter. So instead, she breathed deeply of the dirty carpet as she obediently lay plastered to the floor, eyes closed and praying for this nightmare to be over.

"Daws, this isn't working. I'm going to have to try something different."

Rachel felt Joe suddenly slam on the brakes, screeching the tires and fishtailing about 180 degrees. He then hit the accelerator and shot forward. Rachel heard a loud bang as something hit a window. The car immediately lost control. Panicked, she opened her eyes, sat up, and looked in between the front seats. Joe was slumped in the front seat with a gunshot wound to his head. He was dead.

Before Rachel's mind could even process what was happening, she saw Dawson lunge at the steering wheel from his passenger's seat. Grabbing it with one hand and struggling to gain control of the wildly swerving car, he reached across Joe with the other hand, found the door handle, and opened it.

To, Rachel's shock, he unceremoniously pushed Joe's body out the car door and into the street.

"Dawson, no!" Rachel yelled, but it was too late. Joe was gone, and Dawson was now seated in the driver's seat. Quickly righting the car, the tires squealed as he accelerated and tried to design a maze which the other cars couldn't possibly follow.

"He was dead Rachel," Dawson said, answering her protest. "We will be too if I don't get us out of here. Joe can't help us now."

"But you just dumped him!" Rachel accused.

Dawson's phone beeped from where it had fallen on the passenger seat.

"Answer it, Rachel," Dawson ordered, focusing fully on the road as he sped down the street and marked the pavement with rubber tire tracks around every curve. Dawson was apparently equal to Joe in driving skills.

Reaching between the seats, Rachel got the phone and pressed the button to answer.

"This is Rachel Saunders," she said a little breathlessly. At the silence on the other end, she hurried to explain. "Dawson is currently… occupied, so he asked me to answer the phone." She stopped short of offering to take a message. That would just sound juvenile and stupid, even to her own ears.

"Tell Agent Tate we've already taken possession of Joe's body," a business-like voice said on the other end.

"They already have Joe!" Rachel reported. Dawson nodded as if he wasn't surprised.

"Also, let him know that we're tapped into the grid now," the voice continued. "We're tracking his movements so he can go ahead and use the intersections with traffic lights."

"They say to tell you they're tapped into the grid, whatever that means," Rachel obediently reported.

"Good," Dawson replied. "That means they'll try to manage the traffic and turn the lights green for me to pass safely. Ask them how close they are to deactivation. I need help now!"

Rachel started to relay the question, then stopped. The line was dead. They had already disconnected the call.

"They already hung up."

"Figures," Dawson said. "We're still on our own."

"But now there are only two of us."

"So, you're going to have to help me," Dawson said. "I need you to get up here in the front seat, Rachel. You'll have to be the eyes in the back of my head. Do you think you can manage?

Rachel didn't reply. Instead, the second Dawson made a sharp right turn, she leapt into the front seat exactly as she had seen Dawson do earlier. Okay, so maybe not exactly. She probably wasn't quite as graceful, and Dawson may have gotten a foot in the shoulder. But she made it, and right before shots rang out once again from the rear. Apparently, her movements hadn't gone unnoticed.

Rachel struggled to fasten her seatbelt while Dawson swerved, trying to create a more difficult target. He veered to the right, then made a quick 90 degree turn into an alley on the left. A street vendor on the sidewalk in front of the alley, leapt out of the way in a blur of red, white, and blue.

The sky was getting dark in the gathering dusk, making details more difficult to see and the narrow alley seem more gloomy. The car barely fit in between the brick wall and the dumpsters lining the other side. Sinister shadows grew and seemed to take on a life of their own. Rachel wanted to close her eyes and wait for it all to be over, but she couldn't. It was like watching a train wreck, not wanting to see it yet unable to look away. She split her time between watching the swirling images in the front windshield and carefully peeking around the seat to the rear to see the lumbering, vicious shadow still pursuing them.

Dawson turned from the alley back onto a road. Still the sedan followed.

"Here we go," he said, the taxi fast approaching an intersection with a red light. It wasn't turning green. Cars were still passing through the middle yet Dawson wasn't slowing down.

"Dawson…" Rachel said hesitantly, not sure what he was doing. Maybe she had heard the man on the cell phone wrong. "Dawson…” this time more urgently. Maybe she had relayed the message wrong. The light wasn't changing! "Dawson!" she shrieked.

About two seconds before they entered the intersection, Rachel heard the sound of squealing tires as cars tried to stop suddenly. The light turned green, but there were still cars stuck in the intersection, misplaced due to the unexpected stop. Luckily Dawson was able to swerve through the gaps and make it across.

Watching through the now open rear window, Rachel thought the traffic light must have changed again right after they went through. Cars slowly began to move right when the dark sedan came through the intersection. The journey through the ‘Red Sea' wasn't nearly as successful for those chasing them. The sickening sound of metal impacting metal made the rest of the world seem silent, yet the dark sedan made it across, having earned only a few ugly yet insignificant bodily injuries.

And still they kept coming. It was becoming increasingly clear that they were not going to be able to lose their stalkers. They were being hunted and the terrorists weren't about to give up and lose their prey, no matter what the cost. Rachel glanced over at Dawson, watching the muscles in his jaw twitch with the tension. He sat with his back straight but the lower half of his body slouched in the seat. At that angle, he was able to keep his head pressed firmly against the high headrest. Rachel realized these contortions were meant to keep his head out of sight so as not to provide a target for those following. Unfortunately, the awkward position looked very uncomfortable and made his evasive driving even more difficult. Dawson wasn't panicking, but Rachel recognized the subtle signs of stress and frustration. She knew he was fast running out of options.

"We're not shaking them, Dawson," Rachel said quietly. "How much longer can we keep this up?"

"I don't know," he replied, the stress making his words sound harsh. "Right now the only way I see for us to get out of this alive is if they get the bomb deactivated and a SWAT team of the A-team variety falls out of the sky. But, realistically, I'm thinking that even if they deactivate the bomb, no help is going to arrive soon enough to do us any good. What about you? Got any bright ideas, Montana? Maybe you wear a superhero costume under your other clothes just in case? I'm open to suggestions."

Rachel recognized that he was being facetious. He was about as open to her suggestions as he was to having a root canal without pain medication.

"Sorry, Hollywood," Rachel replied, matching Dawson's glib tone, "I only wear my superhero costume on Tuesdays."

But… maybe she did have an idea. A gun lay on the floor by her feet. She wasn't sure if it was Dawson's or Joe's. She also didn't know if Dawson was even aware of the gun and its location. Obviously, even if he'd had opportunity, he'd never be able to use it while driving.

Carefully, Rachel peered around the seat. The dark sedan had gained on them and was following only a short distance back. This would be difficult. She would have to time it just right.

Trying to be inconspicuous, she slowly reached down and gently lifted the gun off the floor. Dawson was so focused on driving, he didn't seem to notice her movements. Keeping the gun concealed against her right side, she pushed the release button on her seatbelt and waited.

"Dawson, they are pretty close behind us. If you let me know right before you make your next turn, I can try to get a good look at how many are in the car."

Dawson nodded.

About twenty seconds later, he announced, "Turning!"

In one smooth motion, Rachel swung her body around in the middle of the seats and raised the weapon. Taking a split second look, she confidently pulled the trigger.

The rearview mirror of the sedan shattered. As if in slow motion, thousands of glass shards caught the light from streetlights, flashing like miniature lightning strikes before inflicting horror on the car's inhabitants. Unable to complete the turn, the driver lost control, spinning out and hitting a street light before Rachel lost sight of it.

"That's a nice Glock. 40 caliber is my favorite," Rachel said evenly, replacing the gun on the floor and calmly refastening her seat belt. "There were two, by the way."

Trying to keep his eyes on the road, Dawson still managed to gawk at her, the shocked and confused look on his face almost comical.

"Terrorists," Rachel explained, trying to clear his confusion. "There were two terrorists in the car."

"Who…? How…? How did you…?" Dawson stammered, finally finding his voice, sort of.

Rachel felt a thrill of satisfaction that she had managed to render the tough guy speechless for the second time that evening. "What?" She asked innocently, as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

"I didn't know you could shoot." Dawson said, finally gathering his wits enough to form a complete sentence.

"I'm from Montana. Of course I can shoot!"

"Why didn't you tell me what you were planning to do?" Dawson accused, his anger emerging as the shock began to fade.

"Would you have trusted me and let me do it if I had?"

"No," he admitted quietly.

"Besides, I wasn't sure I'd be able to take the shot."

"That was pretty impressive. How did you know you wouldn't miss and hit something or someone else."

Rachel shrugged. "My dad taught me to shoot when I was young. At the ranch, it's necessary to be a good shot in order to protect the livestock. But dad also taught me never to pull the trigger unless I was sure I could hit the target. I had a split second look at the sedan and the angle I needed. I knew I could make it. I wasn't aiming to kill. I knew the windshield wouldn't shatter, but the rearview mirror would. With the kind of damage the shattered glass would cause, there would be no way they could continue following. Trust me, it wasn't the most difficult shot I've ever made."

Dawson nodded as if he understood, but Rachel still saw a look of respect in his eyes that wasn't there previously.

"Next time, Montana, just tell me when you have a brilliant idea. Speaking of which, you took care of one, but what's your solution for getting us free from our other tagalong."

Rachel turned around and looked behind them. The last of twilight was quickly fading, which explained why Dawson was depending on her sight rather than his own rearview mirrors to spot a dark vehicle driving with its lights off.

"Uh… Dawson, what 'other tagalong'?" Rachel asked, seeing nothing behind them yet feeling a sudden sense of dread.

"The other dark sedan following us."

Rachel suddenly remembered that Joe had said there were two. She also recalled that when she initially moved to the front seat and started watching, there had been two cars in pursuit."

"Dawson, there was only one."

"Are you sure," he asked quietly, foreboding in his voice.

"Yes, I'm positive. I'm not sure when the other sedan dropped off but there has only been one following us for quite a while now. Now, there's no one."

In sheer frustration, Dawson hit the steering wheel with his hands.

 "Rachel, get your head down now!" he ordered roughly.

Before Rachel could move, her peripheral vision caught sight of bright headlights out Dawson's window a fraction of a second before she felt the impact. She heard a scream of sheer terror, then realized it was her own.