He slammed his shoulder against the wall, harder this time.
“Ahhhh . . . WORSE. Much worse!” he shouted.
The receptionist leaned over the desk, looking down where he knelt on the white tilted floor. “Sir, sir. I think you need to see a doctor for that. You really need to see a doctor.”
He reached his hand up and grabbed the top of the receptionist’s desk. Amazingly he now found himself at the front of the line—most likely because he’d scared everyone else away—but even if they could get him in this second, he didn’t have time to be examined. Allyson was in trouble. He needed to figure out her coded message . . . and then he needed to find her.
The nurse tried to hand him a sign-in form but he shook his head.
“I know I need to see a doctor,” Sean was panting now, “but my wife’s in trouble. It can wait.”
He allowed the room to stop spinning and then he moved toward the wall again. He gave the nurses a thumb’s-up sign.
“Third time’s a charm. Third time.” He slammed into the wall again and then felt movement in his shoulder—the shifting of bone and muscle. That was it! His shoulder was jarred back into place. The pain subsided.
“Hey, it worked!” A smiled filled his face.
“Seriously?” The nurse stared at him with her mouth dropped open.
“It worked?” Ray asked, standing over him.
“Okay.” Sean stumbled to his feet. A larger smile filled his face. “Okay. We’re good. There it is.”
Sean stretched and then he worked the sling off his arm. With a flip of his wrist he swung the sling onto the nurse’s desk. He moved his arm in a wave, getting out all the kinks.
Ray patted him on his back. Ray still cradled Beck in the crook of his arm. “Won’t you let me drive, okay?”
They rushed outside together. “Ally said something about a tattoo parlor on 5th and some guy named Bones.” It was only as he said it altogether like that that it made sense.
All he knew was this wasn’t the moms’ night out that he’d expected to hear about from Allyson.
He just needed to get to her fast . . . real fast.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ally fixed her eyes on the biker leading the way. She was thankful that she’d gotten a hold of Sean on Bridget’s phone; she didn’t know how much he understood with her words cutting in and out like that, though. Would he be able to figure it out? Would help be coming?
Bridget’s phone was a cheap model that had been dropped one too many times. To make things worse, the battery was almost dead. Now there was no way to get a hold of Sean if things didn’t go as planned.
Bones was decked out in leather, and he wove his chopper in and out of traffic with the cab following.
“Okay, just try to follow him.” Allyson sat in the passenger’s seat of the taxi now. Bridget had climbed into the back, staying close to Sondra. It’s as if she got strength from the older woman.
Allyson understood. She’d turned to Sondra time and time again. As they’d gotten into the cab Allyson had seen Sondra stop, close her eyes, and send up a silent prayer. Her lips had hardly moved, and not a sound had emerged, but Allyson knew what she was doing. Sondra was the one who people turned to because she knew Who to turn too. Allyson hadn’t realized before tonight how draining it must be for the older woman to be the rock for everyone. Thankfully, Allyson knew that Sondra had a greater Rock—their Lord.
Even now Sondra was in the backseat, trying to comfort Bridget. Bridget was breathing into a brown paper lunch sack, which Izzy just happened to have in her purse.
Allyson said her own quick prayer in her mind, and she then placed a hand on Cabbie’s shoulder. His hands were fixed at ten and two on the steering wheel.
“Sorry about this,” Allyson mumbled.
Cabbie’s eyes were fixed on the road, and he wore the intensity of an Indy 500 driver. “Don’t worry. I’m a trained professional.”
They swerved from lane to lane, following Bones. The distance between them, and the car in front of them decreased, but instead of slowing down, Cabbie gunned it and wove around the car—and the next—like a stunt driver.
“Learned this during a short stint in Germany!” he called, with an accent heavier than it had been earlier in the night. “The Autobahn is no place for the weak.”
Cabbie pushed down on the gas again, and he blazed past a couple of cars. He jerked the wheel again, and Allyson’s body was thrown against his. She understood it now—why he’d been so adamant about them buckling up when the first got in.
“We’re going to die!” Sondra called from the backseat.
“I’m getting sick.” Izzy’s voice sounded weak, desperate. “Oh, I’m going to throw up.”
Allyson sucked in another breath, and she told herself to keep breathing.
Allyson was about to suggest that the cabbie slow down just a little when she noticed something ahead. Her eyes widened and she blinks twice, wondering if she was imagining things, but no—just a few cars ahead . . .
“Wait! That’s . . .” She gasped.
Allyson looked closer and then started banging her hand on the dashboard. A mix of excitement and anger surged through her. Excited that they found it, and angry again that someone stole her van—her minivan—from a very public spot. What a jerk!
“That’s my van!” she shouted again, pointing. “That’s my van!”
Ahead the gray minivan, covered with bumper stickers, drove down the road lit by streetlamps and stars.
They had to stop them. They had to get those thieves. They had to . . . get their cell phones! And they had to get out of this taxi. She didn’t even want to know what the fare was going to add up to.
***
Marco liked Kevin’s idea. Instead of heading back to Sean’s place, they could drive around for a while. At least in the van the kids were buckled in. That’s why he’d decided to take the long way back. Or rather, the long, long way back.
Instead of sitting in the passenger’s seat, Kevin was crouched on the floor, between the front two seats, leaning in to mess with the radio. As Marco drove over unknown roads, Kevin tinkered under the dash, holding a bunch of wires, trying to fix the radio.
Elmo’s voice blared the same song from the moment that they’d gotten in the car. “L M N O P Q R S . . . Elmo sang. Personally, Marco didn’t mind it too much. After all, the twins did need to learn their ABCs, but each time Elmo’s voice started the alphabet again Kevin started panting harder. If there had been room for Kevin to pace, Marco was sure that he would have done that.
Finally . . . the stereo turned off.
Kevin looked up at Marco. “I did it! I did it! No more noise—”
Marco looked down at the radio and smiled, but nearly as soon as the noise went out, the cries of the kids arose. One of the twins wailed, the second one started screaming, loudly. More shouts arose, until the whole van was filled . . . FILLED . . . with noise!
“Put it back!” Marco’s voice rose above them as he wailed at Kevin. “Put it back on right now!”
Yes, Elmo was annoying but the kids, their cries, overwhelmed him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Yes, that was far worse. Thankfully he only had two.
Marco looked to Kevin. Kevin rolled his eyes then disappeared again under the console. Marco sent up a prayer. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever prayed for loud, Elmo music. Maybe this was a first, but as the screams of the kids rose, his fervent prayers did too.
Allyson couldn’t believe it. Out of all the cars in the parking lot she wondered why the thieves hadn’t stolen another car. There had been sports cars and luxury vehicles. There had been cars that probably cost as much as her house. Out of all them, why hers?
Maybe because those other cars probably had alarms. Or maybe tracking devices. Yes, that had to be it. Also, her van had space, and they could fill it with all types of stuff. The thieves probably needed her van to haul other stolen goods. She pictured stolen televisions and stereos piled in the seats where her innocent children usually sat. The idea caused her skin to crawl.
No, sir. Not on her watch. She couldn’t allow that to happen!
Allyson reached over and pounded on Cabbie’s shoulder. “The van. The van. Get the van!”
She heard squeaks from the back, and maybe Sondra praying under her breath.
“The van! Get the van!” she repeated.
She didn’t have to ask him again. Cabbie narrowed his gaze and pushed on the gas. They flew along over a bridge, and the cab bounced and rattled as if it wanted to be launched into outer space.
For a man who wasn’t willing to go one mile an hour over the speed limit on his way to the tattoo parlor, Cabbie was fully into the chase now. His hands gripped the steering wheel, and his eyes fixed ahead. With the intensity of a race car driver, he sped up, pressing the gas pedal to the floor board.
The taxi cab moved faster than she thought it could—it should—and Allyson’s heart pounded. Adrenaline surged through her. Even more adrenaline than when she saw raw eggs all over the kitchen and living room. She was scared, but excited. She felt as if she was in a roller coaster, by the way her body was being tossed around. She wanted to tell him to slow down, for their safety, but her sense of justice prevailed even more.
With a turn of the steering wheel, Cabbie jerked the taxi cab into the free lane next to him and swerved up alongside Bones.
Bones’ motorcycle roared next to them. He glanced over, and Allyson read confusion on his face. Allyson motioned to the van ahead of them.
Ally rolled down the window, then she leaned out, waving to get Bone’s attention. “That’s my van!” she called to him. “That’s my stolen van!”
It was then Bones understood. He nodded and then darted ahead, closing in fast.
A squeal sounded from Bridget, who was pressed in the backseat between Sondra and Izzy. “What about my baby?”
Allyson wanted to reassure Bridget, but her eyes were focused on Bones. Who knew what would happen if they lost sight of the van? Maybe it was being driven to a chop shop this very second. Maybe it was already filled with stolen goods.
Bones sped up, still trying to catch up with the van.
The bridge ended, and they moved into a business area, not too far from her house. The van turned, making a sharp right. The cab followed. The cabbie jerked a turn to the right, as wildly as if he were playing Grand Theft Auto . . . and not driving around four church ladies.
Ally squealed and slid against the cab driver. More cries erupted from the back, and Ally glanced back just in time to see the women behind her sliding into one side of the cab in a heap. Behind their heads she looked out the back window. There!
Instead of following him, almost as in slow motion he jerked on his handlebars, causing his bike to spin out in front of a state trooper.
Genius!
The trooper took the bait. The lights and sirens blared on. Bones roared down the road after them, and the trooper followed in hot pursuit. The siren wailed! Blue and white lights flashed in the night sky. What Allyson would give for Kevin to see them now. For Brandon to see them. His words echoed in her mind.
Triple Kill!
Now both the state trooper and Bones followed the cab. Allyson’s heart pounded and she gripped the dashboard.
“Yes, get him! Let’s get him!” she cried out.
Yet her words were drowned out by the moans of the women in the backseat. Moans for a child, moans because someone felt sick. And, if she knew Sondra, moans and prayers for them to make it out of this mess in one piece.
The chase sped up, and the businesses on the side of the road blurred. The siren sounded from behind, and Allyson inwardly urging the cabbie to drive faster. To catch those thieves!
***
Marco heard the siren first. Even over the sound of the screaming children, the siren’s wail pierced the night air. He looked into the rear view and spotted a taxi, followed by a motorcycle, followed by a state trooper. His eyes widened.
Marco glanced from the commotion behind him to the road ahead. He realized he was drifting into the oncoming lane and jerked back into his own. Kevin, still not buckled up, tossed against him, like a rag doll in the hands of his twins.
“What are you doing?” Kevin cried.
Marco pointed a thumb behind him. “We’re being chased by American choppers back there!”
“Go faster! Go faster!” Brandon yelled from the back.
“Go faster! Go faster!” Kevin echoed.
Marco’s eyes grew wide. “The cop is following us too!”
The siren continued to blare, and it took all of Marco’s selfcontrol not to let go of the steering wheel and cover his ears.
He scanned the road, looking for a place to pull over to let them pass, but the streets were lined with parked cars. If he attempted to slow—to stop—there’d be a pile up behind him for sure.
His heart pounded. The kids screamed. The siren blared and Marco’s breaths came quick and short.
“Get out of the way!” Kevin shouted.
“I’ve been trying to get out of the way but they keep following me!”
Kevin hit Marco’s arm. He pointed to the stoplight. “Light red, light red, light red!” His shouts echoed off the interior.
Marco panicked. He pressed his back into his seat and slammed his foot down. Too late, he realized he hit the gas instead of the brakes.
What kind of van is this?
They flew through the red light, as if they were in one of those violent video games that Kevin liked to play. Kevin wasn’t so brave in real life. He screamed louder, and from the corner of his eye Marco saw him throw his hands over his head.
Headlights bore down on them from both sides. They made it through, and then the motorcycle followed.
Marco glanced to the road and then back to the rearview mirror just in time to see a yellow cab also fly through the red light. His stomach leapt to his throat seeing a car barely missing the cab. Marco’s heart pounded faster, faster. His hands locked to the steering wheel. His flight mechanism kicked in and he pressed on the gas harder. Still, they were unshakable.
Why do they keep following him?!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Breathe, Marco, breathe.
He told himself, trying to calm.