For the Love of Pete

by Julia Harper

  “Where is he?”

  “Cairo.”

  Dante’s eyebrows shot up. “In Egypt?”

  “No. Cairo in southern Illinois.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Friday, 7:00 a.m.

  I do not think that the city of Cairo is on this map,” Savita-di announced.

  Pratima dared not take her eyes from the road, so dangerous was the traffic, but she did consider rolling them. “Cairo must be on the map. Rahul has his wonderful motel there.”

  Savita-di rustled the enormous map, which she had completely unfolded across the passenger side of the minivan. “I do not see it. I think this map is defective, Pratima.”

  “The map is not defective, Savita-di,” Pratima replied. She inhaled sharply as a massive semi truck attempted to run down the purple minivan. At the last minute the truck swerved away, shaking the minivan in the wind of its passage.

  Savita-di was oblivious. “I see a city called Rockford and one called Davenport, but I do not see a city called Cairo.”

  Pratima frowned, calling up her hazy knowledge of American geography. “Is the city of Davenport in the state of Illinois?”

  “Of course it is, Pratima!” Savita-di rattled her map. “It is on this map, is it not?”

  “So you say.”

  “I say so because it is,” Savita-di huffed. “And this map is a map of the state of Illinois. Therefore, Davenport is in Illinois.”

  “Hmm,” Pratima murmured. She was concentrating on passing a tiny striped Mini car and could not help but feel a certain glee when the wheels of the purple minivan splattered brown slush against the little Mini’s windshield. In the US of A it was good to drive a big vehicle.

  From the back seat of the minivan a small voice sang, “La na la.” It was the baby girl, freshly diapered and snuggly belted into a car seat taken from the yellow Humvee. She was munching on a breakfast of cut-up bananas and crackers, bought this morning at the scandalously expensive corner grocery store near Abdul’s apartment. Beside the girl sat the boy, belted into the minivan’s own car seat. This was a marvelous contraption concealed behind a removable cushion. The Gupta ladies would never have known about the hidden built-in baby car seat if it were not for Abdul, who had shown them. Their janitor might not speak English, but he seemed to have that mysterious knowledge of mechanical things that all gentlemen shared.

  “This map is useless,” Savita-di exclaimed, throwing aside the rustling paper. “I shall guide us to this city of Cairo.”

  Pratima frowned, feeling uneasy. “How can you guide us without the map?”

  Savita-di shrugged carelessly. “It is south, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we simply drive south,” Savita-di said. “It will be easy.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Friday, 7:13 a.m.

  Dante held the car door for Zoey as she got in the BMW again. The sun was all the way up now and blindingly bright against the snow cover.

  “Where to next?” Zoey asked as she buckled her seat belt. “Are we going to go try the brother and sister? ’Cause if so, I need a coffee. That tea was nice, but I really can’t function without coffee in the morning.”

  “You are so not what I expected from someone who works in a health-food store,” Dante muttered.

  Dante shut the car door and walked around to his own side. He knew he was putting off telling her. Truth was, he was feeling a little down at the thought of not seeing her again after today. He glanced over his shoulder before pulling the BMW into the street. In the last half hour the neighborhood had waked up. Cars began backing out of driveways, an elderly man stood on his front steps watching a pug make yellow spots in the snow, and clumps of bundled schoolchildren trudged down the sidewalk.

  “You’re just prejudiced,” Zoey said.

  He looked at her. “What?”

  Her cheeks were pink from walking to the BMW, and for someone who’d spent the night in a car, she looked pretty good. Her eyes were bright from dinging him, her face a little shiny under the ridiculous hat. “Prejudiced. Against people who work in health-food stores.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are, too. Why can’t I drink coffee if I want to?”

  “I thought coffee was bad for you.”

  “And yet you drink it anyway.” She nodded wisely, the colorful strings on either side of her face bobbing. “Probably gives you a secret thrill, doesn’t it? Drinking something you think is baaad?”

  “Hey.”

  Okay, it was probably morning hormones, but the way she drawled bad kind of made him hot. Dante switched lanes, heading toward a main north–south artery. No matter which way he went this time of the day, it was going to take a good two hours to get to Chinatown. Maybe more.

  Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice anything as she chattered. “Sorry to burst your little thrill bubble, but coffee’s got lots of antioxidants and there’re fewer suicides among people who drink coffee.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “Am not.”

  “Huh. Probably they’re so high on caffeine they can’t think straight to commit suicide.”

  “Well, yeah.” She grinned at him.

  He felt his own lips curving back. For such a prickly woman, she sure was sweet in the morning. Which made him feel like a total jerk for what he was about to do to her—dump her. She’d be safe. That was more important than disappointing her. He tried to keep that thought at the forefront of his mind as he pulled into a grocery parking lot. The grocery itself was a specialty store and had only one or two cars in front, but the tiny coffee kiosk in the parking lot was doing a brisk business.

  Dante pulled the BMW into line behind a silver Audi and a battered blue Taurus.

  He looked at Zoey. She was leaning toward him, studying the hand-lettered sign attached to the side of the kiosk. “What do you want?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  He rolled his eyes and inched the BMW forward as the Audi left.

  “You decided where we’re going yet?” she asked absently.

  The Taurus pulled away and he brought the BMW up to the kiosk.

  He rolled down his window.

  “Yeah?” The kid inside wore a stained T-shirt under an equally stained apron. He peered out the open half door of the kiosk, apparently oblivious to the cold.

  “Large coffee, two creams,” Dante said. He glanced at Zoey.

  She leaned over nearly into his lap. “Good morning.”

  The kid focused on her. “Hi.”

  “Do you make carmellos?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, can you make me a double, skim milk with lots of whipped cream?”

  “You got it.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled sweetly at the guy and straightened, her silly hat almost brushing Dante’s chin. She looked at him. “So where do we go after this?”

  He flattened his mouth. “Nowhere. We’re going to meet my boss, and he’ll take you to somewhere safe until this thing is straightened out.”

  Her brows knit. “But you said yesterday that someone in the FBI framed you.”

  He nodded, hating that he had to explain this, wishing that she’d just let him make decisions without arguing. “Someone inside the local FBI is trying to frame me, but Headington, the SAC, is on the case.”

  “What—?”

  “Look, you’re not safe with me. I need to make sure you’re protected.”

  “But what about Pete?” Her voice had risen. “You’re abandoning her!”

  “I’m not abandoning her. My orders are to report in. There are others who can find her.”

  “The others were the ones that let her get kidnapped in the first place!” She was glaring at him now.

  “Hey, you guys want these?”

  Dante turned to the coffee kiosk. His face must’ve been pretty grim, because the barista jerked back, nearly dropping the paper cups he held.

  “Yeah.” Dante fumbled for his wallet.

  “H
ere,” Zoey said curtly. She held out a ten-dollar bill.

  “I’ll get it.” Dante opened his wallet.

  “I can pay for my own coffee.”

  “I said I’ll get it.” He ignored the ten waving under his nose and gave the barista a twenty.

  “Jerk,” Zoey muttered.

  “You’re welcome,” he said as he shoved the cup into her hand.

  He took a gulp of his coffee, burned his tongue, swore, and pulled out of the parking lot. Beside him, Zoey was silently sipping her own coffee, both hands wrapped around the cup. Which was fine. It didn’t matter at all if she wasn’t talking to him.

  He brought the BMW to a halt at a stoplight, tapping his fingertips on the wheel. “Look. We’re going to get your niece back. It’s only a matter of time.”

  She snorted.

  He gritted his teeth and accelerated as the light turned. “This thing is dangerous. You know that. I need to get you out of the line of fire.”

  “Oh, yeah, like you can trust your FBI peeps. Look what happened when you told Kev we were at the BP. The cops showed up minutes later. No way was that a coincidence.”

  Dante’s lips tightened. Actually, Zoey wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t thought himself. He was pretty certain he could trust Headington, but he didn’t know if he could trust anyone else at the office. Which was why he was making sure to arrive at the meeting place early.

  Zoey was silent for most of the rest of the drive. When he entered Chinatown on Wentworth, she hadn’t spoken to him for forty-five minutes.

  Wentworth was the main drag through Chinatown. On either side of the street were stores and restaurants decorated in turn-of-the-last-century Chinese kitsch.

  “You’re meeting here?” Zoey sounded dubious.

  “Close by.”

  They drove under a red-painted arch decorated with wild-eyed lion dogs. The road twisted to the right as they neared the tangle of Stevenson Expressway and I-94, high overhead. Tall concrete bridges arched into the sky, supported by massive pillars. Dante turned, paralleling the expressway. The sheltered area underneath had been made into a makeshift parking lot. He drove into the lot, crawling between crumbling concrete barriers that separated the road from the parking area. Old snow, ice, and grit crunched under the BMW’s tires. Dante turned off the engine, and for a moment they sat in the car, listening to the engine tick as it cooled.

  Zoey shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “That’s because we’re early.” Dante unbuckled his seat belt. “Stay here.”

  He got out of the car, scanning the area. There were a couple of parked cars, old snow drifted over their tops. Long, dirty icicles hung from the edges of the concrete. They trembled as the traffic roared by on the highway overhead. As far as he could see, they were the only people in the parking lot.

  The passenger door to the BMW opened, and Dante turned unsurprised to see Zoey get out of the car.

  He reached under his overcoat to unholster the Glock. “Stick close to me.”

  For once she didn’t argue. He walked across the garage, checking under and around cars, the progress slow. He could feel Zoey at his back, trailing him and looking under cars when he did. A white van drove under the overpass, slowing on the turn. Dante pulled Zoey into a crouch next to him, partly shielded by a parked car.

  The van sped by.

  Dante released his breath and stood. He glanced at his wristwatch: 9:39. He had twenty minutes or so until the meet. The cars they’d searched were in a clump in the middle of the parking lot. There were still three or four that he hadn’t looked at, parked next to one of the giant concrete pillars. Dante started for them.

  “What are we looking for, anyway?” Zoey asked.

  “Surprises.”

  “Great.”

  He ignored her. The nearest car was an old Cadillac. He bent to peer under it and froze. There wasn’t anything under the car, but on the far side, lying on the ground, he could see a tennis shoe and part of a jeans-clad leg. He straightened.

  “What are—” Zoey began.

  He turned and pressed his fingers to her lips, watching as her eyes widened over his hand. He motioned her behind him and gripped the Glock in both fists. Leading with the gun, Dante whipped around the corner of the Caddy in a crouch.

  Oh, shit.

  For a timeless moment Dante merely stared. A young man lay on his back on the ground, his face turned slightly to the side, his half-opened eyes dull. A sudden gust of winter wind flattened the thin Dilbert T-shirt against his skinny frame. The Dogbert cartoon in the middle was nearly obscured by the large crusted bloodstain that covered his chest. He would’ve hated that—Dogbert was Kevin’s favorite.

  “Oh, my God,” Zoey whispered, just as two black SUVs squealed into the parking lot.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Friday, 9:47 a.m.

  Zoey stood frozen as the black SUVs bore down on them from the far side of the parking lot.

  “Run to the car!” Dante shoved his keys into Zoey’s hands.

  Her hands shook and she nearly dropped them. The black SUVs were roaring nearer, and she couldn’t just leave Dante here. She couldn’t just—

  “Go!” he shouted and raised his gun.

  Zoey whirled and ran flat out across the parking lot. She was about twenty yards from the car. The ground was uneven, badly plowed, and crusted old snow clumped with chunks of crumbling concrete. Her body jolted with each hard footfall.

  BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

  The rapid gunshots echoed off the concrete overhead like claps of thunder. Zoey chanced a glance over her shoulder and caught an image of Dante that impressed itself on her retinas. Dante stood, legs apart, arms held straight in front of him in a shooter’s stance as he returned fire. His long black trench coat hung to his calves, and his face was no longer pretty. It was grim and hard, set in granite. He looked like something out of a western—the lone figure of justice defending an innocent town against evil.

  But the two SUVs were almost on him now, and they looked like they were just going to run him down where he stood. A scream ripped from her throat. At the last possible moment, Dante dove behind the Cadillac he’d been standing next to. The lead SUV careened off the old car, smashing it into the Jeep behind it.

  Oh, God, Dante must be crushed. Zoey made the last couple of yards to the BMW and scrambled in. She fumbled with the keys, trying to insert them into the ignition, her eyes blurred with tears. Behind her, shots crunched against concrete, a whole series of them, making her ears ring. She got the key in and turned it. The BMW’s engine purred to life.

  He might already be dead. The treacherous thought popped into her brain. She wasn’t an FBI agent. She wasn’t trained for anything but ordering oat bran in bulk. He’d told her to run. Shouldn’t she do just that? But more shots rang out. They wouldn’t still be shooting if he were dead. And the point was moot, because Zoey had already gunned the BMW in the direction of the shooting.

  The two SUVs were stopped now, all of the doors flung open. She could see movement behind one of them as a man with a blond crew cut leaned out and fired into the wreckage of the Cadillac and Jeep. The gunshots were immediately returned. Zoey’s heart leaped. Thank God. Thank God Dante isn’t dead.

  The Caddy and Jeep were piled together, but the giant concrete pillar behind them had stopped the momentum of the crash. There was a car-wide space between the pillar and the outer wall, and Zoey aimed the BMW at it.

  More shots rang out. One of the bad guys turned as the BMW neared, and Zoey actually saw his eyes widen. He brought up his gun, but there was a sudden flurry of shots from behind the Caddy and he went down. Then she was pulling into the space by the pillar. She braked fast and watched as Dante rose up from the wreckage of the cars, firing straight-armed at the SUVs. He dove and rolled over the trunk of the BMW to get to the passenger-side door.

  He flung himself into the car. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Zoey floored the BMW, fi
shtailing out from behind the pillar. Something thumped against the rear panel, and then they were out of the parking lot and into the street.

  “You okay?” Dante asked. He’d twisted to kneel in his seat and look behind them.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Zoey glanced in the rearview mirror. One black SUV roared on her tail like a demon from hell.

  “Shit,” Dante muttered.

  He ejected the clip from his gun, fumbled under his coat, and came up with another, sliding it into place in one motion. He rolled down the passenger-side window, leaned out, and fired. Zoey braked and jerked the wheel of the car, flying onto an east–west street.

  Dante slid on the seat. He grabbed the back of the headrest to steady himself. “Careful.”

  “Why is there only one?”

  “What?” He had his arm out the window again, frigid air blasting in.

  Zoey swerved to speed around a panel delivery truck. “The second SUV. Where is it?”

  Dante fired his gun, making her flinch and cringe against the steering wheel. Tires screamed behind them, and Zoey heard a smashing roar.

  “Serves you right, you son of a bitch.” Dante muttered. He grunted and withdrew his arm from the window. “Shot out the first SUV’s tires in the parking lot.”

  She glanced in the rearview mirror. The second SUV was no longer following them. “What do we do now?”

  She sped through a light just as it turned red. A car horn blasted behind her.

  Dante turned around in the passenger seat. “Slow down, for one.”

  “Okay.” Zoey could feel her face warming. “I’m not used to car chases, you know.”

  “I know,” he said quietly. He’d buckled his seat belt, and now he rested his head against the seat. “You did a good job. A real good job.”

  “Thanks.” She felt shaky, on edge like little prickly needles were riding her bloodstream. “Where should I go?”

  Dante blinked. “Turn off here.”

  Zoey turned the wheel, not quite braking enough. The car slid around the curve, and Dante grunted again.

  “Sorry.” She grimaced and slowed, glancing at him. “I need to—”