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Sean glanced at him sideways. “I’m not a cop.” He tripled-checked the custom GPS and driving system he’d designed, making sure he’d compensated for the road hazards. The icy roads were not his friend, and he hoped his car would help him control any pursuit.
“I’m familiar with RCK. I’m certain there are many times sitting still for long periods of time is necessary.”
“I leave that to others. I’m the only one who hasn’t been in the military. When you enlist, they teach you to be a statue.”
“It’s called survival,” Dillon said. “Are you certain—”
“Yes. I’m certain.” I hope. “I have that feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’ve learned not to doubt.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
Sean glanced at his watch. “We have to leave in an hour to pick up Lucy in time.”
“Kate can pick her up.”
“No. Mallory’ll be out before then. I’d rather keep Kate out of this until we absolutely have to involve her. She shouldn’t be put in an awkward position between me and Armstrong.” Sean trusted the Kincaids—he’d be a fool not to—but none of them were trained bodyguards. And while Sean didn’t specialize in personal security, he’d had his fair share of protective assignments. He didn’t like the idea that Lucy was at the Medical Examiner’s Office without a guard, but if Mallory was here, he wasn’t there. Still, Sean was nervous—if he was wrong, Lucy’s life was at risk. He didn’t care what Dillon said about Mallory not hurting her; Sean didn’t believe it.
The bastard had a photograph of her in his office.
Sean had cracked the windows, even though the air was icy, to better hear a car approach. It was a quiet neighborhood. He closed his eyes and listened. Forced himself to be calm.
“You care about her.”
It was both a statement and a question. Sean suspected after the last few days with Lucy that he’d be getting the third degree from more than one Kincaid.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Dillon didn’t say anything else, and that made Sean nervous. What did Lucy’s brother really think of him? Was he assessing whether he was good enough for her? Whether he knew everything that had happened in her past? Whether he’d be scared away if the going got tough?
Dillon remained silent. Was it that easy?
Cold still air carried sound well, and Sean heard the car long before he saw it.
They were around the corner from Mallory’s private dead-end street abutting the woods, and Sean had positioned his car in such a way as to be able to see through trees and shrubs anyone coming from the ten or so houses up Mallory’s street.
A gray sedan.
Sean turned the ignition of his GT and the engine purred into life. “Seat belt,” he told Dillon. He glanced over. “I should tell you I race cars. Amateur racing, but I’m good. Don’t panic if it gets rough.”
He waited until the sedan had reached the corner, then shot forward to block it.
Mallory braked, immediately reversed twenty feet turning 90 degrees, then drove forward, right behind Sean’s car.
Sean anticipated the move and spun 180 degrees in pursuit.
“This is a residential neighborhood,” Dillon said.
“I’m not going to hit anyone. I love this car.”
But Sean would total it if it meant catching the fleeing bastard. He pressed the “2” on his GPS number pad.
“What’s that?” Dillon asked.
“Questions later.”
His GPS gave him a cutoff route, and the radar in the front of his car told the computer how fast Mallory was driving, and how fast Sean had to go to cut him off.
He made a hard left, leaving Mallory.
