Page 26 of Dark Lover

As if he knew what she meant to do, he went with her, preventing her from twisting his arm, and they wound up in their starting positions, face-to-face, holding hands, breathing hard.

He grinned. “I was hopin’ fer a different kind of persuasion, Sam.”

She went for his solar plexus. He dodged the attack and lightly blasted her with power, sending her backward, into her car. “Sorry,” he taunted.

She cursed.

He hurried into the street, raising his hand to flag down a taxi. Brakes screeched. Sam launched herself upright as he waved the parcel containing the page at her. Then he opened the driver’s door, pushed the driver out and got in, taking over the wheel.

Sam leapt into her car, turned the ignition on, jammed it into Drive and peeled out after him. Horns blared at her. She ignored the outrage. A Honda crashed into a parked car to avoid hitting her as she barreled through the traffic.

She hit the gas. She was not going to lose him, but there were half a dozen yellow cabs ahead, each identical at this distance. She was careful to keep him in her sights.

His yellow cab suddenly veered away from the group, turning abruptly onto a side street.

Sam cursed, weaving past two taxis to follow him. But a woman and a child were already stepping into the street and she had to slam on the brakes. Maclean was almost at the end of the block and she saw that he was going to run the changing light. “Shit!”

She leaned out of her window. “Move!” she screamed at the woman. She turned her siren on.

The woman leapt across the street, the boy in tow. Sam slammed down the accelerator. Maclean was entering the next intersection, and the light between them had turned red. She cursed and hit the gas harder, using the horn. Miraculously, the New Yorkers about to cross the street actually stopped and she drove furiously forward, into the uptown traffic.

Horns blared, tires screeched. An SUV hit her passenger side door. Sam kept going. The Lexus leapt into the next street, only a half a block between them now.

He was laughing—she just knew it.

Ahead, she saw the cab veer left, heading back downtown.

Sam drove faster, the light ahead still green. Not that it mattered—she was on Broadway now and dozens of pedestrians were jaywalking. She held down the horn, the blare incessant, her sirens still screaming, but the pedestrians ignored her. She braked hard to avoid vehicular manslaughter.

The crowd streamed across the street, blocking her way.

She leaned out of her window, firing her gun into the air. “Get out of my way!”

The men and women walking past her car ran for the safety of the sidewalk.

Sam shot through the intersection.

About twenty yellow cabs were ahead of her.

She slowed, her heart racing, scanning the mass of taxicabs. From behind, most of them looked alike. “Shit.”

The light changed. The traffic moved on. She followed the pack of yellow cabs, now trying to feel him. “Where are you, you sonuvabitch? Which one are you?”

She didn’t expect an answer. But she focused as never before.

And she felt his hot male power. Oh yeah, she did.

Her gaze slammed onto a cab on the right side of the mass. “Gotcha,” she snarled. She turned the wheel hard, cutting off a delivery van, ignoring the driver, who hit the brakes, cursing her through his window. She slammed down the gas and drove her vehicle right into his rear fender.

The cab bounced hard at the contact, the fender crumpling. Then Maclean turned and looked over his shoulder at her.

He was laughing.

“I’m having the last laugh, Maclean,” she said. “And I am staying right here, glued to your shiny yellow ass.” She smiled, wondering what he would do next.

She found out two blocks later. Suddenly he swerved toward the sidewalk and she followed him, determined to stay with him. Maclean looked like he was going to hit the patrons of a sidewalk café, and the masses screamed, people diving away from their tables and chairs. He swerved again. Sam followed as he drove into the exit ramp of a parking garage—at full speed.

He was testing her, she thought grimly, her hands clamped on the steering wheel. But she did not have a death wish. The exit ramp spiraled tightly upward—making it impossible to see who was coming down.