Free The Inner Circle by Robert Swartwood Page A

turn me over, feeling my chest and my stomach and my ribs, asking if anything hurt, and then I was being pulled to my feet and dragged to the Yukon where Ian managed to get me into the backseat.  
    The girl was screaming again. She wouldn’t stop. Ian climbed in behind the wheel and got us moving almost instantly, fishtailing out of the Beachside’s parking lot. I was coherent enough to glance out the window and see the destruction. The cars strewn everywhere, the fires, the crater where the Corolla had stood.  
    Ian was saying something to me—shouting, really, trying to get my attention.  
    “What?”  
    “Are you okay?”  
    I groaned, shifting in the seat, holding my side. “I’ve been better.”  
    “How did it happen?”  
    “Don’t know. The tilt fuse shouldn’t have gone off.”  
    I reached into my pocket for my phone. I expected it to be a shattered mess, but it still looked usable.  
    “What are you doing?” Ian asked, eyeing me in the rearview mirror.  
    “Calling the Kid. What are you doing?”  
    “Fuck, man, I’m just driving.”  
    He was driving much like Ronny had done earlier tonight, swerving from one lane to the next.  
    “Mind the speed limit,” I said. “We can’t afford to get pulled over.”  
    He slowed a bit as the phone connected with the Kid’s number.  
    The Kid answered almost instantly. “Goddamn, it’s about fucking time you called.”  
    “We have the girl,” I said.  
    “Yeah? And in the process of saving her, did anything, you know, explode ?”  
    The girl had stopped screaming, was doing her whimpering thing now. I glanced at her and said, “I almost did.”  
    “What the fuck happened?”  
    “What have you heard?”  
    “Not much so far. The only word right now is there’s been an explosion at a hotel in Miami Beach.”  
    “Wonder how Caesar is going to spin that.”  
    “That’s the least of your problems,” the Kid said. “Are you guys in a GMC Yukon?”  
    I looked up sharply at Ian. “Why?”  
    “It was just reported stolen.”  
    I shifted again in my seat, wincing at the pain. “The cops aren’t going to bother with a stolen vehicle right now, not after an explosion like that.”  
    “That depends on how badly Caesar wants you guys.”  
    “Meaning?”  
    “Meaning someone could always call in an anonymous tip saying the Yukon is suspected in the explosion. Where did you pick it up anyway?”  
    “It used to belong to one of Caesar’s people.”  
    “Are you out of your fucking mind? The thing’s probably LoJacked.”  
    I thought about it for a second. “No, it’s not. If it had some kind of tracking device on it, why would they report it stolen?”  
    “Beats the hell out of me.”  
    “Look,” I said, shifting again in the seat, my body flaring with pain, “do you have our location?”  
    “Of course.”  
    “What’s the fastest way to get back to 95?”  
    I heard quick typing on the Kid’s end. He said, “Two blocks up, make a U-turn. Then keep going until the bridge and take it and continue straight. It will put you guys back on the Julia Tuttle Expressway.”  
    I relayed the directions to Ian and then said into the phone, “How’s Ronny?”  
    “He’s fine. But you guys ... what’s your plan for the girl?”  
    “Still haven’t figured that part out yet.”  
    “Yeah, it seems like you haven’t figured out most of your plan so far tonight.”  
    “At least we’re still alive.”  
    The Kid was quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he said, his voice somber. “There is that.”

    •     •     •

    M AYBE TEN MINUTES later, Ian said, “Should we drop her off there?”  
    The Mount Sinai Medical Center was coming up fast on our right, the massive complex bright in the dark drizzle.  
    I looked at the girl beside me. She just sat there quietly, staring out her window. I hesitated, then shook my head.  
    “Keep going. It’s best we get out of Miami Beach as