Free The Inner Circle by Robert Swartwood Page B

soon as possible.”  
    Ian kept the Yukon on the highway, taking us over the causeway headed into Miami.  
    Less than thirty seconds passed before my phone vibrated. It was the Kid.  
    “We’ve got a problem,” he said.  
    “I really wish you would come up with a better opening line.”  
    “The APB on the Yukon? It was just canceled.”  
    I glanced up and caught Ian eyeing me in the rearview mirror again. Only, I realized a second later, he was looking past my head out the back of the SUV. I turned slightly, my body flaring with pain again, and said, “Fuck.”  
    In my ear, the Kid asked, “What’s wrong?”  
    “I’m going to have to call you back.”  
    “Why?”  
    “There’s a cop directly behind us.”  
    A second later, the police cruiser whooped its siren and turned on its flashing lights.

 
     
     
    18

    I shoved the phone into my pocket, found myself reaching for my gun. It was gone, no doubt lost in the explosion.  
    I asked Ian, “How long has it been behind us?”  
    “Not long at all. It came up really fast.”  
    It was riding our ass now, less than ten feet away, its roof lights blazing with brightness.  
    I stared out at the highway in front of us. The causeway was maybe three miles long, give or take, and we’d only gone about a mile already.  
    “Give it all you’ve got,” I said.  
    Ian whipped his head back at me. “Are you fucking nuts?”  
    “Those aren’t regular cops.”  
    “How do you know?”  
    “The APB on the Yukon was just canceled. Now, give it all you’ve got.”  
    Ian turned back to focus on the road. Both hands on the steering wheel, his shoulders tensed. Besides the few cars on the other side of the causeway, we and the police cruiser were the only cars headed west. He pressed his foot down harder on the gas.  
    The red and white lights flashing behind us continued going for a couple more seconds, then all at once stopped.  
    Ian said, “What the hell?”  
    “Give me your gun.”  
    “Why?”  
    “Just do it.”  
    Ian reached into his jacket and pulled out his piece just as the cruiser swung over into the left lane and picked up speed. I leaned forward, taking Ian’s gun, and saw the speedometer. Ian was already doing about ninety, which meant the cruiser coming up on the left was going at least one hundred.  
    “Push it,” I told him, and turned slightly in the seat, watching the cruiser as its nose came parallel with our rear bumper.  
    The passenger’s side window began to lower.  
    And out of it, like an insect’s antenna, came a double-barreled shotgun.  
    I said shit, or Ian said shit, or maybe both of us said shit at the same time. I grabbed the little girl’s head and pushed it down.  
    The cruiser sped up even faster and ran completely parallel with us. I could see the two cops in the front, both men, looking at Ian in the driver’s seat.  
    “Hit the brakes,” I shouted, and for some reason I expected Ian to ask me why, I expected to have to repeat myself, but he slammed on the brakes at once and the SUV started skidding, fishtailing, just as an explosion burst from the shotgun, spraying the front hood.  
    The girl immediately started screaming, fighting my hand to raise her head back up. I held her down and double-checked her seatbelt. It was secure, so I unbuckled it and pulled her toward me as I moved into her seat. Ian’s gun in my hand, I lowered the window, the rain at once pelting my face and glasses.  
    “Keep it steady,” I called up to Ian, who was now hunched over the wheel, his foot back on the gas.  
    Up ahead, the cruiser’s brake lights flared, slowing down to try to meet us once again as we sped up.  
    I leaned out the window as far as I could, keeping myself balanced with my left arm against the windowsill, my entire upper body out the window, holding the gun in my right hand.  
    The cruiser was falling back fast and I didn’t hesitate, firing at the rear window and the