Free Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson by J.A. Konrath

clogging the
street, I didn’t know why I was so certain this was the one. But my
gut reaction had been right so far. It was time I listened.
    I stood on the brakes, leaping off the bike
and breaking into a sprint, listening to Walter yell behind me,
“She stopped, Ma! I made her stop!”
    I wove between cars. He probably wasn’t
expecting me, and surprise was my best weapon. I ducked behind a
produce delivery truck and, grabbing the back door handle, rode its
bumper until it halted at the next light.
    Then I made my move.
    Circling the truck, I stayed in its lee as
long as I could. I only had seconds once I emerged. The man I’d
known as Morrissey was sharp. Even though I doubted he’d be looking
for me, he would be alert, and since I had no weapon beyond
surprise, I had to make this count. I needed to get inside that
car, and the best way to do that was to make sure his attention was
focused front.
    The light changed. The truck started inching
forward.
    Now.
    I swung around the truck and landed on
pavement, knees flexed, legs already moving. It only took seconds
for me to make it to the driver’s door, and I pulled out my phone
as I ran.
    My phone had been designed for a multitude of
functions, and on one corner, the titanium casing tapered to a
conical, seemingly harmless nub. Reaching the car, I rapped that
nub against the driver’s window, the full force of my blow
concentrated on that small point.
    The glass shattered, showering tiny
pebbles.
    His eyes met mine, the first time I’d seen
him anything but calm.
    I thrust my arm inside to the shoulder, going
for his gun.
    He grabbed my arm and held. The cars started
to move, and he hit the gas.
    I scrambled to stay on my feet, trying to
keep up, retain my balance, but it moved too fast. I stumbled and
fell, my gym shoes dragging along the pavement, their rubber soles
getting rapidly eaten away. The edge of the door pressed into my
side, making it hard to breathe.
    I caught a foothold for just a second and
surged forward, smacking him in the nose with a head butt.
    He grunted and his grip loosened
slightly.
    I reached, my fingers hitting Kirk’s left
leg, his holster.
    I acted quickly, making a grab for the gun,
but his recovery was equally fast. His hand closed over mine,
wrestling, hitting, prying at my fingers.
    I sensed we would hit the car ahead a split
second before impact.
    The crunch of steel shuddered through my
spine. The car jolted to a dead stop. I hit the hot pavement in a
roll, breath exploding from my lungs, head smacking hard. My vision
exploded in stars. Tires screeched. I heard the Glock skitter, but
where it ended up, I couldn’t guess.
    A heartbeat and the car door opened, and Kirk
came down on top of me.
    I struggled for breath.
    Kirk’s hands found my neck, my throat. He had
my arms pinned under his knees, so I couldn’t reach either of my
weapons. Heat enveloped me. His grip was strong, squeezing, closing
off my trachea, stopping the flow of blood to my brain, making my
vision dim, go dark.
    The crack of gunfire exploded in my ears.
    Kirk bellowed. His hands released me, and his
body lifted from mine.
    I gasped, coughed, and gasped again.
    A scream shattered the air around me. Not me.
Not Kirk.
    I forced the darkness back, forced my eyes to
see, forced my body to function.
    It was Julie. She held the Glock.
    She had shot him.
    Kirk staggered away from me. Julie raised the
gun again but he batted it away, sending it through the air. Then
he gripped Julie’s arm, steering her toward the car. He moved
awkwardly, each stride jerking, and it was then I noticed the dark
glisten drenching one leg of his black trousers.
    I pushed up from the street. Pain seared my
hands and knees, but I forced it to the background, forced myself
to concentrate, adrenaline and training taking over.
    Kirk was too focused on Julie and the bullet
in his leg to notice me come up fast behind him.
    Using the knife edge of my hand, I delivered
a sharp blow to the side of