Early that morning, Susan drives through Starbuck’s, stops at the pickup window to get her skinny Latte, takes a drink before heading round the building and out the parking lot. The adrenaline still flows when she thinks about the meeting at Kraft yesterday, which went better than she imagined. She has to admit, though, there was one point when Harry scared her, wondering if he was going to bail out, but he didn’t. Thank God for miracles. Now, she’s eager to finish her work with Tican, while Alec continues his rabbit studies. She rests one hand on the steering wheel as she drives along, holding her coffee cup in the other and taking several drinks. Several miles down Interstate 85, her gaze falls on the rearview mirror. Her pulse begins to rise. The front of a dark sedan is coming up behind her fast. Too fast. It’s going to ram me. She speeds up. Susan wouldn’t have noticed the sedan but for the speed. It’s too close for comfort. Her gaze locks on two giant skinheads dressed in black in the front seat. She doesn’t believe her eyes. The guy in the passenger seat is pointing something. It looks like a gun. No, it couldn’t be. She’s not completely awake, hasn’t finished her coffee, yet. But she saw what she saw. It is a gun. I’m going to pee in my pants. She barrels forward, passing several cars. The Mercedes chases after her. She hears several pops. Pop. Pop. Pop. The back window blows out. Holy mackerel! These guys mean business. This isn’t happening. I’m going to wake up and find it’s all a dream. Another pop brings her back to reality. She swerves from side to side, thinking she can avoid the bullets, almost side-swiping the car in front of her. They’re closing in on her. A hand claps her chest. Oh, my, god. They want me dead. Be calm, be calm. Pop. A shot whizzes past her ear and cracks the front window. She struggles to see the road through the spider web fracture lines spreading across the window. She’s doing 90 in the inner lane. She never drives this fast, but who cares at a time like this. Maybe the cops will catch her speeding. Hell, they’re never around when you need them. She thinks about calling Alec. He left before her and should be in the lab by now. She reaches for the car phone, sets it against her thigh, and punches in the number, holding one hand on the steering wheel. Raises it to her ear. It’s ringing. Come on, come on, Alec. “Answer the damn phone,” she shouts. No answer. Another shot hits metal, somewhere. She tries Alec’s office. No answer. Damn, damn, damn. She glances in the rearview mirror. They’re still there. Of course, they’re still there. A shot just hit the damn car. She slams the phone in its slot, races off the next exit, and the Mercedes powers after her. She barrels on toward the Center, hits the brakes, and swings into the entrance, stopping at the gate. She turns around and looks over her shoulder. The Mercedes eases past. They’re gawking at her. You bastards. The guard raises the gate and she pulls through and races to her building, jumps out and darts inside, almost out of breath. The adrenaline’s buzzing her ears. She feels faint, leans up against the wall and inhales three deep breaths, something she’d learned in a yoga class while at Yale. Breathe in slowly and clear the mind. But it’s not working. She closes her eyes and focuses on her breathing. Sweat pours out of her pores. She bends over with her hands on her knees, still laboring to catch her breath and at the same time struggling to understand what had just happened. “What’s wrong,” Alec said, coming down the hallway. “Man, you look like you’ve just finished a marathon.” She raises a hand but says nothing. “Sue!” He grabs her arm. Let me help you into my office.” Sue? I’ve told him no one outside of my family calls me that. “Susan to you,” she says. “You’re correcting me at a time like this?” He guides her to the chair next to his desk and reaches in the mini-fridge for a bottle of water. The room smells of stale coffee. He rarely uses the place. She reaches for the water, and drinks half of it, and then says, “Someone tried to kill me. Two bruisers in a black Mercedes shot up my car, blew out the back window. Can you believe that?” She takes another swallow of water. “Wow! Who in the world . . . ?” but he doesn’t finish the sentence. He only frowns. “Why you?” “I don’t know,” she says with emphasis on don’t. She shakes her head. “All I know is I could have been killed.” “But you weren’t.” “What should I do?” “Only thing to do. Call the cops.”
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