“An experiment?”
“I think we’re bein’ followed.”
5
“Followed?” Elizabeth’s drowsiness vanished.
“The Corsa a few cars back. He’s been wi’ us since the pub, turnin’ whenever I turn. He pulled over when I stopped in front of the nightclub and then followed me back into traffic. He’s bein’ clever, keepin’ his distance, lettin’ other cars come between us.”
“I see him.” Elizabeth watched the vehicle in her side-view mirror, thinking through the possibilities in her mind. Maybe law enforcement had taken an interest in Quinn after last night. Or perhaps the man who’d tried to stab him had waited outside Jack and Ava’s house and then followed them into the city.
“I’m goin’ to try to lose him.” Quinn changed into the right lane.
“No, don’t. You’ll tip him off. We need to know who he is.”
The Corsa waited a few seconds, then changed lanes, too, coming to a stop behind them at the red light.
Prickles of foreboding rose along Elizabeth’s spine. “I don’t like this.”
She’d seen too many snatch-and-grabs and read too many reports about street shootings that started like this. Car stops at red light. Assailants climb out of next car over and riddle the target vehicle with bullets—or grab someone and drag them away. US special forces employed the same technique when necessary.
“Who are you, you fucker?” Quinn grumbled.
Elizabeth reached inside her handbag for her phone. “I’m calling the police.”
“What if theyarethe bloody police?”
So, he’d thought of that, too. “This is one way to find out, isn’t it?”
“I’ll do it.” Quinn’s phone was already sitting in its holder on the dash. He tapped it to activate it. “Call one-oh-one.”
Police Scotland dispatch answered.
“This is Quinn McManus. We spoke last night when some bastard tried to stab me. I’m bein’ followed through the city by a black Corsa.” He gave them the license plate number and their current location.
“What makes you think you’re bein’ followed?” the woman on the other end asked, sounding bored.
“I’m a veteran of the SAS, for fuck’s sake. If I say I’m bein’ followed, then I’m bein’ followed. Get DS Wilson. No, I dinnae know his division or his station name. He knows what’s goin’ on.”
That seemed to get the dispatcher’s attention. She cautioned Quinn not to evade the other vehicle but instead to drive as if he were oblivious, following her directions to a place where two police cars would intercept the Corsa.
Elizabeth spoke quietly so as not to be overheard by dispatch. “I guess that answers our question.”
It wasn’t the police following them.
The dispatcher guided them along a simple route with a few turns that took them toward the center of the city. “At the light, turn left. Two police cars will come up behind you there.”
Quinn made the turn, the Corsa following. “I see them.”
Elizabeth saw them, too—two police cars, coming up fast behind them, lights flashing blue and white. Then she heard an engine roar. “He’s going to run. Shit!”
The Corsa sped up, flew through the intersection, and disappeared.
Quinn slammed a closed fist against the steering wheel. “Fuckin’ hell!”
One of the police cars sped after the Corsa while the other pulled up behind them.
Elizabeth sympathized with his fury. For Quinn, this wasn’t just about some creep following them. It was about his best friend’s murder.