ian swears and struggles to pull his BlackBerry 88 | P a g e
E L JAMES
from the pocket of his jeans.
“What?” he snaps angrily at whoever it is on the other end of the line. “No.” he
says and glances behind us. “Yes. She is.”
What? Briefly checking the rearview mirror, I can’t see anything odd—there
are just a few cars behind us. The SUV is about four cars back and we’re all
cruising at an even pace.
“I see.” Christian sighs long and hard and rubs his forehead with his fingers,
tension radiates off him. Something’s wrong.
“Yes . . . I don’t know.” He glances at me and lowers the phone from his ear.
“We’re fine. Keep going,” he says calmly, smiling at me, but the smile
doesn’t touch his eyes. Shit! Adrenaline spikes through my system. He picks
the phone up again.
“Okay on the 520. As soon as we hit it . . . Yes . . . I will.”
He slots the phone into the speaker cradle, putting it on hands-free.
“What’s wrong, Christian?”
“Just look where you’re going, baby,” he says softly. I’m heading for the onramp
of the 520 in the direction of Seattle. When I glance at Christian, he’s
staring straight ahead.
“I don’t want you to panic,” he says calmly. “But as soon as we’re on the 520
proper, I want you to step on the gas. We’re being followed.”
Followed! Holy shit. My heart lurches into my mouth, pounding, my scalp
prickles and my throat constricts with panic. Followed by whom? My eyes
dart to the rearview mirror and, sure enough, the dark car I saw earlier is still
behind us . Fuck! Is that it? I squint through the tinted windshield to see who’s
driving, but I see nothing.
“Keep your eyes on the road, baby,” Christian says gently, not in the truculent
tone he normally uses where my driving is concerned. Get a grip! I mentally
slap myself to subdue the dread that’s threatening to swamp me. Suppose
whoever’s following us is armed?
Armed and after Christian! Shit! I’m hit by a wa一ve of nausea.
“How do we know we’re being followed?” My voice is a breathy, squeaky,
whisper.
“The Dodg
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