Flash of Death by Cindy Dees Page A

best to keep pace with Trent as he took off running, but it was a stretch. They careened around a corner and Trent darted out into the street, dragging her along, to hail a cab. He shoved her inside and bit out instructions to the cabbie. She was stunned when he slammed the door shut on her and took off running back the way they’d just come.
    The cab started to move.
    “Wait!” she cried out.
    “The guy said to take care of you, lady.”
    “But he’s in danger. We can’t leave him behind!”
    “He told me to get you out of here.”
    She looked out the rearview window and there was no sign of Trent. She had no clue where he’d darted off to. “Somebody was following us. I can’t just abandon my friend. Would you at least circle the block once so we can check on him? You don’t have to stop. Please. ”
    The cabbie relented, and the taxi turned the corner. She stared in shock at the sight that met her. A man was fleeing from Trent. But what dropped her jaw was how fast Trent was catching up. He looked like a track star. On steroids. In fast-forward video. The guy Trent was chasing looked like he was running in slow motion by comparison.
    “Whoa. That guy can move. He a professional athlete or something?” the driver exclaimed.
    “Or something. Follow him, will you?” Chloe directed the driver.
    The cabbie had to punch the gas pretty hard to catch up with Trent. The guy he was chasing veered around a corner and Trent disappeared as he darted around the corner, too. By the time the cab got to the intersection, both the fleeing tail and Trent were gone. The cabbie circled the block again, but Chloe didn’t glimpse Trent or the man he was chasing.
    “They must’ve ducked inside a building,” the driver announced.
    She leaned back against the cracked vinyl cushions, perplexed. How did Trent move so fast? If he was that amazing an athlete, why wasn’t he a professional sports star? “Thanks for trying,” she told the cabbie in defeat.
    “Okey dokey, miss. I’m taking you home, now.”
    She fretted the entire ride back to her place. Was Trent all right? Why on earth was he chasing after that guy? What if Trent’s quarry turned out to be one of the bad guys and he turned on Trent? She realized with a start that she’d wrung her hands until they were bright red. She jammed them under her thighs to keep them still.
    She paid the cabbie, tipped him generously for his help, and hurried up to her apartment. Funny how exposed she felt without Trent around to look out for her. How had he managed to worm his way into her life in one lousy day? Although she supposed it was a day-and-a-half if she counted Denver.
    She double-checked the locks on her apartment and wielded an umbrella like a sword as she searched her place for intruders. Satisfied that she was home alone, she took the unusual step of closing the blinds. Distracted, she called the office to let them know she’d be working from home this afternoon. She tried to look at Barry’s financial files, but she had the focus of a gnat.
    Where was Trent? Should she call the police? She didn’t even have his cell phone number to call him and check on him. But Jeff Winston would have it. She raced to her phone and called Winston Ops.
    “Novak here. Go.”
    “Hi. It’s Chloe Jordan. I need to get in touch with Trent Hollings.”
    “Turn around and talk to him,” Novak replied jokingly. Then more seriously, “Isn’t he with you, ma’am?”
    “No. He chased after some guy who was following us and sent me home alone. I don’t know if he’s all right. It’s been nearly an hour since I last saw him.”
    “Stand by.” Abruptly the operations man was all business.
    She waited in an agony of impatience. Trent had to be okay. He just had to.
    “I’m tracking his cell phone and it is on the move. That doesn’t mean he’s with the device, however. He’s not answering at the moment. Protocol is to give him thirty minutes to respond before we call the