Page 39 of Emergency Exit
“Yeah. Busy. I’ll text you later,” said Harper.
Harmony hung up, and Harper sat in the backseat, fuming. The driver had the radio turned on at a low volume. The song switched to the DJ, and he handed it over to someone to read the news highlights.
“The top story of the morning is the shooting at last night’s Victory Mission Gala. The Victory Mission credits Rowan Valkyrie and Valkyrie Security for preventing a tragedy and saving the life of local lawyer Howard Hoskins, who is still in the ICU at Harborview Hospital. Police are investigating and have not yet released a statement.”
Harper gasped and reached for her phone. A few moments of skimming her news feed confirmed that Ash’s brother had indeed been involved in a drive-by shooting at a charity event the previous night.
“This is the address,” the driver said firmly as he stopped the car.
“Yeah, OK,” said Harper, still trying to read the news story. She hit pay on the app and climbed slowly out of the car as she texted Ash.
Is your brother OK?
She hit send and looked up.
“Hey! This is the wrong side of the street!”
But the driver was already halfway down the block.
“Harper!”
Harper’s head whipped around as she heard her name beingscreamed with frantic urgency. A car barreled down on her, hopping the curb and sending a garbage can flying.
Harper dove for the inset doorway of the nearest building as the black car skidded over the sidewalk and back onto the street. The car didn’t stop and headed up the hill, taillights glinting a menacing red through the raindrops.
Piper pelted through the rain, a crushed Starbucks cup in one hand.
“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” She skidded to a halt and stood over Harper, wide-eyed and panting. “Are you OK?”
Harper climbed slowly to her feet. “No! I have gotten my new pants wet, and that upsets me.”
“That’s what upsets you?” yelled Piper. “I thought that car was going to kill you!”
“You also spilled your coffee,” said Harper. Piper looked down at her hand as if seeing it for the first time.
“God, I need a drink.”
“I would also like a drink,” said Harper.
“It’s 8:30 on a Saturday morning,” said Piper. “We can’t start drinking now.”
“It’s Saturday?” demanded Harper.
“I take it back. We can drink now. Come on, back to my truck. We’re going to breakfast. Screw the FEMA paperwork.”
A half-hour later, Harper was sitting in a place withdinerin the name, drinking mimosas, wearing the spare pair of leggings Piper had in her truck, and wishing she didn’t feel quite so shaky.
“I’m still not sure we shouldn’t call the cops,” said Piper.
“And tell them what?”
“Uh, that some blonde bitch in a Mercedes nearly killed you?”
“You didn’t get a license plate, and all I got was a wet butt. I don’t think it will be a top priority for them.”
“I still think it looked like she swerved at you on purpose,”said Piper. “If this were a mystery show, we would be investigating.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Harper. “Who would want to run me over? I haven’t lived here long enough for anyone to hate me. She was probably texting.”
