Page 17 of Hot Pursuit
Keyboard clicking came through the line, followed by soft muffled voices, and then his boss. “Grab the tablet in your dashboard. The tech team will send you the live feed.”
Nate opened the glove compartment, unable to believe their luck. A cell phone? She was using a cell phone? Surely she had to know they’d been able to get the warrant for remote access. It was the oldest trick in the book. For a computer whiz, the move was almost impossibly naïve.
The light ahead switched to red. Leo let out a relieved breath as he pressed the brake, stopping the car about ten feet behind the target—a little too close for comfort. Nate balanced the tablet on his lap, watching as the feed started coming through the screen, live updates of the apps she was accessing, any and all data the provider had been able to give them access to through their warrant.
“Okay, looks like she’s pulling up a map, typing in some directions,” Nate read aloud for Leo’s benefit. “The address is…189 Spring Street.”
He lifted his wrist to his mouth. But before he could get the question out, a technician came on the line. “Place called Dominique Ansel Bakery. Pretty famous. The guy invented the cronut. Was a craze for a while. It’s about a block and a half to the left. You should see a line of people waiting to get inside pretty soon.”
“Do they have seating? Wi-Fi? Could she be meeting someone there?” Nate questioned. He turned to his partner. “Take the next left, and let’s see how close we can get.”
“On it.”
“One of the guys on the street, can you get inside? Or by a window? I want eyes on her while Leo and I try to find a place to pull over.”
There was a pause for a few moments. Then, “I’m in position.”
Nate lifted the camera back to his eyes, refocusing the lens as Jo dropped the phone back into her purse. She jauntily strode across the street, weaving through stopped traffic, jaywalking without a care in the world and with a smile on her lips.
What was it like to feel so untouchable?
So above it all?
The rules. The world.
The light turned green. Leo cut a taxi off to change lanes, earning a prolonged five-second beep. Some pedestrians paused and turned, tourists probably. Most kept on walking, including Jo. His brows scrunched. Something about her was too… He didn’t know. Too something. Unaware? Aloof? For a wanted criminal fully cognizant of the fact that the FBI was on her trail, she was a little too oblivious. The hairs on the back of his neck stood, a sixth sense that something wasn’t right. Something was off. But what?
Jo disappeared around the corner.
Leo followed.
The street was packed. A line wrapped around the sidewalk, stretching a few blocks down, leading to a yellow awning in the distance. Nate nudged his chin in that direction, but Leo was already on it. He scanned the road.
“I don’t see any place to park.”
Nate sighed. “That’s because there is no place to park.”
“There’s a side street right there, smaller, less crowded,” Leo said, tilting his head to the right. “Let’s wait there and listen to the comms.”
Nate clenched his teeth but nodded. There was no other choice. He lifted the mic to his lips as they drove by Jo, moving with the flow of traffic. Her eyes never once turned in his direction, which was either a very good or a very, very bad thing. “Okay, Leo and I are stuck. We’re pulling around the corner to park. I want eyes on and updates when you have them.”
“I’m here,” one of the street agents murmured. “Flashed my badge and cut the line to get inside the bakery.”
Nate turned in his seat, straining to see Jo over his shoulder. But it was nearly impossible with the crowd.
“Do these people really line up like this every day?” he muttered.
Leo shrugged. “I would if I had the time. My brother’s office got a personal delivery of cronuts when they were at the peak of their buzz, said it was like eating little bites of heaven. I’ve been dying to try one.”
Nate rolled his eyes.
Leo’s younger brother was a software engineer for one of those major companies, though Nate could never remember which. He lived out in San Francisco and earned the sort of paycheck normal people could only dream of. But he was a good kid. And he knew how much Leo had looked out for him when they were teens, getting in fights to protect him from bullies, keeping him out of trouble and far away from the gang violence pervading their community. Last Nate heard, Leo’s brother had bought their mom and grandmother a new house in California, moving them out of the dangerous neighborhood where he and Leo had grown up.
“I don’t care how good it tastes,” Nate grumbled, turning back around and dropping his gaze to the tablet, hoping something might pop up on her cell phone feed.
“Jolene Carter just walked inside the front door,” a staticky voice came through the comm. Whispering always made the signal weaker. Nate leaned forward, focusing on the sound. “She’s walking to the counter. She’s in the preorder line. Three people are in front of her, but she doesn’t seem to be communicating with anyone.”
He tapped his thumb on his knee, jittery.
