Page 83 of It's Going to Be a Chrome Christmas
She edged her way forward, Trinity moving to stand in front of Gary rather than standing beside him. Trixie’s eyes landed on the television.
The widescreen showed a local news station spokesperson who sat in a helicopter reporting on a high-speed chase below involving a stolen prototype vehicle and state police. The chase was approaching ten minutes and had reached speeds of up to one hundred and seventy miles per hour on the freeway.
“…move over. Do not attempt to block the motorcycle. The police are setting up additional roadblocks and are encouraging citizens to remain off the roads. We do not yet have an identification on the driver of the stolen vehicle, but we are being told its new technology makes it a formidable opponent against the polices’ older models…”
Trixie didn’t hesitate. Her insides were screaming at her. She knewexactlywho was driving that damn motorcycle. It was the way he drove. Despite the dozens of police cars after him and the numerous obstacles in his path, he was confident, smooth, and cocky. She justknew. She just had no clue why. And that text… It hadn’t been random.
Trixie rushed into the hall and ran up her stairs. She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her coveralls. Lee had given her a number to contact him in case of emergency only. Well, this qualified in her book, even if it didn’t in his.
His voice was rushed and frustrated. “Not now,abeja.”
“What the hell is going on?” She entered her apartment and turned on her television. It didn’t matter what channel. All the local news stations were covering the car chase. “Is this some sort of set up?”
“I can’t talk?—”
“Don’t tell me you can’t talk about it!” she cried out, flinching. The motorcycle just narrowly missed being pancaked between two eighteen wheelers. “Why are the state police after him?” Lee was a city police detective. Cayden’s deal as a criminal informant was with Lee. She didn’t know what it meant for him if he was caught by a state trooper versus a local police officer.
There was silence, and then Lee said, “They apparently got an anonymous tip about the theft.”
“Can’t you call them off?” Her eyes never left the screen. She was tracking his movements like he was plotting out a map just for her. “The bridge,” she murmured.
“We can’t call them off or Carver will know it’s a set up?—”
“He’s headed to the bridge!” she shouted at her brother. “Why is he going there when they’re lifting the drawbridge?”
“Shit,” she heard Lee curse. Then he shouted something at someone else away from the phone. “I have to go?—”
“You bring him back to me, Lee. I don’t care if Carver gets away. You bring him back to me!”
Lee hung up without offering her such a promise. Trixie clung to her necklace like it was her lifeline to the drama outside, her eyes fixated on the television. She needed him to be okay. But why the bridge? The motorcycle was fast, but was it that fast? He must be planning on jumping as the draw was being opened. The police cars certainly wouldn’t be able to follow.
The news helicopter turned as the shiny silver motorcycle did. As Trixie had anticipated, he was heading straight for the opening drawbridge. The motorcycle had a straight line up. The police had set up barricades, but they were only woodensawhorses. Likely because the bridge behind them was opening. They thought that was a deterrent, but they didn’t know Cayden. Not like she did.
The prototype motorcycle smashed through the barricades, splintering them and squeezed perfectly between two police cars. She could see the bridge opening. It had some good height to it. God, could he make that?
The motorcycle suddenly veered, the tires turning awkwardly against the clamps of the bridge. It fishtailed. For a split second, Trixie thought the move had been intentional because the motorcycle was now facing away from the bridge. Was he trying to head back the way he came? Had he realized he couldn’t make the jump?
But then the rear tires collided with the sidewalk and the motorcycle fell, skidding to the edge of the bridge. Sparks flew as something large toppled over the side of the bridge. For a moment, the motorcycle teetered like a child’s play toy on the edge of the bridge.
Then it slid, scraping along its side, down into the watery depths of the gulf.
Trixie didn’t pause. She couldn’t even remember making the decision to go. All of a sudden, she was in her car. She wasn’t sure how she got herself there safely. Her body was moving on its own and she was just along for the ride. The only thing her mind kept thinking was the cadencehe’s not dead, he can’t be dead, he’s not dead…Her heart even beat to the tempo of her inner mantra.
The fifth precinct was a madhouse. There were cops running everywhere. No one was even manning the tinsel-decorated front desk. Cops dodged around her, ignoring her or glancing away so she couldn’t catch their attention. Didn’t matter. None of them were who she was looking for.
But the station was so big, and she had no idea if Lee was even here. She hadn’t asked earlier where he’d been. She was still clutching her necklace. Had she driven with it in her hand? Maybe she should call Lee.
Trixie had watched enough cop shows to know she was standing in a bullpen. She never understood why cops called it that. It was a large room full of desks, not cows.
A tall man in his early forties exited an office next to her shouting, “Tell them I don’t care what it costs! I don’t care what it takes. And someone get me some goddamn answers from those divers!”
As the man stepped back into his office, Trixie caught sight of his name stamped on the glass door.Captain Lucas Holloway.Her heart leaped. Lee’s note had mentioned a Holloway.
She rushed after him. The man’s brows furrowed at her approach. Mind, he probably wasn’t used to young Latina women dressed in coveralls and covered in motor grease cornering him in his own office.
“My name is Beatriz Romero,” she said before he could order someone to have her removed.
The man’s shoulders stiffened, and as she’d hoped, his eyes lit in recognition. “Shit. Shut the door, Ms. Romero.”
