Undercover Badge; Next Generation

Chapter thirty nine

                     Chaos was raining hell down on earth when we burst from the bathroom. High society elite were still running around and shrieking, searching for sources of gunfire that had long since ceased. Matthew changed that.

He pointed the semi-automatic weapon skyward and it gave three short bursts of fire, the rapid rat-tat-tat-tat sending guests screaming, retreating, spiraling away from us.

         We ran.

They moved around us like water as we bolted for the door, and I caught our reflections in gilded mirrors. We looked strong and determined and I loved that in this moment, I was the hero, Matthew steps behind me.

"Are you actually running in heels?" he called above the noise, amusement lacing his tone. "I know!" I said, with a startled, happy tone. "I'm surprised too!"

             When we exploded out of the front doors of the event and into the icy Chicago air, sirens began wailing in the distance. Guests poured from every doorway and ran for their lives, stumbling into the hundreds of reporters and onlookers surrounding the venue. We bolted down the blue carpeted steps and reached the sidewalk just as one of the Valets was stepping around the hood of an expensive car, keys in hand and staring up at the building with his jaw hanging slack. It shut promptly when he found the barrel of an automatic weapon staring him down. "Keys, please." Matthew said pleasantly as I ran around to the driver's side. He turned to do the same, having procured the keys and stopped right at the passenger door, glaring at me over the car's low roof.

      "What are you doing? I'm driving."

      "Oh, no you're not, Matthew. You can't drive worth shit." I deadpanned.

      "Are you saying you could do better?" his tone was equal parts anger and disbelief.

      "I'm saying I could do better."

He scowled. "I'm driving, Katherine."

"Fine, then I'll work the gun, or are you going to shoot AND drive?" I deadpanned reaching an open palm half across the windscreen and cocking a brow.

His jaw ticked for a second and then the keys sailed through the air and into my open palm while I was already ripping the door open and falling into the seat. The car was a streamlined Mercedes sedan painted a rich dark blue with black leather interior, classy and expensive but understated, with enough horsepower and speed to be a successful getaway slash give chase vehicle.

Matthew slammed his door just as I was jabbing keys into the ignition and slamming the engine start button. The welcome purr hit my gut and the gas pedal hit the floor.

   So, here's the thing.

Tommy does get carsick - he really, truly does. I'm not disputing that. But the thing is, the reason my brother didn't like to drive with me had less to do with the sickly green color he usually turns in moving vehicles and more to do with his claim that "Reena drives like a Maniac." To my mother and father, that phrase was a way to get out of driving with his big sister, and if anything, maybe I'd go two miles over the speed limit. Tops.

The reality was a tad worse. It was true, I drove a cute little green hatchback with a kick-ass sound system; but most of that sound snarled powerfully out of the hood and less out of my stereo's speakers.

The tires spun for a few seconds, arse end of the car swaying for just a moment before finding purchase and launching us away from the building. I could feel the look Matthew dug into my face, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the sound of the outside rushing passed while the streamlined little beast cut through the air like hot knives and butter.