No Way Back. Andrew Gross

today. It was in a tote bag. Along with some other stuff. It’s not here …”

      “Our life is falling apart. Who gives a shit about the fucking tote bag, Wendy?”

      “You don’t understand … it’s not the program.” I could have cared less about my goddamn program.

      It was that it said Wendy Gould. Pelham, New York on the printed label on the cover.

       It could identify me.

      My heart clutched in horror. The people looking for me, who had tried to kill me twice to keep what I had seen quiet …

      They probably had my name right now!

       CHAPTER SIX

      “Dave, we have to leave,” I said, urgency crackling in my voice.

      “We will. I just want to see if it’s public yet. Then I’ll call Harvey—”

      “Dave, you don’t understand. I think they know who I am. We have to get out of here now!”

      That was the moment the news came on. The lead-in sent a shiver down me: “A shooting in a room at a posh midtown hotel, and two people are dead.”

      I watched in horror.

      The reporter came on and described how an unspecified victim had been shot in his room at the “posh” Hotel Kitano, along with a second victim—details still unclear—“who was rumored to be a possible government agent.”

      She said that a third person was being sought. A woman, who might have been in that room when it all happened, and who had fled the scene.

      My stomach wound into a knot. I was that third person.

      The person they were looking for was me!

      The newscast went on. By this time they’d have found the tote bag. So they had to know who that third person was. More than three hours had passed. If the police knew, why weren’t they already here?

      The only possible answer hit me. And it didn’t make me feel any better. If the NYPD had it, they’d have been here by now. The neighborhood would be lit up with flashing lights. They wouldn’t have even mentioned a third person on the news …

       They would already have me in custody.

      But if the people who had killed Curtis had found it first, they’d want to keep the whole thing quiet. They might not hand it over so quickly. They’d be just as scared that I’d be in the hands of the police and divulge what I had seen, which they’d want to cover up. Which meant …

      I felt my throat go dry.

      Which meant they might be heading here themselves, at that very second. To finish the job.

      Their role in all this could remain secret as long as I stayed away from the police.

       Or was dead.

      Suddenly I became encased in sweat. We weren’t safe here. We had to get out of here now.

      “Dave, I’m going to get dressed. It’s not safe to be here. You wanted to go to the police. So let’s go! Let’s just get out of here now!”

      I ran to the bedroom and threw on some jeans and a fleece pullover. Back in the kitchen I grabbed my bag and Curtis’s phone. We headed into the garage and climbed into Dave’s Range Rover, me behind the wheel.

      I opened the garage door and turned on the ignition.

      Dave put his hand on my arm. “We’ll make this all work out, Wendy …”

      “I know,” I said. “Thanks.” I started to back out.

      Suddenly a bright light enveloped us from behind. Headlights from a vehicle at the end of our driveway.

      “Hands in the air!” someone yelled. “Out of the car! Now!”

      I spun around in fear.

      It was over. The police were here. I let out a deep breath, ready to comply. Thinking what I was going to say.

      Then I saw that the light was from a black SUV. A single SUV.

      “It’s them,” I said. I grabbed my husband’s arm, terror running through me. “Oh, Jesus, Dave, they’re here.”

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      Someone stepped out of the passenger’s side of the SUV and cautiously approached us along the circular drive, his gun extended from the top of the semicircular drive.

      Dave turned to me. “Wendy, you said these people were from the government. I’ll talk to them.”

      That’s when I looked out the window and saw the same black agent who had shot at me at the hotel perched behind the SUV’s open driver’s door.

      My heart almost exploded in fear.

      “David, we can’t go out there!” I seized his arm. “These aren’t the police. You heard what I told you. They’re here to kill us!”

      “Kill us?” His tone was as skeptical as it was uncomprehending. “Wendy, we have to go out there. I’ll call Harvey. I promise, I’m not gonna let them take you without knowing where—” He started to open the door.

      “No! Don’t!” I screamed, reaching over to him. “You’re not going out there, Dave!”

      There was no time to convince him. I threw the car into reverse and floored it. With a roar, the Range Rover lurched out of the garage and shot right at the oncoming agent, who dove out of the way.

      I gunned it toward the SUV.

      “Close the door!” I screamed at Dave, twisting around to see behind me. “Close the fucking door!”

      He couldn’t. We smashed full force into the grill of the government SUV, Dave’s door flying open. I was jolted out of my seat, my head hitting against the sun roof. The black agent disappeared. I didn’t know if I had hit him or not. I didn’t care! I had to remind myself that these weren’t the good guys—they were covering up a cold-blooded murder. That I was the one trying to save our lives.

      Two shots rang out. Not loud cracks. More like muted thuds. Suddenly the rear windshield splintered and my heart almost clawed up my throat. Dave looked at me, his gaze bewildered as mine was fearful and panicked.

      If there had been any doubt what these people were here for, it was clear now.

      I jammed the car into drive and floored it again, this time forward. Dave’s door was still open, the car’s wheels screeching.

      “Wendy!” he shouted. I hit the gas and steered toward the far entrance of our driveway.

      By then, the first agent had risen to his feet. He ran ahead to block our way out, his weapon trained on us.

      I bore down on him, prepared to run him over.

      This time he leaped out of the way on Dave’s side, firing as we sped by. “No!” Another shot thudded into us from behind, the rear windshield shattering. Another hit the side as I turned.

      “Dave, close the fucking door!”

      He reached for it in desperation, bullets flying into the car. The agent was emptying his gun. I heard a horrifying “Oooof” over the rain of glass and the engine roar. I looked at my husband. His head pitched slightly forward and he had a glazed look in his eye, and I realized in panic what had happened before I saw the blood flower on his chest and his hand drop limply to his side.

      “Oh