Page 47 of Billion-Dollar Ransom

WHAT THE HELL was this? How did she know his name? Ian had selected her at random!

Then—movement out of the corner of his eye. A man about his age, suburban-dad type, with the body to match. He was also closing in and pulling an automatic pistol from a clip holster on his khakis.

So was the woman with the ash-blond hair and the pumps. She was clearly his partner. And not in a matrimonial-bliss kind of way.

Goddamn it, this was a police sting!

Ian Coughlin pumped his legs and begged the universe for forgiveness. He’d been too cocky; success had come too quick and the universe was trying to restore some balance. There was no such thing as easy money. And now he would have to fight for his freedom.

Well, fine, Universe, we’ll play it your way.

Once he was behind the wheel of his piece-of-shit Honda, Ian sucked in air and hit the gas pedal.

He’d watched many LA car chases on TV over the years (they were the best and cheapest form of local entertainment) and knew the mistakes to avoid.

For one: Never, ever, take the stupid freeway.

Stick to local roads, make frequent and confusing turns, and pray you stay out of sight of the police helicopters, because once they locked onto you, it was all over.

He zoomed south on Hazeltine, then hung a hard left onto twisty Valleyheart Drive. So far, no sign of Officers Ash Blond and Suburban Dad. No pursuing vehicles. Good.

As Ian made a right turn onto Woodman, a new plan was forming. He’d lose them up in the hills of Benedict Canyon. He could drive those streets coked out of his mind. In fact, he had. Multiple times.

Oh, what a story this will make! Now let’s give it the ending it deserves.

But as he sped up to make the yellow light at Moorpark, the universe decided to write one of its own.

All at once, the ground began to shudder as if someone had grabbed the Earth and was shaking it like a snow globe.

Before Ian knew it, his piece-of-shit Honda Accord was plowing through wooden rails and into a cactus-shaped neon sign with the words CACTUS TAQUERIA and BEST TACOS on the trunk. Shattered glass tubing rained down on his hood like hail.

Ian went for his door handle, but he was already surrounded by three black-and-white prowl cars. Including the one that had T-boned him.

Minutes later, in the back seat of his car, arresting officers recovered a green baseball cap.