She shoved past a frantic chef into the hallway. Then, just as Bloch had said, she saw the door at the end. Christine picked up speed and burst through without slowing. She pitched into an alley and immediately tripped over a box of kitchen garbage, sprawling to the ground and taking a mouthful of asphalt. But when she looked up it was right in front of her—a blue car. She scrambled to her feet and reached it in seconds. The door was unlocked and she clambered in. Amazingly, the key was still in her fist, clutched like a token of salvation. Christine shoved it in the ignition.

The key didn’t fit.

Chapter 4

FOUR

Christine slammed the key with the palm of her hand. It sank awkwardly and jammed in the lock.

“God, no! No, no, no!”

She looked over her shoulder. No one yet. Christine kept trying, but the key wouldn’t turn. Frantically, she checked the gearshift. Already in park. Her foot was on the brake. What else? The steering lock. So many damned safety mechanisms. She twisted the wheel and turned the key simultaneously. Still jammed.

A clatter from behind.

She turned and saw the big man, his eyes sweeping the alley, gun drawn. She slid down in the seat, and that was when she recognized the problem—the emblem on the steering wheel. Ford. Christine smacked the seat, remembering what Bloch had said. In the alley, turn left. She had fallen, looked up, and seen a blue car. But she’d gone the wrong way. Peering between the headrests, she saw the man walking guardedly in the other direction. Eyes moving, gun level. A hundred feet beyond was a second blue car, a Saab whose key was wedged in the ignition in front of her. Christine reached up and tried to pull the key, but it was hopelessly stuck. There was no time to deal with it. The man would soon reverse and come her way, or possibly his partner would take this side of the alley. She had to move.

Christine slid to the passenger side of the Ford, which was better shielded from where the man stood. She checked again and saw her pursuer at the far end of the alley peering into the Saab. In front of her, the side street was only twenty feet away. It seemed like a mile, but if she could turn that corner without being seen, she’d be in the clear.

She pulled the door handle like it was made of glass. The mechanism gave, barely audible, and she eased the door open. Crawling out, she stayed low, leaving the door ajar as a visual screen. She was two steps from the corner when she heard a shout.

“Stop!”

*   *   *