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Previous Part 9

I tightened my grip on the leather-bound ledger, its weight a promise of justice against my chest as Anyka coaxed the old convertible to life. The engine rumbled a leonine growl that matched the predatory gleam in her blue eyes. My mind raced, cataloging our options like case files spread across my desk.

"We need to play this smart doll," I said, my voice gravelly with tension. "Where's our safest bet?"

Anyka's fingers drummed a staccato beat on the steering wheel. "Your call, detective. I'm just the getaway driver."

I weighed our choices, each fraught with its own perils. The precinct? No, too many crooked cops on Marconi's payroll. City Hall? A viper's nest of corruption. The Feds? Too slow, too, by the book.

"The Continental," I decided, the words tasting of whiskey and danger on my tongue. "It's our best shot at cornering both the senator and Marconi."

Anyka's eyebrow arched a perfect curve of intrigue. "The Continental? That's playing with fire, handsome."

"Sometimes you need to fight fire with fire," I growled, my war-honed instincts prickling. "The White Lotus can't stay in the shadows forever. It's time to—"

My words died as a black sedan erupted from the alley beside us, headlights blazing like the eyes of some monstrous beast. Anyka's reaction was instantaneous, her foot slamming the accelerator before I could even shout a warning.

"Hang on, sugar!" she cried, her voice a thrilling mix of fear and exhilaration as she wrenched the wheel.

The convertible lurched forward, tires screaming against the asphalt as we plunged into the chaotic heart of New York City. Buildings blurred past, a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon and shadow. My heart pounded a war drum in my chest, every instinct honed by years on the force and battlefields of Europe screaming danger.

As Anyka weaved through traffic with preternatural skill, I couldn't help but marvel at her. She was a force of nature, all simmering power and calculated grace. At that moment, with death nipping at our heels, I realized just how little I truly knew about this enigmatic woman.

"Any bright ideas, detective?" Anyka shouted over the roar of the engine and the blaring of horns.

I twisted in my seat, catching glimpses of our pursuers illuminated briefly by passing street lights. "Yeah," I growled, reaching for my holster. "Stay alive."

The first shot cracked through the night air like thunder, shattering a sideview mirror. I ducked instinctively as I drew my Colt .45s.

"They're not playing around!" I shouted, twisting to return fire. The recoil jolted through my arm as I squeezed off two rounds.

Anyka's laugh was wild and breathless. "Neither are we, darling!"

She jerked the wheel hard, sending us careening around a corner. My stomach lurched as we narrowly missed a parked delivery truck. Bullets pinged off the convertible's frame, the sound like angry hornets.

"Christ," I muttered, lining up another shot. The sedan was gaining, its occupants nothing more than shadowy silhouettes behind the windshield. I fired again, satisfaction coursing through me as the sedan fell back in response to my return fire.

"Good job, we needed the breathing room," Anyka purred, her eyes never leaving the road as she expertly maneuvered through the late-night traffic.

I allowed myself a grim smile. "War teaches you a thing or two about—"

My words were cut short as a Tommy gun's distinctive rattle filled the air. Bullets stitched a deadly pattern across storefronts and parked cars.

"Get down!" I roared, grabbing Anyka's shoulder and forcing her low in the seat.

The convertible's frame shuddered as rounds tore into it. I gritted my teeth, memories of Normandy flashing unbidden through my mind. Not now, Talbot. Focus.

I steadied my breathing, years of training kicking in. The world narrowed to the gunman leaning out of the sedan's window, his weapon spitting fire. Three shots. That's all I needed.

Time seemed to slow as I squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice. A third time. Each round found its mark with surgical precision. The tommy gunner slumps, his weapon clattering to the street.

"Jesus, Morgan," Anyka breathed, a mix of awe and something else – fear? Respect? – in her voice. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

I didn't respond. My eyes locked on the sedan as it began to swerve erratically behind us. We weren't out of danger yet, but for the first time since this chase began, I allowed myself to hope we might make it out alive.

Anyka's voice sliced through the chaos, sharp as a knife. "Hang on, handsome! Tight turn coming up!"

I braced myself, one hand gripping the door, the other white-knuckled around my pistol. The city blurred around us as Anyka wrenched the wheel, our tires screaming in protest. My stomach lurched, but I forced myself to focus on the sedan behind us.

This was our chance. The driver, distracted by the sudden turn, left himself exposed. I didn't hesitate.

The gun kicked in my hand as I emptied the clip, each shot a prayer. Through the haze of gunsmoke, I saw the driver jerk violently. His hands flew off the wheel, and in that instant, I knew we had them.

"Got him!" I shouted, triumph and adrenaline surging through my veins.

The sedan veered wildly, its trajectory now a deadly straight line towards a looming brownstone. Time seemed to slow as I watched, a grim fascination taking hold. This was it – the moment that would decide if we lived or died.

The crash was deafening. Metal screamed as it folded in on itself. Glass exploded outward in a deadly shower. The sedan's hood crumpled like paper, brick dust billowing up in a choking cloud. As the echo faded, an eerie silence descended, broken only by the ticking of our engine and the distant wail of sirens.

"Christ," I muttered, my heart still pounding. "That was too damn close."

Anyka's eyes met mine, a mix of relief and something deeper swimming in their blue depths. "You can say that again, detective. But we made it."

I nodded, allowing myself a grim smile. We'd survived, but this was far from over. Marconi wouldn't take this lying down, and now we had a ledger full of dirty secrets burning a hole in my pocket. The real fight was just beginning.

I exhale slowly, feeling the tension drain from my muscles as Anyka steers us away from the wreckage. The white convertible purrs beneath us, a stark contrast to the chaos we've left behind. I turn to her, unable to keep the admiration from my voice.

"That was some fancy driving back there, doll. Where'd you learn to handle a car like that?"

Anyka's red lips curl into a smirk, her eyes never leaving the road. "I don’t usually reveal my secrets, Mr. Talbot. But let's say I have brothers who taught me how to drive and avoid revenuers down in Georgia.”

I chuckle, feeling a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with the adrenaline. "Heh, moonshiners, eh? Well, I'm glad you're on my side. We make a hell of a team."

She glances at me, a playful glint in her eye. "Don't get too comfortable, handsome. The night's still young."

As we settle into a more sedate pace, my mind starts racing. The ledger sits heavy in my lap, a ticking time bomb of information. I thumb through it absently, pieces falling into place.

"We've got them by the short hairs now," I mutter. "Beaumont, Marconi – their whole rotten empire. But we need to play this smart."

Anyka raises an eyebrow. "What are you thinking?"

I lean back, the plan forming. "We use their own greed against them. Set a trap with this ledger as bait. But we can't do it alone."

"The White Lotus," Anyka says softly, surprising me.

I nod, impressed. "You know about them?"

She gives me an enigmatic smile. "I know many things, detective. The Continental isn't just a hotel, after all."

"No," I agree, "it's not. And it's time for May, Siobhan, and the others to step out of the shadows. This game ends tonight."

I grip the ledger tighter; its leather binding is cool against my palms. The weight of it, the secrets it holds, sends a shiver down my spine. We're close now, so close to unraveling this whole damn mess.

Anyka guides the car smoothly around a corner, her eyes flicking between the road and me. "You're awfully quiet, Morgan. What's going on in that head of yours?"

I let out a long breath, watching the city lights blur past. "Just thinking about what we're walking into. The White Lotus... they're not to be trifled with. And we're asking them to take on Beaumont and Marconi."

She chuckles a low, melodious sound that cuts through the tension. "Worried about a few assassins, detective? I thought you were made of sterner stuff."

"It's not the assassins I'm worried about," I retort, but there's no heat in it. "It's what happens after. This city... it's like a powder keg. One wrong move, and it all goes up in flames."

We lapse into silence as the Continental looms before us, its Art Deco façade a beacon in the night. I can't shake the feeling that we're about to cross a line, one we can't come back from.

"Anyka," I say, my voice low. "Whatever happens in there... I want you to know I'm glad you're here. With me."

She turns to me, those blue eyes piercing right through me. For a moment, I see something flicker there – vulnerability, maybe even fear. But then it's gone, replaced by that enigmatic smile.

"Oh, handsome," she purrs, "the feeling's mutual. Now, shall we go rattle some cages?"

As we step out of the car, the night air electric with possibility, I can't help but feel we're on the precipice of something big. The endgame's approaching, and God help anyone who gets in our way.


[ A super special thanks to Jules of [SURPLUS MOTORS] for donating the Latymer and Ritter cars used in this shot ]

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Photo taken at Luane's World Autumn 2024

Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me?
I'm not cut out for all these cynical clones
These hunters with cell phones
Take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die
I don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you
Those Windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry
I'm setting off, but not without my muse


♫ T. Swift | The Lakes ♫

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