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Two bank robberies, a bunch of criminals, and no clues to their identity. Will Nicolas and his new partner catch them before they can strike again?
The citizens of Washington, DC, were lucky the bank robbers’ escape truck didn’t explode at the Federal Triangle Station.
FBI agents Hayes and Montagna take over the investigation, convinced the robbers will strike again and become more ruthless with every successful assault.
While Agent Hayes tries to keep pace with his lover’s kinky bedroom fantasies, Agent Montagna has trouble dealing with his ex-wife’s past and his immediate future, booze and bullets alike.
Nicolas Hayes glanced at his friend and partner, Jason Beckham, as he drove them back toward their office. “Tell me, Jason, why do you read your girlfriend’s books even though you don’t like them? That’s…ridiculous. It’s like going to a karaoke bar when you don’t like singing.”
“Oh, I do like it, but Elaine gets goosebumps every time I miss the note. I’m restricted to bathroom operas.”
Nicolas snorted and rolled his eyes when Jason smirked. “Come on! It’d be like me taking a trip to the Caribbean even though I don’t like swimming.”
“You don’t like swimming? You? The personification of a classic athlete—can’t…or won’t swim?”
Nicolas growled. “I can swim. I just don’t like it. But that’s not the point, right?”
Jason squirmed on the passenger seat and made a face. “I thought it’d please her if I showed interest in her interests. And since she’s a bookworm, I thought reading her favorite authors would be the right thing.” He lifted his gaze to the roof. “I didn’t know what I was in for. After four books, I still don’t know what to say to her. The stories are awful…tearjerkers. Dripping honey right between the pages.”
“But then you’re cheating, right? You don’t like to read. You hardly make it through the manuals of our training courses.”
“They’re so damn long.”
“You read the summaries and leave the long versions to me.”
Jason grunted and looked out the side window. “Do you like to take your lovely Mrs. France bowling?”
“Yes! And she wants to join us, if that was your next question.”
“She’s a terrible bowler, and she doesn’t seem to improve.”
“So what?” He shrugged. “We have fun together.”
“Do you also take her to football games?”
“No.” Nicolas huffed at Jason’s grumpy tone. “I go with my friends. She says football’s not a game she even wants to understand.” He glanced at Jason. “If you don’t want to read Elaine’s books, just don’t. She’ll understand.”
Jason’s voice dropped. “I don’t wanna blow this relationship.”
“You won’t. Honesty never ruins a relationship. Look, Jacklyn and I don’t lie to each other. That’s what makes our relationship—”
The squawk of the police radio echoed through the car, and Jason reached over to turn up the volume to hear the voice of a young officer.
“Dispatch, armed robbery at the Sun Savings Bank, twelve-hundred New York Avenue Northwest. Shots fired. We’re—”
A crackling of static interrupted, and the officer added urgently, “Need support!”
“We’re close by and could assist,” Jason said.
Nicolas nodded, and Jason grabbed the mic. Before he could respond, the police officer was talking again.
“We’re under fire! We have to retreat! Suspects are on the move in a black Nissan van, no logos, driving east!”
Jason pressed the button. “This is FBI Agent Beckham. We’re giving chase at Thirteenth Street Northwest. How many suspects?”
“Three. At least two armed with Beretta 93R 9mm Machine Pistols. Proceed with caution.”
Nicolas hit the gas to take the corner, and Jason needed two attempts to put the mic back in its cradle.
“Beretta 93Rs, really? Is someone overreacting? Those are counter-terrorism guns.” Jason turned on the siren and the blue lights.
A small VW hit the brakes and swerved to the right lane, blocking a white postal service truck. Honking followed. The black van with the suspects was speeding two cars ahead.
“They won’t get far in the traffic,” Nicolas murmured. “Unless they know a detour I don’t.”
“Fly? You appear to be trying to lift off.” Jason clung to the door handle like his life depended on it.
Nicolas had both hands on the wheel and his focus fixed on the lanes ahead.
Five minutes earlier, Jason had laughed and called the day freakily relaxing with just one case report left to write in the afternoon. They had quipped about their boss, Sullivan, and whether he’d drop a pile of files on their desks just to quash their grins. Jason had voted to finish the report as soon as possible and sneak off without their superior noticing. Their plans had consisted of pizza and beer at a bar close to the Potomac and talking about their girlfriends.
Nicolas was gaining on the fugitives when the escaping van switched lanes and took a sharp left turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue at high speed. A truck in front of him came to a skittering halt, hitting the fender of the car ahead of them. The sound of crashing metal was deafening. The radio announced all units of the Metropolitan Police were ordered to answer the call for assistance. Nicolas slammed on his brakes for a driver who had lost control of his motorcycle and was skidding across the pavement throwing off sparks. While he steered the car around the bike, the van was gaining distance down the avenue.
“Damn it! What’re they doing?” Nicolas hit the gas pedal again.
Jason reported their position to police headquarters.
The fishtailing van sped toward the next intersection and took a right turn on Twelfth Street at the last moment, cutting off a small Mazda and causing it to crash into a parked Mercedes. The car’s alarm went off, but the sound was swallowed by other cars honking and coming to a skidding halt.
Nicolas changed lanes and turned right at a red light while the rest of the traffic came to a full stop.
Jason cursed. “They’ll try Ninth Street to get on the Three-Ninety-Five!”
“We’ll get to them before they make it.” Nicolas swerved the car around a parked van. “What about support?”
“We’ve got two demonstrations going on as we speak. Police forces are thin but coming.”