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her eyes, you’d think it was a thrill ride.
    I hit the gas, turn the wheel, and tear out of there. A sharp U-turn causes the wheels to scream and sends us back toward the Carter Barron/16th Street exit. As I fly forward, my eyes are glued to the rearview mirror. Nora’s staring at her sideview.
    “No one’s there,” she says, sounding more wishful than confident. “We’re okay.”
    I stare at the mirror, praying she’s right. Hoping to tip the odds in our favor, I give the gas another push. As we turn back onto 16th Street, we’re flying. Once again, D.C.’s rugged roads are tossing us around. This time, though, it doesn’t matter. We’re finally safe.
    “How’d I do?” I ask Nora, who’s turned around in her seat and staring out the back window.
    “Not bad,” she admits. “Harry and Darren would be proud.”
    I laugh to myself just as I hear the screech of tires behind us. I turn to Nora, who’s still looking out the back window. Her face is awash in the headlights of the car that’s now gaining on us. “Get us out of here,” she shouts.
    I take a quick survey of the area. We’re in the run-down section of 16th Street, not far from Religion Row. There’re plentyof streets to turn on, but I don’t like the looks of the neighborhood. Too many dark corners and burned-out streetlights. The side streets are filthy. And worst of all, desolate.
    I gun the engine and swerve into the left lane just to see if the car follows. When it does, my heart drops. They’re a half a block behind and closing fast. “Is it possible they’re Secret Service?”
    “Not with those headlights. All my guys drive Suburbans.”
    I check their lights in the rearview mirror. They’ve got their brights on, so it’s hard to see, but the shape and the height tell me it’s definitely not a Suburban. “Get down,” I say to Nora. Whoever they are, I’m not taking any chances.
    “That’s not Simon’s car, is it?” she asks.
    We get our answer in the form of red and blue swirling lights that engulf our back window. “Pull over,” a deep voice blares from a bullhorn mounted to the roof.
    I don’t believe it. Cops. Smiling, I slap Nora’s shoulder. “It’s okay. They’re cops.”
    As I pull over, I notice Nora isn’t nearly as relieved. Unable to sit still and in full frenzy, she checks the sideview mirror, then looks over her shoulder, then back to the mirror. Her eyes are dancing in every direction as she anxiously claws her way out of her seatbelt.
    “What’s wrong?” I ask as we come to a stop.
    She doesn’t respond. Instead, she reaches down for her clunky black purse, which is on the floor in front of her. When she starts rummaging through it, a cold chill runs down my back. This isn’t the time to hold back. “Do you have drugs?” I ask.
    “No!” she insists. In my rearview mirror, I see a uniformed D.C. police officer approaching my side of the Jeep.
    “Nora, don’t lie to me. This is—” The police officer taps on my window. Just as I turn around, I hear my glove compartment slam shut.
    I lower my window with a forced smile on my face. “Good evening, Officer. Did I do something wrong?” He holds a flashlight above his shoulder and shines it right at Nora. She’s still wearing her baseball cap and doing her best to remain unrecognizable. She won’t look the cop in the face.
    “Is everything okay?” I ask, hoping to divert his attention.
    The officer is a thick black man with a crooked nose that gives him the look of a former middleweight boxer. When he leans into the window, all I see are his huge hairless forearms. He uses his chin to motion toward the glove compartment. “What’re you hiding there?” he asks Nora.
    Damn. He saw her.
    “Nothing,” Nora whispers.
    The cop studies her answer. “Please step out of the car,” he says.
    I jump in. “Can you tell me wh—”
    “Step out of the car. Both of you.”
    I look at Nora and know we’re in trouble. When we were in the woods,