Chapter Twenty-five
They rode along the water, bathed in sun as it began to burn off the fog over the Sound. Rose began to sing. Maji enjoyed Rose’s voice behind her, the feel of her hands clasped lightly against her belly, her thighs pressing in to hold on as they leaned into the turns. Rose hadn’t pretended their conversation last night hadn’t happened, but she hadn’t made a big deal of it. “How are you?” was all she had asked.
“Ready to roll,” Maji had said—and she was. Getting away from the House that Death Built, and not to more scenarios at the dojo for a change, sounded great. The market meant a host of familiar faces, vendors for the local farmers, and sometimes even the farmers themselves. Maji wished she could allow Rose the luxury of chatting with each and every one, letting her inner anthropologist out. But quicker was safer.
Maji wove the bike slowly through the parking lot, scanning the few vehicles on-site this early. No obvious red flags. At the far side, she stopped and let Rose dismount, then parked in a lined-off corner in the shade.
“You won’t get a ticket?”
“Never have before,” Maji replied as they pulled off helmets and gloves. She took a minute to scan the grassy lawn covered in vendor tents. “Fastest way out is here.” She pointed to a dirt footpath leading into the parking area near their corner.
Rose nodded, and slipped on her Jackie Os. She fluffed her hair back up, still listening.
“All the stalls run parallel, five rows, four aisles. There’s grass on the far side.” Maji pointed away from the parking area. “Then a fire lane. See where it curves out toward the water?”
Rose nodded again. “Turn right and head uphill to reach the bike. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Restrooms are at the far end.”
“I know. I’ve been here dozens of time. And I’ve managed never to have to rely on that restroom.”
Maji chuckled. “Smart.” She thumbed a switch on her watch, confirmed the GPS was active and that she could both hear and transmit, and spoke. “Rios to Taylor.”
“Go, go.”
“We’re at the market, Water Street and Main. What’s your twenty?”
“Couch. Jackie’s barely up and not nearly caffeinated enough for golf.” He paused. “I have you on-screen. Both of you show.”
Then Rose’s tracking fob was sending clearly at this distance, also. “Let’s shop,” Maji said, opening the bike’s seat compartment to stow their gloves. They clipped their helmets to the bike and headed for the produce stands.
Rose touched her arm, and they both paused. “Can’t we leave the coats with the bike, too?” she asked. “It’s starting to get warm.”
Should she tell her it was either the jackets or bulletproof vests? No, that was uncalled for. “Please leave yours on. It’s Kevlar air mesh, strong but porous. And we’ll be quick.”
Rose looked doubtful. “Seems like overkill.” She moved her stiff, reinforced arms robotically, “All this Mad Max business.”
Maji chuckled. “Your skin’s worth protecting, trust me. Kevlar is a girl’s best friend.”
As they walked among the stalls, shoppers and vendors alike exclaimed over Maji. A bouncy redhead at the flower stand hopped off her stool to give Oyster Cove’s prodigal daughter a squeeze. “How long you been back, girl?”
While they talked, Rose admired the lilies, calendula, delphinium, and bee balm. Maji paid the redhead for a bouquet and put them on hold for Frank.
Moments later, a man with a stroller caught Maji’s arm. “Rios! Captain Andrews said you were home. Look who joined us while you were on tour.” He held the baby out to Maji, who made admiring noises but didn’t ask to hold it. “You gonna stick around? Join the force?”
The off-duty cop let Maji off easy, but a few stalls later, an avuncular gray-haired man in preppy shorts and polo shirt stopped them. Maji squinted at him, moving between Rose and the stranger.
“John Sanford, Nassau County Credit Union. We’d be proud to have you on our float, if someone else hasn’t grabbed you up already.” He shook her hand and backed up, seeing her confusion. “The Fourth of July parade, Ms. Rios. We like to honor our vets.” He gave her his card, so she could call him to say yes.
Maji was polite to everyone who stopped her, but clearly antsy with the delays. Rose lingered on the periphery, keeping one ear open while she took her time examining the bounty of June on Long Island. The piles of greens—chard, kale, and broccoli rabe, in addition to the standard spinach and lettuce, pulled Rose into one stall, while the strawberries and sugar snap peas called to her from another. The root crops still hanging on from winter—scallions, leeks, carrots, potatoes, beets, and yellow onions—just sat quietly, hoping to be noticed. She gave them their due. Rose passed over the chives, dill, and cilantro, taking care of their large basil order before Maji got too fussed and rushed them home again.
“Sorry,” Maji said when they were alone briefly. “I didn’t expect this. Let’s get the basil, and beat it.”
“Done.” Rose smiled. “Maybe we can slip out before someone asks you to run for mayor.”
Maji blushed. “No chance.”
As they wound through the shoppers toward the bike, Maji stopped and directed her attention ahead of them, thumbing her watch as she did so. “Two guys in suits, both carrying.”
She fished the bike keys from her pocket and handed them to Rose. “If I’m not there when you reach the bike, take it, ditch it when you’re able, and hide. Clear?”
Rose nodded, speechless. Run—alone? The men were coming toward them, never glancing at the stalls. Maji took her elbow and guided her forward, then turned them into a U-shaped stall. Won’t we be trapped here? Panic welled up, despite Rose’s trust in Maji’s judgment.
“Maj!” the vendor exclaimed.
“Hey, Marty. Long time. Got some trouble on our tail. Run interference for me?”
“Sure, hon.”
“Under and out,” Maji said into Rose’s ear. “Now!”
Rose didn’t hesitate, just hit the ground and rolled under the nearest table, popping up on the far side.
As she glanced back, one pursuer was flailing backward toward his partner, who caught him as Maji turned her way. Rose picked up a melon and lobbed it at the encumbered thug, yelling, “9-1-1,” as she let it fly. Then she turned and ran for the bike, not waiting for the satisfying thwonk it made, or the tangled pile of angry limbs to sort itself out.
* * *
“Dial it in, Marty,” Maji bit out as she planted one hand between two stacks of strawberry baskets and vaulted over the table, sprinting off after Rose. To the urgent voices in her ear, all she said was, “Stand by.”
As Maji neared the bike, she saw a man approach from behind Rose, who was fastening on her helmet. “Six o’clock,” she yelled, putting a last blast into her already pumping legs.
Rose spun and kicked her pursuer in the knee, a nice sharp side kick that drew a yelp and bent him over the wounded limb. He reached one hand out to the bike for support, shoving the other under his jacket for the pistol undoubtedly there.
Maji reached the injured man as Rose was mounting the bike, fumbling to put the key in and start it. She struck him once, hard, and he sprawled behind the bike. She moved to check his pulse, giving her update as she leaned down.
“Two tails lost, one down parking lot, and”—a black SUV honked and tried to jockey through the now-crowded lot—“driver stuck in lot,” she finished.
Leaving the downed man be, she hopped on behind Rose. “Go, go, go.” For the comm, she added, “Clearing out. Stand by.”
“Hooah,” Dev’s voice replied.
Rose rolled on the throttle and the bike leaped forward. She braked, throwing Maji into her back. Her bare head hit the back of Rose’s helmet with a sharp crack. Her vision blurred. “Ease it on, and point us down the path,” Maji managed to spit out, blinking hard.
“Can’t we just trade places?” Rose’s voice climbed with each word.
“No time. Black SUV on our tail.” And indeed, the big vehicle was trying to turn around and wend its way out of the tangle of cars, to get onto the access road the bike was headed toward. At least she could see it clearly again.
As Maji clung to her, Rose tried again, this time carrying them smoothly down the incline and onto the fire lane, headed toward the water. When the paved lane ran out, Maji tapped her to turn right, and they passed between the waist-high poles meant to keep cars off the bike trail. A few hundred feet down, as they started to gain on a group of unwitting bicyclists, Maji tapped her again. “Okay. Stop, but don’t cut it.”
Rose pulled over smoothly and stopped. Maji hopped off the back and gave her a hand scooting back. She unhooked her helmet from the bike and slipped it on, ignoring the sting where it pressed against her throbbing forehead. “Okay to just hang on?”
Rose nodded. “Sorry.”
Maji slid on. “Sorry, hell. You rock.”
They zipped past the bicyclists, leaving a muted protest behind them as the pack realized what had happened. As soon as the trail met road again, Maji slowed and threaded the bike out between the anti-car posts, onto the street.
“Now what?” Rose asked.
“Long way home.” Maji turned them onto a two-lane highway, picking up speed on the long open stretch. From behind them, a siren sounded, growing louder.
“Thank God,” Rose breathed.
“Don’t thank her yet,” Maji cautioned, pulling onto the shoulder with the bike pointed toward the median. “And don’t let go.”
The NYSP car pulled up behind them, and from each side an officer in a domed hat emerged. Maji waited as they approached the bike, speaking softly. “Delta Tango Charlie One Five One. Copy?”
“Copy. We show you on northbound parkway, County Road cross.”
“Not for long. Stand by.” To Rose, she added, “Hang on tight.”
The officers within yards of them, Maji slammed on the throttle and hurtled the bike across the highway. The uniformed men dashed back to their vehicle. The bike bounced into the recessed median, and she throttled on again to pop them up and into the lanes going back the way they had come.
When the heavy police cruiser tried to follow in their path, its undercarriage made a grinding shriek on the incline down. It roared up the opposite side, leaving a trail of oil as it went. The driver pushed it hard, even as the rapidly drying pistons began to knock.
The bike zipped quietly down the two-lane road, the siren and its source receding in the mirrors. Maji eased off the throttle as they began passing neighborhoods again, and turned right, slowing to residential speed.
Rose relaxed with the decrease in speed, but kept her grip tight, in case. They seemed to be crawling along the little tree-lined street. Any second the cruiser could appear behind them. A few houses into the second block of modest single homes with neat yards, Maji turned the bike sharply left, and they bounced down a grass and dirt alley lined by fences and garages. The bike skidded to a stop by the gate in a tall wooden fence.
“Open the gate!”
Rose hopped off, thumbed the gate handle, and shoved it open. Maji drove silently into the yard, the gate closing behind them. As she set the kickstand, a brindle Doberman-boxer mix dashed from the side yard, barreling toward them. Maji lunged past Rose and met it as it rose up. Before Rose could suck in enough breath to scream, Maji had the big dog by the throat, pinned to the grass.
“Barkley! Hush!” Maji commanded. The dog whimpered, wagged its tail, and tried to lick the hand planted at its throat.
Rose slumped back against the closed gate. What would come at them next?
The door at the top of a short set of concrete steps opened, and a statuesque woman in her late thirties, yellow-blond hair falling in her eyes and bathrobe clutched to her chest, glared at them. Amazons? Rose nearly giggled, heady with relief and the surrealness of it all.
“Always an entrance,” the Amazon said to Maji and grabbed her into a tight embrace. “Who you running from?” she asked with a smirk as she let Maji go, eyeing Rose knowingly.
Maji ignored the question and the innuendo. “Sorry about the wake-up.”
“No sweat, Jailbait. I’m due at the station anyway.”
“Can I use your landline?”
“Still in the same place.”
Maji headed through an arched doorway into the dining room and began dialing. “Lost them. Yours secure?” Rose heard her say.
“I’m Karen,” the Amazon said, pulling Rose’s attention back into the kitchen, and to their host. “Sit down. Coffee?”
Rose shook her head. She needed to come down before she fell down. “Water, please.”
Karen brought her a glass from the tap and tilted her head toward the next room. “Nice to see Maji with someone her own age.”
“Hey!” Maji’s voice piped in. “No stories.”
Karen straightened her robe, lowering her voice. “When she was sixteen, she had this fake ID from Columbia…”
“Seventeen. And it was real.”
While Karen went to dress for work, Rose closed her eyes and stroked Barkley’s silky ears, taking comfort from the solid body leaning in to her thigh. A few minutes later, Karen returned, nicely pulled together and buttoning a white short-sleeved uniform shirt with Fire Marshal embroidered on it. An expletive from the other room turned both their heads. Maji appeared in the doorway, looking vexed.
Karen caught Rose’s eye and shook her head, smiling. “Still not a morning person, huh?”
Maji didn’t correct her, or explain. “Could you drop us off on your way in?”