leeping until noon was a rare luxury unless I was sick, or more recently, nursing a hangover. Both Dad and Benson rose with the chickens, and they insisted everyone else did the same. When I stumbled into the suite’s dining room at midday, Hayden was drinking coffee and watching some reality show about buying wedding dresses. I poured a cup and sat down in front of the big screen.

When a Southern bride-to-be burst into tears because her mom called her choice of dress tasteless and tacky, Hayden asked, “Brunch and shopping before we drive back?”

“Game on,” I replied. “Let me grab a shower.”

Going shopping, I texted Karen from the bathroom.

Again??? Karen must have seen the charges already.

SF may have moved up the timeline for delivery. That should take her mind off my spending.

She fired back, Is HF the source?

Yes. BTW, we got followed by a black SUV last night. Probably nothing… I texted just as my battery died. I’d forgotten to pack my charger, but maybe Hayden had one in the car.

I turned on the shower and slipped out of my PJs. Stepping into the hot water, the anticipation of hitting up Barney’s shoe department for the second time in a month filled me with excitement. If Karen texted me again, I didn’t know or care.

It was late afternoon when we finally revved up the Mercedes and drove out of the city. It had been one of the best weekends of my life, a fantasy made all the better for knowing it had an expiration date. Admittedly, there had been a moment at Barney’s that was pretty cool.

We were strolling through the store on the way to the shoe department when one of the salesgirls who’d helped outfit me weeks earlier crossed my path. “Good to see you again, Miss Collins.” She smiled as she passed, not even noticing the celebutante beside me. The stunned look on Hayden’s face was priceless.

We’d left New York behind and were sailing along the multi-lane highway cutting through Connecticut. I envied Hayden her confidence behind the wheel. I hadn’t gotten my license yet because driving in Karachi was practically a death sentence. Between non-existent lanes, craters laughingly called potholes, and no discernable speed limit, it was easier to get in a taxi and close your eyes. Odds were you would get where you were going in one piece.

The music blasted, and while my phone charged, I idly admired the passing scenery as it became more rural. I hadn’t yet tired of the concept of trees. At some point I became aware Hayden had sped up and began changing lanes abruptly.

I straightened up and looked around. “What’s going on?”

“Damn paparazzi have been following us for miles,” she complained. “I’ve tried to put some distance between us, but they’re getting closer.”

I checked out the side mirror. My body went cold when I saw the black SUV. If Stephen Frasier had fast-tracked Rosetta, maybe threats against his family had been fast-tracked, too. Hayden had given the local photographers so many photo ops, she was bound to be on the cover of every magazine next week. There was no reason for them to follow us out of state.

I picked up my phone, the only weapon I had. “I’m calling 911.” I’d been smart enough to bring my Prada tote, but foolish enough to toss it in the trunk.

“I can lose these fools,” she said. “My mom sent me to stunt driving school for exactly this reason.” She stepped on the gas, and the Mercedes shot forward.

The SUV did the same, cutting off another car in a dangerous maneuver. I had a very bad feeling about this.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” The operator’s calm voice was in complete opposition to my growing fear. While Hayden whipped the car around drivers who honked at us in irritation, I quickly explained our situation.

“Paparazzi are following you?” Her tone held a faint note of dismissal.

“Would you please send help?” I was sure by now the people behind us weren’t photographers, but I also didn’t want to blow my cover.

The SUV gained on us. Hayden drove like she spent weekends competing in NASCAR races, but our pursuers were taking huge risks. Several other drivers had been forced to slam on their brakes, and the SUV only narrowly avoided a major collision. It was a miracle nobody had been killed yet. What would they do if they caught up to us? Surely they didn’t want to run us off the road. A live Hayden was much more valuable than a dead one, or at least I hoped.

The operator’s voice cut into my racing thoughts. “We have units in the area. They are converging on your location.”

Our pursuers pulled up along the driver’s side, and I fumbled the phone. Two very familiar men were in the black SUV: the driver wore a distinctive mustache in place of an upper lip, and his passenger peered at us through horn-rimmed glasses. They hadn’t been checking out the drug dealing DJ at the nightclub last night after all.

“Watch out!” I yelled, as the driver yanked the wheel in our direction. Despite my ambiguous warning, Hayden smartly jerked the wheel and sent the car flying into the far right lane.

“They’re trying to kill us!” Hayden sounded more affronted than frightened, as if she still believed the assailants were crazed fans.

“Get off, get off!” An exit was fast approaching and with any luck, the SUV wouldn’t be able to whip over in time. We shot down the curving off-ramp at a speed that might have doomed the larger vehicle if they’d been able to negotiate the last second maneuver. The Mercedes barely held onto the ramp as it was, the tires squealing in protest as we ricocheted onto the road below. I unconsciously braced for impact.

Hayden sped through a stop sign without pause. “Now what?”

“Just go! They will probably get off at the next exit and backtrack, so put as much distance as you can between us and the highway!”

Taking a perpendicular tact away from the highway, we whipped through a small town’s commercial district—thankfully quiet at this time on a Sunday—before zipping through a tree-lined neighborhood of pretty little homes. Several anxious glimpses behind us revealed we were alone, but Hayden wasn’t slowing down, which was fine by me. We had just ripped down the area’s main street at a high rate of speed when the sirens sounded. Thank God.

I picked up the phone from where it had been sliding across the floor. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered the operator. “Did you lose your paparazzi?”

“Yes,” I said, letting out a sigh of relief, “and the police are here.”

Hayden pulled over, with the squad car tucking in right behind.

“Not state police if you’re off the Interstate,” she warned. “The units I sent are still searching the ninety-one.”

An insistent tap on my window alerted me there was a rather displeased police officer demanding my attention. He was most likely a local of whatever small town we’d just blown through, unaware of our brush with two predators whose agenda was still unclear to me. I rolled down the window and smiled.

“Hello, Officer.”

“Turn off the car, and hang up the phone,” he promptly ordered. Every button on his uniform sparkled, the creases on his pants sharp enough to cut, and he wore his hair at regulation length and not a centimeter more. This guy meant business.

I held up the phone. “But…”

He plucked it from my hand, punched “end”, and set it on the dash. I shot a look of trepidation at Hayden, who immediately shut off the ignition and unleashed her famous smile. “I’m so glad to see you, Officer. The most dreadful thing just happened…”

Her words dried up at his unrelenting stare. “License and registration.”

While she was digging through her cluttered Birkin bag, another officer appeared at her window. It must be a slow day. She thrust the requested items at the new arrival, an older and less polished version of his partner.

He looked them over a moment before asking incredulously, “This is your car?”

Hayden’s mouth tightened in indignation. We were both shaken by what just happened, but losing it with these guys wouldn’t help.

Don’t do it, don’t do it… I silently chanted. Law enforcement officers, from military MPs to the armed henchman who stood loyally by the side of the village chieftain, were all generally cast from the same mold. They were expected to be invisible until beckoned, mete out justice with the wisdom of Solomon, and check their egos at the door. The only thing they asked for in return was respect. I had a horrible feeling Hayden hadn’t learned this particular life lesson.

“Of course it’s my car,” she snapped. “Who else would it belong to? Don’t you even want to know why we were running for our lives?”

As expected, the officer didn’t take kindly to her attitude. “Step out of the car please, Miss.”

She angrily climbed out of her seat while I slumped lower in mine. I could just hear the painful phone call between Major Taylor and me when I called to tell her we were in jail somewhere in rural Connecticut. To top it off, I’d probably get my arsenal confiscated. Wait!

“Officer,” I said to the man still standing sentry at my window. “May I reach into my bag for a document you might be interested in seeing?” Benson had lectured me several times to never making sudden movements if you found yourself under the gun.

At the officer’s curt nod I extracted my State Department card, which I’d grabbed when packing the cash and American Express card, and handed it over. He leaned closer, skeptically comparing me with the picture on the card. “Is this for real?”

Things were not going well on Hayden’s side of the car, as evidenced by her voice pitching ever-higher.

“The girl with me is Hayden Frasier, the daughter of Stephen Frasier,” I said in a confidential whisper. His startled reaction told me we were on the same page. “I’ve been assigned by the State Department to make sure she gets back to school safely, but if you take us in my cover will be blown. Please, we’ve invested a lot of time and taxpayers’ money into planting me at her school. Can you help a girl out here?”

He stared at me for a few moments without any indication he’d heard a word I said. Then he straightened. “Hey, Bill,” he called to his partner, retreating to his patrol car. With a warning to Hayden not to move a muscle, Officer Bill ambled back to the squad car as well. I watched in the side mirror as my card was passed to the older man whose mouth puckered in derision. We were doomed.

Hayden leaned in through the open window, practically vibrating with anger. “He doesn’t believe a word I say. He won’t even check to see that we were being chased down the highway. I’ve never been treated like this!”

I didn’t want to appear unsympathetic, but playing the princess card was pretty weak. “Calm down, Hayden,” I sighed, reaching again for my phone. “They’re just doing their jobs. The harder we make it for them, the longer we’ll be here.”

With a huff she withdrew and presented me with her back.

I needed to text Karen with our whereabouts while I still had access to my phone. Waiting to call her from jail would spike her blood pressure like a triple espresso. Looking at my phone, I was surprised to discover several messages from her that had gone unnoticed until now.

Confirmed HF’s info is correct. Get out of the city NOW.

What is EST time of departure?

Riley, where are you?

RILEY???

Oops. I immediately texted: We’re out of NY and safe, but something happened. More later…

I glanced into the side mirror to see both cops headed our way. The younger one split off as they approached, and he stopped at my window. He handed over my ID card. “All I can say is I hope you’re older than you look if our government is putting the fate of the nation into your hands.”

I perked up. “We can go?”

“It looks that way.” He didn’t appear convinced this was in the best interests of the American people, but the paperwork was in order.

Moments later Hayden opened the car door and dropped back into her seat, her face smug. “It’s about time they realized who I am.”

We’d lost our pursuers, but they had to know where we were going. They were probably waiting for us somewhere up ahead on the way to school. I’d instructed Hayden to take back roads as far as we could, but eventually we’d come to the only route leading to Harrington. This was a ZEBRA moment if ever there was one.

Within moments of stealthily texting the word to Major Taylor, my phone rang.

“Hello?” I pretended not to recognize the number on the screen. “Oh, hello, Major Taylor. Yes, I’m with Hayden Frasier, and we’ve run into some trouble on the way back to school. I’m glad you were monitoring the police scanners and recognized the description of Hayden’s car,” I said, making it up on the spot. I went on to explain the incident in further detail along with my fear that the mysterious men were waiting to pick up our trail again.

“Where are you now?” Her voice was tight and strained as befit an officer who’d have her hat handed to her on the way out the door if anything to should happen to her charge. “I’ll text you the route I want you to take,” she said after I’d told her our location. “A marked car will intercept you, and escort you back to campus.”

One lone rent-a-cop against two dangerous attackers felt like tossing a kitten into a ring of bulldogs. “Maybe you could send more? Like all of them?”

“Let me assure you, Miss Collins, the people I’m sending will be sufficient for the job,” she said crisply. “One of them is my first lieutenant, whom I trust implicitly.” Office Wieringa came to mind. She was right; that guy was no mall cop. “Have you contacted anyone else about this?”

“No,” I said, not wanting to mention Karen in front of Hayden.

A few moments later, my phone chimed with directions so detailed, the woman could go work for Google Maps if she ever tired of the military. Following her instructions, we picked up the Harrington patrol car along with an escort from the Bridgehurst police precisely where we were told to expect them. With that much backup, I was almost disappointed when we reached the school’s front gates without spotting the black SUV.

Hayden had retreated into thoughtful silence the whole way back to school. The girl with trust issues bigger than the Sahara might be reconsidering the events of the last few weeks, from the highly unusual break with school policy that launched me into her orbit, to the mysterious unmasking of Quinn, who just happened to be my nemesis. How would she react if she found out I was there under false pretenses? Could she see past the circumstances that brought us together to the genuine affinity growing between us? The idea of damaging our budding friendship upset me more than I would have thought possible not too long ago.

She broke her silence after zipping into a parking spot. “How did you get the head of security on the phone so fast? I saw you texting her.”

“My dad’s in the government,” I explained, having come up with a fast excuse in case she called me on it. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find that he’d programmed the number for National Air Defense into my phone.”

She shook her head as if she wasn’t buying it. “Those men tried to kill us, but I’m beginning to think I wasn’t the one they were after.” She pinned me with a stare.

“Who are you, Riley Collins?”