Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

As I put my foot down, the glorious R8 zooms forward, and we tear down the left lane, lesser mortals pulling over to let us pass. If I wasn’t so frightened, I might really enjoy this.
    “He’s hit one hundred miles per hour, sir.”
    “Stay with him, Luke,” Christian barks at Sawyer.
    Luke?
    A truck lurches into the fast lane— Shit! —and I have to slam on the brakes.
    “Fucking idiot!” Christian curses the driver as we lurch forward in our seats. I am grateful for our seatbelts.
    “Go around him, baby,” Christian says through clenched teeth. I check my mirrors and cut right across three lanes. We speed past the slower vehicles and then cut back to the fast lane.
    “Nice move, Mrs. Grey,” Christian murmurs appreciatively. “Where are the cops when you need them?”
    “I don’t want a ticket, Christian,” I mutter, concentrating on the highway ahead. “Have you had a speeding ticket driving this?”
    “No,” he says, but glancing quickly at him, I can see his smirk.
    “Have you been stopped?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh.”
    “Charm, Mrs. Grey. It all comes down to charm. Now concentrate. Where’s the Dodge, Sawyer?”
    “He’s just hit one hundred and ten, sir.” Sawyer says.
    Holy fuck! My heart leaps once more into my mouth. Can I drive any faster? I push my foot down once more and streak past the traffic.
    “Flash the headlights,” Christian orders when a Ford Mustang won’t move.
    “But that would make me an asshole.”
    “So be an asshole!” he snaps.
    Jeez. Okay! “Um, where are the headlights?”
    “The indicator. Pull it toward you.”
    I do it, and the Mustang moves aside though not before the driver waves his finger at me in a none-too-complimentary manner. I zoom past him.
    “He’s the asshole,” Christian says under his breath, then barks at me, “get off on Stewart.”
    Yes sir!
    “We’re taking the Stewart Street exit,” Christian says to Sawyer.
    “Head straight to Escala, sir.”
    I slow, check my mirrors, signal, then move with surprising ease across four lanes of the highway and down the off-ramp. Merging onto Stewart Street, we head south. The street is quiet, with few vehicles. Where is everyone?
    “We’ve been damned lucky with the traffic. But that means the Dodge has, too. Don’t slow down, Ana. Get us home.”
    “I can’t remember the way,” I mutter, panicked by the fact the Dodge is still on our tail.
    “Head south on Stewart. Keep going until I tell you when.” Christian sounds anxious again. I zoom past three blocks but the lights change to yellow on Yale Avenue.
    “Run them, Ana,” Christian shouts. I jump so hard I floor the gas pedal, throwing us both back in our seats, speeding through the now red light.
    “He’s taking Stewart,” Sawyer says.
    “Stay with him, Luke.”
    “Luke?”
    “That’s his name.”
    A quick glance and I can see Christian glaring at me as if I’m crazy. “Eyes on the road!” he snaps.
    I ignore his tone. “Luke Sawyer.”
    “Yes!” He sounds exasperated.
    “Ah.” How did I not know this? The man has been following me to work for the last six weeks, and I didn’t even know his first name.
    “That’s me, ma’am,” Sawyer says, startling me, though he’s speaking in the calm, monotone voice he always uses. “The unsub is heading down Stewart, sir. He’s really picking up speed.”
    “Go, Ana. Less of the fucking chitchat,” Christian growls.
    “We’re stopped at the first light on Stewart.” Sawyer informs us.
    “Ana—quick—in here,” Christian shouts, pointing to a parking lot on the south side of Boren Avenue. I turn, the tires screeching in protest as I swerve into the crowded lot.
    “Drive around. Quick,” Christian orders. I drive as fast as I can to the back, out of sight of the street. “In there.” Christian points to a space. Shit! He wants me to park it. Crap!
    “Just fucking do it,” he says. So I do . . . perfectly. Probably the only time I have ever parked perfectly.
    “We’re hidden in the parking lot between Stewart and Boren,” Christian says into the BlackBerry.
    “Okay, sir.” Sawyer sounds irritated. “Stay where you are; we’ll follow the unsub.”
    Christian turns to me, his eyes searching my face. “You okay?”
    “Sure,” I whisper.
    Christian smirks. “Whoever’s driving that Dodge can’t hear us, you know.”
    And I laugh.
    “We’re passing Stewart and Boren now, sir. I see the lot. He’s gone straight past you, sir.”
    Both of us