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Authors: Jenni Wiltz
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willing to drop everything to help you?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with me. It goes back much further than that. It all started with my great-great-grandfather.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Are you saying there’s some sort of feud between the Cherbourgs and the SFPD?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s a feud,” he said. “More like a vendetta.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She slouched even further in her seat to digest this new piece of information. So there were skeletons in the Cherbourg closet. Ella realized she wasn’t surprised. A family with that much money, influence , and power must have stepped on a few toes to get to the top.
It didn’t seem real, though. She’d been raised to believe the police were dependable and trustworthy, good men and women who would help you if you needed it. Was she just naïve, or was Sébastien seeing ghosts where there were none? Once again, she realized how far apart her world and his world were.
She looked out her side window, wondering why that conclusion made her feel so depressed. As she looked, a black sedan pulled up alongside them, traveling at the same speed—a speed much higher than the legal limit. Suddenly, the driver of the other car swerved towards her.
“Sébastien!” she cried, leaning towards him and away from the window.
“I see it,” he said. He stomped on the brake and the sedan’s swerve met with nothing but empty air.
Ella sat up straight and pointed at the sedan. “They were going to slam right into us!” she cried. “Who is that?”
“I have no idea.” Sébastien pulled up hard on the e-brake and flung the steering wheel around. The car did a clean 180-degree turn, tires smoking with the effort of changing directions. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor and the car’s V-10 engine with 500 horsepower rocketed them off in the opposite direction.
Ella swiveled in her seat, looking out the back window. As much as she hoped the other guys would just give up, she knew it probably wouldn’t happen. Her heart sank when she saw the black sedan performing a similar maneuver. “They’re coming back,” she said, heart pounding in her chest. “What do they want?”
Sébastien glanced into the rearview mirror. “I’m not sticking around long enough to find out.”
As much as Ella liked that idea, she realized that running wouldn’t help figure out who was behind this. “Shouldn’t we try and get a license plate number or something?” she asked.
“Do it,” he said, slamming on the brakes once more. The car drew itself to a halt almost instantly and the sedan in pursuit had a hard time stopping without slamming into them. As the sedan fishtailed and swung past them, Ella memorized the license plate number, make , and model.
“ G ot it!” she cried.
“Good girl.” Sébastien gunn ed the engine again. They sped off down the two-way street, flying past coffee shops and hairdressers’ salons. Behind them, the black sedan crept up closer and closer. Sébastien veered into the fast lane and the sedan pulled up at their side. Ella turned her head and saw the driver lower his tinted window. A black-gloved hand held out an automatic pistol.
“Sébastien, duck!” she screamed as the shooter fired three shots into the car’s cabin.
She and Sébastien crouched down, pressing themselves into their seats. Sébastien kept one hand on the steering wheel, attempting to keep the car straight.
The bullets broke her window and whizzed straight through the car, breaking the window on Sébastien’s side, too. Bits of shattered glass tumbled over them. She put her hands over her head, feeling the sharp edges of the tiny shards slice across her flesh.
As soon as the rain of glass ceased, Sébastien popped up and jerked the steering wheel to the right. Their car sideswiped
“It doesn’t have anything to do with me. It goes back much further than that. It all started with my great-great-grandfather.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Are you saying there’s some sort of feud between the Cherbourgs and the SFPD?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s a feud,” he said. “More like a vendetta.”
“What the hell happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She slouched even further in her seat to digest this new piece of information. So there were skeletons in the Cherbourg closet. Ella realized she wasn’t surprised. A family with that much money, influence , and power must have stepped on a few toes to get to the top.
It didn’t seem real, though. She’d been raised to believe the police were dependable and trustworthy, good men and women who would help you if you needed it. Was she just naïve, or was Sébastien seeing ghosts where there were none? Once again, she realized how far apart her world and his world were.
She looked out her side window, wondering why that conclusion made her feel so depressed. As she looked, a black sedan pulled up alongside them, traveling at the same speed—a speed much higher than the legal limit. Suddenly, the driver of the other car swerved towards her.
“Sébastien!” she cried, leaning towards him and away from the window.
“I see it,” he said. He stomped on the brake and the sedan’s swerve met with nothing but empty air.
Ella sat up straight and pointed at the sedan. “They were going to slam right into us!” she cried. “Who is that?”
“I have no idea.” Sébastien pulled up hard on the e-brake and flung the steering wheel around. The car did a clean 180-degree turn, tires smoking with the effort of changing directions. He slammed the gas pedal to the floor and the car’s V-10 engine with 500 horsepower rocketed them off in the opposite direction.
Ella swiveled in her seat, looking out the back window. As much as she hoped the other guys would just give up, she knew it probably wouldn’t happen. Her heart sank when she saw the black sedan performing a similar maneuver. “They’re coming back,” she said, heart pounding in her chest. “What do they want?”
Sébastien glanced into the rearview mirror. “I’m not sticking around long enough to find out.”
As much as Ella liked that idea, she realized that running wouldn’t help figure out who was behind this. “Shouldn’t we try and get a license plate number or something?” she asked.
“Do it,” he said, slamming on the brakes once more. The car drew itself to a halt almost instantly and the sedan in pursuit had a hard time stopping without slamming into them. As the sedan fishtailed and swung past them, Ella memorized the license plate number, make , and model.
“ G ot it!” she cried.
“Good girl.” Sébastien gunn ed the engine again. They sped off down the two-way street, flying past coffee shops and hairdressers’ salons. Behind them, the black sedan crept up closer and closer. Sébastien veered into the fast lane and the sedan pulled up at their side. Ella turned her head and saw the driver lower his tinted window. A black-gloved hand held out an automatic pistol.
“Sébastien, duck!” she screamed as the shooter fired three shots into the car’s cabin.
She and Sébastien crouched down, pressing themselves into their seats. Sébastien kept one hand on the steering wheel, attempting to keep the car straight.
The bullets broke her window and whizzed straight through the car, breaking the window on Sébastien’s side, too. Bits of shattered glass tumbled over them. She put her hands over her head, feeling the sharp edges of the tiny shards slice across her flesh.
As soon as the rain of glass ceased, Sébastien popped up and jerked the steering wheel to the right. Their car sideswiped
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