A short while later, Beth headed down Lake Shore Drive, pushing the vehicle to go faster, faster…75, 80…whipping in and out of lanes, until the little car shook with her demands. The engine let out a high whine, audible even through the wind shrieking off the lake.
Up ahead, brake lights and orderly lines of traffic. All stopped.
“Oh no,” she whimpered. “Not an accident. Not now.” The next exit was a couple of miles off. A couple of miles that could take a half-hour to traverse. Beth glanced at her watch: 11:05.
She gritted her teeth. She had to get to his office before Abbott, had to do what she could to prevent this from happening. She would do anything.
But the traffic didn’t move.
And she was in the far-left lane.
Trapped.
11:07. 11:08.
Beth glanced to her right. Just this once
