Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery by Melissa F Miller Page A

and rolled myself into a tight child’s pose with my head down. The car rocketed to life and lurched into motion. I squeezed my eyes shut.
    As the sedan careened out of the parking lot, I heard male voices shouting. Suddenly, a crack filled the air. In the same instant, the sedan’s back window shattered. Glass shards rained down into the passenger compartment. My heart leaped into my throat and I peeked up at Victor. He ducked his head below the level of the now-broken window and gunned the engine. Great . Now we were speeding along a New York City street without even looking. I braced myself for the inevitable impact, but it never came.
    After a moment, he raised his head and returned to a normal seated position. I watched him check the rearview mirror.
    “We lost them,” he assured me.
    I pulled myself up to the passenger seat and buckled in. “For now.”
    “For now,” he agreed.
    As if it understood that the pulled pork sandwich was off the table, my stomach chimed in with a half-hearted rumble.
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    I gnawed unenthusiastically on the stick of spiced turkey jerky. Victor chewed his peanuts glumly. We huddled side by side on the metal park bench, eating our bodega snacks and drinking our overpriced bottled waters.
    “I will have to take you to Cuba Libra some time. When this is all over,” he mused.
    I blinked at the notion that we’d be in one another’s lives after this and tore off another piece of cured meat with my teeth. After I swallowed, I took another sip of water and said, “Hey, don’t worry. This isn’t even close to the worst lunch date I’ve ever had.”
    He turned to face me. “I sincerely hope you’re joking.”
    “If only. One of my clients set me up with her co-worker’s brother.”
    “How bad was it?”
    “He took me to a free lunch buffet at a strip club.”
    He grimaced. “Oooff.”
    “Yeah. I guess people don’t go there for the food? I still don’t know if I was eating chicken or fish.”
    He snorted and nearly choked on his peanuts. “You ate the food?” he wheezed between coughs.
    I pounded his back with my fist until he raised his hand to stop.
    “I’m okay.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and gulped his water. “I can’t believe you ate the food.”
    “Let’s move on. What’s our next step?” I asked, mainly to change the subject to something, anything, less embarrassing.
    Afraid that Gabriel or his minions had put a tracking device on the Lincoln, we’d ditched the town car on a side street. Victor had called the car’s owner to explain and apologize—or at least, I assume that had been the gist of the conversation. He’d spoken in rapid-fire Spanish (or Portuguese, for all I knew) and I’d only picked up a handful of words. We’d put at least a dozen city blocks between us and the car before he finally gave into my whining about my hunger pangs and had stopped at the little bodega where we’d bought the first foodstuffs we’d seen and hurried out of the store.
    He shrugged. “Aside from the part where we have no vehicle and you’re enjoying your second-worst lunch date, the plan hasn’t changed.” He pulled Helena’s phone from his pocket and powered it on. “Let’s run down these phone numbers.” I reached into my tote bag and took out his reporter’s notebook, which had ended up mixed in with my stuff in the chaos of being shot at.
    I handed him the notebook. “What about the police?”
    We’d already fought this battle once, right after we’d abandoned the car. But I was hoping that, once adrenaline and abject terror were no longer coursing through his veins, he’d come around to see the wisdom of leaving the search for his sister in the hands of professionals. Armed professionals. With handcuffs, even. I mean, we couldn’t just continue to traipse around the city being trailed by gunmen.
    He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled slowly. “Look, I’ll understand if you want to leave. The situation has clearly gone from