Freed: Fifty Shades Freed as told by Christian novel Chapter 99

“No.” But nearly.

“Have you been stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Charm. It all comes down to charm.”

Yes, Mrs. Grey. Believe it or not, I can be charming.

“Now concentrate. Where’s the Dodge, Sawyer?” I ask.

“He’s just hit one hundred and ten, sir,” Sawyer says.

Ana gasps and she puts her foot down so the Audi picks up speed.

There’s a Ford Mustang in our way.

Fucking hell.

“Flash the headlights,” I yell.

“But that would make me an asshole.”

“So be an asshole!” I hiss, trying to keep my anger at the Mustang and my spiraling anxiety in check.

“Um, where are the headlights?” Ana asks.

“The indicator. Pull it toward you.”

The prick gets the message and moves over, giving us the finger. “He’s the asshole,” I mutter. “Get off on Stewart,” I tell Ana. “We’re taking the Stewart Street exit,” I inform Sawyer.

“Head straight to Escala, sir.”

Ana glances in the mirror, her brow furrowed. She signals and moves across four lanes of the highway, straight down the off-ramp, slowing down and then turning smoothly onto Stewart Street.

She’s amazing.

“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,” she squeaks.

“Head south on Stewart. Keep going until I tell you when.”

She cruises down the street.

Shit, the lights at Yale are on yellow.

“Run them, Ana,” I urge.

Ana overreacts and we’re thrown back as we speed through the intersection. The light on red.

“He’s taking Stewart,” Sawyer says.

“Stay with him, Luke.”

“Luke?”

“That’s his name.” Didn’t you know?

She glances at me.

“Eyes on the road!” I yell.

“Luke Sawyer?”

“Yes!” Why are we talking about this now?

“Ah.”

“That’s me, ma’am,” Sawyer says. “The unsub is heading down Stewart, sir. He’s really picking up speed.”

“Go, Ana. Less of the fucking chitchat.”

“We’re stopped at the first light on Stewart,” Sawyer informs us.

“Ana—quick—in here.” I point to the parking lot on the south side of Boren Avenue. She turns sharply, gripping the steering wheel, and the expensive tires on my magnificent R8 squeal in disapproval, but Ana holds it, and swerves into the crowded lot.

Shit. That must have been a quarter-inch off the tread.

“Drive around. Quick.”

Ana takes us to the back of the parking lot. “In there.” I point to an empty space. Ana gives me a quick, panicked look. “Just fucking do it,” I growl. And she does. Perfectly. As if she’d spent her whole life driving my car.

Well done, Ana.

“We’re hidden in the parking lot between Stewart and Boren,” I tell Sawyer.

“Okay, sir. Stay where you are; we’ll follow the unsub.” He sounds a little irritated.

Tough.

I turn to Ana. “You okay?”

“Sure.” Her voice is deathly quiet, and I know she’s really shaken.

I try for humor to calm us both. “Whoever’s driving that Dodge can’t hear us, you know.”

Ana laughs. Loudly. Too loudly. She’s masking her fear.