"You think I care? You care, baby. I don't—"
She felt her fingers being pulled inexorably from the steering wheel. If she lost her hold, the car, doing fifty now, would be entirely out of control.
The car swerved again, went up on two wheels, lurching. Her right elbow was suddenly free and she jabbed with it, hitting something. The car lurched again, as if deciding whether to right itself or go over on its side.
And Lucky, arms and legs flailing, went out the open door.
Jeanne-Marie braked the car quickly. She could see him in the rear-view mirror, a dark shadow on the surface of the road, not moving. She stopped the car and used its two-way radio to call the cab company. Then, making sure that the still form of the man on the road was not moving now, she allowed herself an unexpected feminine reaction.
She fainted.
It was two o'clock the next afternoon. Rural sheriff's station, full of city police now.
And Lucky: real name George Carmine, a prisoner.
And confused police.