Chapter 68
The car pulled away from the Windsor Group, and Elizabeth leaned back against the plush leather, closing her eyes. She tried to force the coiled tension from her nerves, a remnant of the boardroom showdown and the subsequent media ambush.
Lynx, riding shotgun, kept her gaze fixed on the side-view mirror, her expression sharp and alert.
After a moment, she turned her head slightly, her voice a low murmur. "Boss, we've got tails. That black SUV behind us, and the gray sedan to our left rear. They've been on us since we left the Windsor Group. They're keeping their distance, but they look professional."
Elizabeth didn't open her eyes, but her brows furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Had Charles already sent people to watch her? Or was it just another pack of relentless reporters?
"Can you lose them?" She asked.
The driver, handpicked by Lynx for his skills, nodded curtly. At the command, he began weaving through traffic, alternating between sudden bursts of speed and unexpected braking.
But the two vehicles stuck to them like glue, maintaining a steady, unnerving distance. It was clear their drivers were seasoned pros.
After another few blocks, Lynx's voice grew heavier. "Two more have joined. They're bracketing us, front and back. This doesn't feel like press. This feels organized."
Elizabeth finally opened her eyes, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror. Just as Lynx said, in addition to the initial pair, a silver SUV had now pulled alongside them at the upcoming intersection, while another car shimmered vaguely in the distance behind them.
Four cars. They had formed a loose, rolling cage, trapping their vehicle in the center.
They didn't seem intent on forcing a stop, not yet. It felt more like surveillance, a deliberate show of force.
"Do I need to engage?" Lynx's hand had already drifted discreetly toward her waist, where a suppressed pistol was holstered. Her eyes had taken on a dangerous, predatory focus, like a cat about to pounce. "There's an overpass at the next intersection. It's darker underneath, less traffic. I can take out the front car's tires, create a diversion, and we can slip out in the chaos."
Opening fire on a major city street, in broad daylight?
Even with a suppressor, the risk was astronomical. The resulting pile-up could easily harm innocent bystanders.
Elizabeth immediately shut it down. "No. It's too risky. It would draw police attention and blow the whole thing wide open."
She took a moment to think. "Keep driving. Let's see what they want. Watch the route; don't let them herd us somewhere isolated."
The driver gave a tight nod, maintaining a steady speed while his nerves stretched taut.
The other cars seemed in no hurry to act, simply shadowing them with an eerie, synchronized patience. The atmosphere inside the sealed cabin grew thick with tension.
Two more intersections passed before Lynx made a soft, questioning sound.
"What is it?" Elizabeth asked.
"The silver SUV up front, it's signaling a right turn. Is it trying to get us to follow?" Lynx's tone was laced with uncertainty.
Sure enough, the silver SUV that had been pacing them began to slow, drifting into the right lane. Its turn signal blinked rhythmically, a clear invitation. The cars behind them adjusted their positions accordingly, but didn't close the gap. It was less of an ambush and more of an escort.
What the hell was this? This couldn't be Charles.
Elizabeth's confusion deepened.
"Follow it. Keep your distance and see where it goes."
The driver complied, trailing the silver SUV as it turned onto a quieter side road. The rest of the motorcade followed suit.
The SUV finally came to a slow stop in a sparsely populated temporary parking area near the river. The other cars also pulled over, keeping their distance, their occupants remaining inside.
Only the driver's door of the lead silver SUV opened. A tall man in a sharp black suit and sunglasses stepped out. He was holding something that looked like a card.
He walked directly toward Elizabeth's car.
Lynx's hand was back on her gun, her body tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
The man stopped beside the car and tapped on the front passenger window.
Lynx lowered it a fraction of an inch, her gaze an icy glare.
The man seemed unfazed by her hostility. He bent slightly, sliding the card through the narrow opening. His voice was flat and professional. "Ms. Windsor, our boss sends his regards. This is a lifetime membership card for the Sunnyvale Club. Please accept it. With this card, you can enjoy Sunnyvale's most exclusive services and facilities at any time, no appointment necessary, and all complimentary."
Sunnyvale Club?
A cold dread washed over Elizabeth.
The shooting range? The one she had just visited?
She took the card. It was a sleek piece of black metal, cool to the touch, with a unique texture. Embossed in silver were the simple words "Sunnyvale" and a distinctive logo, nothing more.
After handing over the card, the man didn't say another word. He turned, walked back to his SUV, started the engine, and pulled away with clean efficiency. As if on cue, the other vehicles started their engines and quickly vanished down the road.
The tense chase, the feeling of being trapped—it was all gone, as if it had never happened.
Silence descended inside the car.
Elizabeth pinched the cold metal card between her fingers, its strange texture a grounding sensation.
This was Pacquiao's way of telling her he knew. He knew she'd been to Sunnyvale. He knew what she was doing there. And he might know a lot more.
Lynx stared at the card, her expression unreadable. She turned to Elizabeth, her voice a complex mix of emotions. "Boss, the Sunnyvale Club is one of Pacquiao's properties. It's not his core business, but it's a significant one. It's where he entertains special guests and handles his private affairs."
Pacquiao's property.
The thought didn't surprise Elizabeth. The club's entire vibe screamed of someone like him.
In her rush to find a way to protect herself after her rebirth, she had unwittingly walked straight into the lion's den. Still, she didn't regret it.
But for Pacquiao to go to all this trouble, to orchestrate a four-car tail just to deliver a lifetime membership card?
What was the message here?
She remembered the instructor, Carter, and his pointed interest in her and Jack at the range. She remembered Pacquiao's invitation to dance at the gala, and the cryptic, loaded words he had spoken.
A wave of revulsion washed over her.
This wasn't a generous gift. It was a silent declaration, a taunt.
Her opinion of Pacquiao, already low, plummeted to the absolute bottom. The patriarch of the old-money mafia family was craftier than Jacob, a master of disguise, but infinitely more dangerous and unfathomable.
He was a viper coiled in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"This card," Elizabeth said, holding it out to Lynx. "Get rid of it. Leave no trace."