The black Aston Martin crossed the infrared timing sensors with a deafening screech of brakes.
The crowd erupted. The grid girls screamed, waving their umbrellas in a frenzy of excitement.
The supercar came to a complete stop ten meters past the crowd.
Inside the cabin, the moment the car stopped moving, the adrenaline keeping Eliza alive vanished. Her tightly wound nerves snapped.
She let go of the steering wheel. She violently vomited a mouthful of dark blood onto the dashboard.
Her head slumped forward, resting heavily against the horn. She lost consciousness entirely.
The amused smirk vanished from Duval's face. He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.
He reached over and pressed two fingers against Eliza's carotid artery. Her pulse was so weak it was barely there.
Griffin and Jules ran up to the car, holding umbrellas and laughing, ready to celebrate Duval's insane victory.
Griffin yanked open the driver's side door. The smile froze on his face.
He stared in horror at the blood-drenched girl slumped over the wheel. He stammered, "What the hell, Duval? Who is she?"
Duval ignored his friend's panic. He leaned over, carefully avoiding her twisted right arm, and scooped her up into his arms.
She weighed almost nothing, like a broken bird. But the metallic stench of her blood was overpowering.
Jules pushed his glasses up, looking at the ruined leather seat. His voice was grave. "She's dying. You've brought trouble, Duval."
Duval carried Eliza toward the black armored SUV that Rook had just pulled up.
He issued a cold command to Rook. "Contact Dr. Elara Vance. Clear the underground medical bay at the estate. Prepare for a Level One trauma resuscitation."
Rook nodded sharply. He pulled open the heavy armored door.
Duval climbed into the back seat, laying Eliza flat on the wide leather bench.
The SUV activated its hidden police sirens. It tore away from the crowd, speeding into the night.
The interior of the SUV was dim. Duval looked down at the girl lying on his seat.
He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket. He gently wiped the thick mud and blood from her face.
The dirt cleared, revealing delicate, striking features.
Duval's eyes widened slightly in surprise. She looked incredibly young. She couldn't be older than eighteen.
How could a teenage girl possess the eyes of a seasoned killer and the driving skills of a combat operative?
Eliza frowned in her deep coma. A soft moan of pain escaped her pale lips.
Duval reached out, almost involuntarily, and smoothed the crease between her eyebrows with his thumb.
He looked at his blood-stained fingertips. A dangerous, predatory smile curved his lips.
He spoke to Rook in the front seat. "Investigate every violent incident that occurred in the D. C. area tonight."
"I want to know exactly who did this to my trophy."
The SUV vanished into the storm, heading straight for the impenetrable Estrada family estate.
