CHAPTER 3: THE POLICE TAIL'S BLIND SPOT
Outside the private underground parking exit of the salon, an unmarked federal surveillance sedan sat idling in the gray autumn drizzle. Detective Miller rubbed his tired eyes, cursing under his breath as he stared at the security camera feeds displayed on his dashboard laptop.
"The boss's car just entered the private subterranean bay two hours ago, and nobody has come out since except delivery staff," Miller muttered into his radio mic. His partner adjusted his binoculars, watching the tinted glass exit gate with unblinking focus while sipping lukewarm black coffee from a paper cup.
Suddenly, the heavy steel security gates rolled open with a low, hydraulic hum, and Alejandro’s matte-black armored sedan glided smoothly onto the wet street. Through the crystal-clear passenger window, a woman with a sharp, elegant bob haircut and high-end sunglasses turned her head slightly toward the rain.
Miller dropped his coffee cup, spilling dark liquid across his trousers as he gasped and grabbed his steering wheel in sheer astonishment. "Command, this is Miller! We have eyes on the target's vehicle, and... holy hell, the missing wife is sitting in the passenger seat!" he yelled into his radio.
Within seconds, police dispatch crackled with urgent confusion as patrol units across the district were ordered to converge on Alejandro’s vehicle without blowing their cover. They couldn't understand how a woman who had supposedly vanished without a trace, abandoning her car near the train station, was suddenly riding shotgun.
Inside the armored sedan, Emma kept her posture rigid and composed, exactly as Alejandro had drilled into her during their brief rehearsal in the salon holding room. "Look straight ahead, don't make eye contact with passing vehicles, and let me handle any stops," Alejandro instructed without turning his head.
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Emma nodded slowly, her fingers tightly clutching a designer leather handbag filled with her new identity documents and backup cash. She knew she was playing the most dangerous role of her life, stepping out of the shadows of the pavement straight into the crosshairs of the FBI.
As they crossed the bridge toward the upscale financial district, three police cruisers flanked their flanks at a safe distance, tracking every single turn with obsessive paranoia. The trap was set, but neither the cops nor the mafia boss realized they had walked right into a much larger web of deceit.
