Athens Ambuscade by Kristen Joy Wilks

Author:Kristen Joy Wilks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: christian Fiction
Publisher: Pelican Book Group
Published: 2017-04-17T04:00:00+00:00

13

The Tandem Bike

We stumbled down Apollonos street weaving through the crowds of shoppers and not daring to look behind us.

Shane pulled me to a stop at the corner of Apollonos and Adrianou. He nodded toward a tandem bicycle leaning against the white stucco wall across the street. Oh, my goodness! Couldn’t this guy ever make things easy and explain what he meant?

“Yep, a bicycle. Let’s go.” I crossed the street onto Adrianou.

Shane stopped by the bike. I pulled on his cuffed hand, but he didn’t even sway toward me. He grabbed the handle bars and righted the bike. “We’d go faster.”

“What? On a bike! We’re handcuffed, and what if we crashed or you rode too fast and dumped me into a nut stand or something?”

He didn’t look convinced.

I pulled out my ace in the hole. “Besides, it would be stealing.” Ha, he couldn’t argue with that. Although, that dark, cynical part of me that kept piping up at the most inopportune moments noted that the illegal nature of riding this particular bike was not the reason I was so strongly opposed.

“What if we brought it back and left a huge tip strapped to the seat?”

I shook my head. I was not getting on that bike with him or any other guy. A tandem bike required relinquishing control to the rider in front. Only an absolute fool would let someone else steer during a mad flight from cat-nappers. I liked to hold my fate in my own hands, thank you very much.

A tandem bicycle was the worst idea in the long string of bad ideas Shane had proposed.

Something clattered on the narrow street behind us.

Shane dropped the bike and we took off down Adrianou.

If I’d had any breath available, I would have used it for a sigh of relief. No bicycle, thank goodness. What if Shane had been a terrible cyclist? Or worse, a good cyclist who liked to ride fast?

Adrianou was a narrow little thoroughfare, but it had a few charms. The street was a light, sunny lane full of broad-leafed trees, narrow clusters of tables and chairs, and a few mopeds zipping here and there among the tourists.

Although I longed to sit at one of the small tables with a coffee in hand, we sped past, feet aching, breaths snagging in our chests.

Shane took a quick turn, doubled back, and then tugged me down a different narrow lane.

A black, cast iron fence surrounded a scattering of ancient ruins directly ahead. The Roman Agora.

My feet were numb. My lungs burned with such a fierce ache that I was certain something deep inside my chest was melting with exertion.

We rushed past the cool shade of a few scattered trees and came upon the Tower of the Winds.

I hauled back on the cuff and dragged Shane to a stop against the cast iron fence. “I can’t…need to stop.” I pointed at the tower. Where was the gate? If we could get into the Roman Agora, perhaps we could lose them behind a pillar.

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