When I looked up again, Bridgett was at my shoulder and the St. George Ferry Terminal was looming large off the bow.
"Got all that?" I asked.
"Yup. Make sure I'm behind you when you leave the terminal."
"Keep your distance. She'll be watching, and if she thinks you're threatening her plans, she'll move against you."
She gave me a grin to humor me, then gestured that I should lead the way back down to the cars. As we worked our way back down I got on the radio and told Corry and Moore to stand by, that I'd have more information shortly. Bridgett stayed with me as I searched for the VW, even though I told her to back off, and we were about to hit the terminal before I found it. When she saw where it was parked, Bridgett swore, echoing curses off the walls around us.
"Bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch!" Bridgett said, and then she kicked the Passat for good measure.
It was the last car in the third row. Bridgett's Porsche was parked several cars ahead, and the way the vehicles were packed in, there was no way she'd be able to fall in behind me as we left the terminal. It meant she'd have to pull out as fast as she could and then circle back around, and hope that she'd be able to catch me before I got out of sight.
The ferry hit Staten Island with a gentle bump, and Bridgett shook her head once, then ran to her car. I tried the door on the Passat, and of course it was unlocked. It took me a few seconds to find the keys, checking the ignition, then the glove compartment, before I found them wedged between the roof and the passenger-side sun visor.
As I started the car, the pager began beeping.