Chris ran an amber light at Boylston Street. As he approached Newbury Street, he laid on the horn, winced, and flew through the intersection. Cars were stopped at Commonwealth Avenue. After tapping the brakes, Chris yanked the steering wheel and struck a parked Acura. As rows of brownstones flashed by on his right and tourists gawked along a parklike median on the left, he mentally pictured the front of Anna’s house. She’d make an easy target.
