The passenger window rolled down two inches.
Enough to fit a hand.
A silver canister flew out, bouncing twice before spinning under their front bumper?—
“Fuck,” Buddy yelled as he swerved, hitting the gas, hoping he didn’t run the fucking thing over, and praying he got far enough away. “Tell me when you see that thing?—”
“That canister’s not the problem.” Sterling pointed. “They’re coming back.”
The Charger raced toward them from the opposite direction.
“Looks like they want to play chicken.” Buddy gripped the steering wheel, foot easy on the gas, not accelerating—not losing speed either.
The Dodge jerked to the right, and another canister came hurling at the hood of the truck before the Charger fishtailed and took off.
Buddy slammed on the brakes.
The canister detonated at the nose.
KSSSHFFFF—POOF
A geyser of blue, pink, gold, yellow, and green glitter erupted like a damn Mardi Gras parade.
“What the hell was that?” Dove asked.
Buddy rammed the gearshift into park and opened the door. He slid from the driver's seat and stared at the glitter that decorated his truck. A breeze kicked up, and the glitter floated through the air like fucking Tinkerbell.
Sterling stood beside him, slapping glitter off his face. “Are you kidding me? Glitter? Why would someone stalk us and then hurl sparkly shit at us?”
Glitter bomb. But Buddy’s instincts had screamed grenade, and that gap—between harmless and deadly—that was the message.
His pulse didn’t spike—it condensed into something lethal.
He glanced over his shoulder, the Dodge Charger long gone. The only evidence it had ever been there was the faint sound of its engine revving in the distance and the glitter drifting down the windshield of Buddy’s truck like toxic confetti.
Dove rolled her window down and held up her hand, wiggling her fingers, as the colorful stuff floated through the vehicle. “Obviously, they didn’t want to hurt us, but they did want to send a message. Any idea what that is?”
Buddy’s blood ran cold as understanding dawned.
Not because of the glitter — but because of the colors.
Blue. Pink. Gold. Yellow. Green.
Fallon’s fundraiser colors.
The Tessa Project.
His gut twisted into an ugly, instinctive knot. “This isn’t for us,” he said, barely above a breath.
Sterling dusted glitter off his sleeves again. “No shit, it isn’t for us. It looks like a unicorn sneezed.”
“No,” Buddy growled, jaw locking. “It’s not random. These are Fallon’s colors. These are tomorrow’s colors.”
Dove’s amusement vanished. “What are you saying?”
Buddy knelt, swiped his fingers through the glitter on the pavement. The cheap sparkle stuck to his skin like it meant to stain.
“A fundraiser for missing girls,” he said softly. “A tribute to Tessa.” He lifted his hand, watching the glitter shimmer. “And the biggest crowd of young girls this town sees all year.”
