“He’s right.The roads are dangerous,” I say.
Jagger’s eyes meet mine, an almost unreadable expression on his face, as he picks up his coffee.“Yeah.Deadly,” he says quietly.
Jagger
I pull out my wallet, count out cash with fingers that want to move faster than they should—enough to cover the meal plus a decent tip.Not too much—that draws attention.Not too little—that gets remembered.
"Ready?"I ask quietly.
Adena nods, dabbing her mouth with her napkin before setting it on her empty plate.
The officers are still at the counter, eating their catfish.The older one's telling some story, gesturing with his fork.The younger one laughs.
I have to walk right past them to get to the door.
My boots feel heavy, each step measured, hand relaxed at my side even though my fingers itch to check the gun at my back.
Three steps.Four.Five.
The younger officer glances up as I pass.Our eyes meet for half a second.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck, but I keep my face neutral, give him a slight nod—the kind strangers exchange in small-town diners.
He nods back, then returns to his meal.
Six more steps to the door.My shoulder blades tingle, waiting for a voice to call out.Sir?Can we ask you a few more questions?
I reach the door and push it open.The bell jingles overhead, too cheerful for how my pulse is hammering.
Adena's right behind me, close enough that I can hear her breathing.
The rain hits us the second we step outside.Cold.Sharp.Soaking through my jacket in seconds.The parking lot's a maze of puddles reflecting the diner's lights.
I don't look back.Don't check if the officers are watching through the window.
Just jog to the truck and unlock it.
My shirt's already sticking to my back by the time I slide behind the wheel.Water drips from my hair down my neck, cold enough to make me shiver.
I start the engine.The wipers kick on automatically, beating a rhythm that does nothing to slow my pulse.
In the passenger seat, Adena's breathing is controlled, measured.But I can see water beading on her jacket, the slight tremor in her hands before she folds them in her lap.
I pull out slowly, forcing my foot to ease off the gas even though every instinct screams to floor it.
Rain hammers the windshield.The wipers can barely keep up, smearing water across the glass in thick sheets.Visibility's maybe thirty feet.The roads are slick, shining black under the headlights, water pooling in every low spot.
My hands ache from gripping the wheel.
No one was hurt.Not that we could tell.
The rival crew cleaned up fast, got their people out before the cops arrived, which means they're organized, efficient, and probably already regrouping.
Lightning flashes, turning everything white for a split second.Thunder follows—closer now, rattling through my chest.
Crazy to be out here.Crazy to have let her talk me into this.
I check the mirror again.Nothing but rain and darkness swallowing the road behind us.
