“I agree. I think it’s a lot for him to handle.” I grimace. “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”
“No, you’re right.” Anders looks over at his friend. “He sometimes doesn’t know his limits when he’s triggered.”
I glance back and…yeah. Hopper is talking to Liam, his gestures growing more and more frantic.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to trigger anything bad.”
Anders shakes his head as he opens the door for me. “Nope. This one’s…probably on us.”
I have questions, but instead, I slide into the soft leather seat.
Anders hits a button near the rearview mirror, and the seat adjusts perfectly for my height and arm length. He hits another button.
“I saved your setup in case you ever need to drive it again.” He pulls out his phone. “Here, give me your number so we can text each other.”
We tap our phones together, and I send him a nod. “I’ll keep you updated. Let me know when you’ve pulled up tracking.” I turn to Hopper. “You’ll take care of Angela Lansbury for me?”
He rubs his chest and nods. Liam sends me a grateful smile.
Anders gives me a thumbs-up, then closes the door.
As much as I need to process this entire fucking day, I simply don’t have the time. Anders steps away, and I punch it.
Holy.Fuck.
I’ve received plenty of training on the department’s high-performance vehicles, but this piece of engineering doesn’t even compare. I’m at the stop sign in seconds, and turn in the direction Maverick went in.
Anders was right: G-forces don’t even exist in this thing.
My gut’s telling me that Maverick stayed in the neighborhood, so I attack it in a grid pattern. Within ten minutes, I find his car, right as my phone goes off.
Anders: We were able to track down his car.
I take a picture of the car and send it back to him.
Me: He’s on foot.
Anders: That’s okay. His shoes have advanced tech. Gimme a sec.
I take in the neighborhood, trying to guess where he might go next. A few minutes later, another text comes in.
Anders: Are you sure he’s not there?
Me: I’m the only one on the street.
Anders: Could he be in someone’s house?
Me: Maybe. I can knock on a few doors.
Anders: Fuck. Wait. He may have taken the trackers out of his shoes.
Me: You put trackers in his shoes?
Anders: No.
Anders: I mean, sorta? Our friend owns Wolfe Athletics, and all their trainers have performance trackers.
As I’m composing a reply, I catch something out of the corner of my eye. Leaning down, I find a pair of ultrathin disks. I take a picture and send it to him.
