"Ditch it where?" I scream over the roar of the wind and the engine. "We’re in the middle of a cornfield, Dante! Thayer can’t walk!"
"There’s a salvage yard three miles ahead on your left," Dante commands. "The gate is rigged with a remote trigger. I’m opening it now. Drive into the main hangar and get out. I have a second team moving in with a transport, but you have to be invisible for the next twenty minutes. If that drone sees you change vehicles, it’s over."
"Three miles," I repeat, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I see the sign through the blur of the rain.MILLER’S AUTO SALVAGE.
It’s a graveyard of rusted steel and crushed glass, a sprawling, depressing landscape of dead machines. I see the heavy chain-link gate swing open slowly. I don't slow down. I turn the steering wheel hard, the tires screaming as I slide the car through the opening.
The main hangar is a massive, corrugated metal structure, the roof riddled with holes. I drive the ghost car straight into the dark interior, the engine's roar echoing deafeningly off the metal walls. I kill the lights. I kill the engine.
The silence that follows is absolute.
I sit in the dark, my hands still gripped to the steering wheel, my chest heaving. The rain drums against the metal roof of the hangar, a frantic, rhythmic tapping that sounds like a thousand tiny fingers trying to get in.
I look at Thayer. He is still unconscious, his face a pale mask in the shadows.
"We have to move," I whisper to the empty car.
I open the door and step out into the cold, oil-scented air of the hangar. I run to the passenger side, my boots crunching on broken glass and rusted bolts. I pull the door open.
"Thayer, wake up!" I shake his shoulder, my voice a desperate plea.
His eyes snap open. For a second, there is no recognition. Just the raw, primal instinct of a predator. He reaches for the gun on his lap, his finger already on the trigger.
"It's me! It's Sybil!" I shout, my hands going up to cover his.
The tension leaves his frame, but he is still grogue, his movements sluggish. "Where... where are we?"
"Salvage yard. We have to ditch the car. Dante’s team is coming."
I help him out of the seat. He leans heavily on me, his weight a crushing burden, but we stumble toward the back of the hangar, hiding behind a stack of crushed sedans.
The high-pitched buzz of a drone suddenly vibrates through the air above the hangar.
I freeze, pulling Thayer deeper into the shadows. I press my back against the rusted, cold metal of a car, my heart stopping. Through the holes in the roof, I can see the dark silhouette of thepredator drone circling, its thermal cameras scanning the ruins for our heat.
"Don't move," Thayer whispers, his hand finding mine in the dark. His grip is weak, but his presence is still an anchor.
We stay perfectly still for ten agonizing minutes. The drone circles, a silent, invisible eye in the sky, searching for the King of Chicago and the girl he burned a city for.
Then, the low, distant rumble of a different engine approaches.
A plain, white delivery van pulls into the salvage yard, its headlights dimmed. It stops twenty feet from the hangar. The back doors swing open.
"Donna? Boss?" A voice calls out. It isn't Dante. It’s a voice I don't recognize.
Thayer’s grip on my hand tightens. He raises the Glock, the barrel pointed at the van.
"Identify yourself," Thayer growls, his voice a lethal rasp.
"It’s Miller, Boss. Dante sent me. The perimeter is closing. We need to go."
Thayer hesitates, his eyes scanning the van, the dark, paranoid calculations running through his mind. Then, he nods.
I help him up. We stumble toward the van, our shadows long and jagged in the dim light. I practically shove him into the back, climbing in after him.
The doors slam shut. The van launches forward, leaving the ghost car and the salvage yard behind.
