“Sure, peachy,” Krish muttered. “How did he find us today? You haven’t used any documentation since the airport, have you?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“Are you still in touch with anyone he knows?”
She thought of the texts she’d sent Ken. She doubted Alexei even remembered Ken’s name now, let alone how he’d helped her. The man hadn’t been great at noticing his employees. “Yes, but I think he’s safe. My texts didn’t say where we were going, anyway.”
“Who’s he—” Krish glanced over. “Wait, you have a phone with you?”
“A burner, which got left behind at the café, but it shouldn’t be traceable. That’s why I didn’t bring my regular phone.”
Krish pursed his lips. “Oh.”
“What?”
“Do me a favor, and look in my duffel.”
She twisted to see it in the back seat. There was glass all over it. “Why?”
“Your phone is in there. I grabbed it from your apartment.”
She growled. Why this was almost more offensive than Krish kidnapping her, she wasn’t sure. “That’s probably how Viktor traced us. Did you at least take it apart first? Shut it off?”
His silence was her answer. She swore and unzipped the bag. The phone was barely hidden. She should have searched his stuff the way he had definitely searched hers.
She held the phone with two fingers like it was a bomb. “You might as well have slapped a GPS tracker on us,” she said grimly.
“Yes. This one’s on me. I should have thought of it.” He plucked the phone from her fingers and casually tossed it out the window. His conveniently busted-out window.
“Dramatic,” she commented.
“I do hate not disposing of electronic waste properly, but it had to be done.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped something on the screen. She was impressed that he could navigate anything on the phone while barely taking his eyes from the road.
She was a little less than impressed when he threw it out the window as well. “Was that necessary?”
“Viktor saw my face. He could already know who I am.”
She twisted in her seat, not that she could still see his phone. They were going eighty miles an hour. “That was our only way to get directions.”
He opened the center console, still keeping his gaze on the road. She caught the paper map he tossed her. “Guess who’s prepared for that?”
She clutched the worn, folded-up map to her chest. “Let’s hope this wasn’t printed in 1992.”
Okay, buddy. You’re in a bit of a pickle. WWDD? What Would Dad Do?
Channeling her dad wasn’t her favorite, but the man had known how to come in clutch for shady situations. He’d had her and Mira working on survival skills before she could walk. “You know we have to ditch this car, right?”
“It’s still functional.”
“It won’t be for long, and in any case, what would you do, Mr. Agent, if you were a cop and saw a car that looked like it had been in a shoot-out driving down the freeway?”
He rested his elbow on his open window. “I take your point. We can’t afford to be slowed down.”
“Or put in the system. We have to think about how that guy tracked us, and how he might be able to track us now. If we keep going on this trip—”
“We’re going to keep going,” he interrupted. The wind coming through the glassless windows was loud, and he had to speak above it.
“We can’t use this car, your credit cards—in your real name or fake name. We need to go somewhere safe and regroup. If we were closer to the West Coast, I’d be able to tap some contacts, but—”
