“Son of a—” I scanned left.Right.Up the street.
Nothing.
“Where the fuck did he go?”Twister snapped.“There!”he shouted a second later.
I followed his gaze.
At the stoplight was the guy.
He’d turned, and for a split second, he looked right at us.
And something in my brain clicked.I knew that face.It was the guy I had clocked a few nights ago by Britta’s apartment.
“Get him,” Twister barked.
We took off.
Boots pounding pavement and people shouting as we shoved past them.
The guy didn’t run.
He walked like he knew exactly where he was going.
Like he wasn’t worried.
That pissed me off more than anything.
We closed the distance, and then a black SUV rolled up out of nowhere.The back door swung open, and the guy slipped in like he’d done it a hundred times.The door slammed, and the tires screeched as it pulled away from the curb.They blew the red light and took off down the street.
“Son of a bitch!”I shouted, skidding to a stop.
Twister slowed beside me, breathing hard.
We both watched the SUV until it disappeared into traffic.
“What the fuck is going on?”he muttered.
I ran a hand over my face.“That’s the guy,” I said.
“What guy?”
“The one near Britta’s apartment.Walking around the night before the drive-by.”
Twister went still.“Not a coincidence,” he said.
“Not even a little.”
“Hey!”Gramps’ voice cut across the street.
We looked back.
He was standing in front of the bar, phone in his hand, face tight.“Nugget just called!”he shouted.“Someone threw a brick through the clubhouse window again!”
Everything inside me went cold, then hot.
“Of course they are,” Twister growled.
And just like that, whatever game The Ledger was playing?It wasn’t subtle anymore.
