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Right on cue.
Unknown number.
Of course.
I stare at it for half a second.
Then answer.
“Bad idea,” I say calmly.
A pause.
Then—
his voice.
Smooth.
Cold.
Controlled.
“You always were difficult to track.”
Ford.
My stomach tightens.
Not fear.
Recognition.
“You’re losing your edge,” I reply.
“You found me too easily.”
A quiet chuckle.
“You wanted to be found.”
“No,” I say, eyes flicking to the mirror.
“They’re just not as smart as they think they are.”
The headlights behind me get closer.
Faster now.
No more pretending.
“You took something that doesn’t belong to you,” Ford says.
“And you sent the wrong message doing it.”
“Funny,” I murmur.
“I thought I sent exactly the right one.”
