“That sedan behind us. Dark gray.”
I twisted in my seat, instinct screaming at me to look, and sure enough, there was a generic-looking gray sedan back there.
“I mean, we’re on the interstate, right? They could just be going the same way,” I said hopefully.
“Could be. But I don’t think so. They’re being too careful to stay the same distance behind us, like they’re pacing us. It’s just a feeling, but I’ve learned to trust my gut.”
My hands curled into the fabric of my jeans, and my heart was already pounding hard enough to rattle my ribs.
“For how long?” I asked.
“A few miles at least. Probably longer, but until the traffic thinned out, I couldn’t be sure.”
He eased us into the next lane like nothing was wrong. The sedan followed.
Okay. Okay. This was happening. Not in my apartment. Not later. Now.
“So it’s them.” My voice wobbled, and I stopped, swallowing hard. “The guys who are after me?” I rolled my eyes at the stupid comment. Who else would it be?
“I assume so.”
Crowe cut across two lanes of highway and took the next exit for some little town. He did it without signaling, smooth and sudden. I braced myself, breath hitching. The sedan took it, too.
My chest tightened. “They stayed with us.”
“I know.”
“What do we do?”
He glanced at me then, just long enough for me to see it. Not fear. Focus. Total, unshakeable certainty.
“We drive.”
He accelerated as we merged onto the frontage road, the engine responding with a low growl. He didn’t take the turn to the town, staying on the frontage road as gas stations gave way to open stretches, warehouses, and a store selling farm equipment, but still, they stayed behind us. Crowe didn’t push the car to its limits, not yet. He kept driving, feeling things out.
The sedan closed the distance.
“They’re getting closer,” I said, unable to stop myself.
“I see it.”
“Jackson—”
“Hang on,” he said.
He punched the gas.
The force shoved me back into the seat, breath tearing out of my lungs as the scenery blurred. The road curved, and Crowe took it fast, the tires screaming in protest. The sedan fishtailed behind us but recovered quickly.
My hands trembled, and I pressed them flat against my thighs, grounding myself the way my therapist had taught me.
You’re here. You’re alive. You’re not trapped.
Crowe blew through a stop sign, barely missing a delivery truck, then took a hard left back onto the interstate, but somehow, they’d managed to stick with us.
“They know what they’re doing,” I said.
“So do I.”
