Page 59 of Lethal Attraction

A gap opens between two cars in the next lane, and I take it. The truck behind us immediately follows, but the driver commits half a second too late and nearly clips a sedan trying to close the space. Horns erupt around us as traffic compresses behind them.

Good. A little breathing room.

“Thalia,” Reed says softly.

I hear the question hidden beneath my name, but I can’t afford to answer it. Every intersection becomes a calculation, and every lane change is measured. I watch reflections in storefront windows, monitor the traffic patterns ahead, and track the trucks through my mirrors without appearing to. Downtown is crowded enough to help me if I use it correctly and dangerous enough to get someone hurt if I don’t.

The last thing I want is to scare the people in this car. Unfortunately for them, that ship sailed about three blocks ago.

I reach up and flip the concealed switch mounted near the visor, and blue and red lights flash across the dashboard.

“Illegal,” Taryn hisses. “Very illegal. How the fuck do you have those?”

I don’t get the chance to answer.

A familiar voice suddenly explodes through the speakers. “Bitch. Why are your emergency lights on? Where are you?”

My eyes widen.

Of all the possible moments…

“Who’s that?” Reed asks.

I immediately stab at the controls, trying to disconnect the call.

“Oh my God,” Alana gasps before I can. “Are you Reed?”

His eyebrows rise. “You talk about me?”

“Now is not the time, Al,” I hiss.

My best friend releases an exaggerated sigh as if I’m interrupting her evening instead of actively being chased. “We’ll discuss this later. Take the next exit.”

I dart around a semi-truck and take the ramp without hesitation. The movement sends everyone sliding slightly in their seats.

“A mile ahead there’s a parking garage,” Alana continues. “East side of the street. Don’t go straight in.”

The trucks remain behind us as we cut through downtown. They’re farther back now, but not far enough. I can still see them weaving aggressively through traffic, desperate to close the distance.

The garage comes into view, and I drive right past it.

“What are you doing?” Emma asks.

In the mirror, the trucks continue after us without slowing. Five seconds later, I slam the car into reverse and whip backward into the garage entrance before either driver realizes I’ve changed direction. The darkness swallows us almost instantly as I guide the car down a level and tuck it behind a concrete support column.

Then I kill the engine. Silence fills the cabin as no one speaks—breathes—at the mere prospect of them finding us. The only sound is the ticking of cooling metal and the occasional shift from someone in the backseat.

A few moments later, the distant growl of engines echoes from outside the garage as both trucks race past the entrance. There’s no doubt they’re still convinced we’re ahead of them. Only when the sound finally fades do I allow myself to relax. My grip loosens on the steering wheel, and the tension drains from my shoulders.

“That was intense,” Alana says through the speakers.

“Yeah,” I mutter.

I glance toward the passengers filling my car and immediately wish I hadn’t. Every single one of them is staring at me. There isn’t an ounce of relief or gratitude in their eyes. Only suspicion.

And judging by the expressions on their faces, they’re starting to realize that normal people don’t drive like that.

“Al, I’ll call you back,” I say, my voice deathly calm and too steady for such an adrenaline-inducing moment. I press a finger to the red button on my controls before my fist tightens on the wheel.