We bolt through the neighborhood, every mile we put between the car and the Hathaway house relieving a bit more of my panic. When we cross the gates, she zigzags out of the rich area of Danville, out of the town, out of the region, moving north toward Sacramento. Good call. We need to fly low until this evening.

“Your zipper,” she states, glancing briefly to my jeans as she maneuvers the vehicle. Gotta hand it to her—she’s a class act behind the wheel. Drives like Diabla and looks much more comfortable in the tiny, confined space of a sports car than I am. “You’re unzipped. Please enlighten me as to why your cock came out to say hello at Mrs. Hathaway’s house.”

I keep a straight face and casually roll my zipper up, before I start plucking out stacks and stacks of the one hundred dollars bills I need to count.

Where I expect her to be ecstatic, she remains silent. “Did you do anything with her?” Her voice shakes.

I place all the bills on my thighs and start counting. “This dick only salutes to you, Baby-Cakes. Didn’t even touch her. Actually, that’d be a lie. I did tie her up to a tie rack.”

She sniffs, making a U-turn in the middle of a town I don’t know. We’re just cruising along, getting farther away from our crime scene. I ease back into my seat and count silently, my eyes bulging out as I keep adding more digits to the number.

Six thousand. . .eight thousand. . .no wonder it felt so f*cking heavy on my body. How much money does Stan Hathaway keep in his safe?

“Has she touched you?” I hear Prescott ask from the seat next to me. I still mumble the numbers as I answer, “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so or you know so?” she presses. My head shoots up.

“Problem, Cockburn?”

She chews on her inner cheek, tapping on the steering wheel fast with her fingers.

“I hate not knowing what happened in there.” She hitches one shoulder up, looking f*cking adorable doing so. I have a few more stacks of bills to count, but I’m already at fourteen thousand dollars.

“I got to the safe, she walked in on me, so I had to act fast. I stripped down to my boxers and waited for her. Pretended to seduce her. Didn’t touch her. I tied her up to a rack, grabbed the money and went back to the girl of my dreams, who was waiting in the car, feeding herself useless fears. Got it?”

She finally relaxes, taking a deep breath. She’s acting like a cute, jealous girlfriend. An unsolicited desire for her to be all those things stabs at my gut.

I want to treat her like a girlfriend. Wish I could take her to a restaurant nearby, or even a drive-thru, but it’s too risky to get out of the car or even make a brief stop at a junk food chain. Especially now, when not only is Godfrey on our heels, but also, more than likely, the police. By now, they’ve probably figured out I broke my parole, stole from my previous employer and might have even tied me to the Sebastian Goddard murder case. It’s all about the timing, and a lot of shit’s gone down since I went MIA.

As if on cue, we pass by a digital billboard, and when I see my face looking back at me from the panel, I choke on the very air I breathe.

WANTED BY THE FBI

FOR DRUG CONSPIRACY

REWARD UP TO $25,000

I lose my balance and blink in amazement. Drugs? What drugs? What f*cking drugs are they talking about? Your homeboy doesn’t even toke up.

Godfrey.

I’m wanted by the f*cking FBI, with my face plastered on billboards, probably all over this side of the state, because of Godfrey.

Life closes in on me.

“Stop the car,” I order Prescott, whose face is paler than chalk. She saw it too.

Pea turns her head from side to side, trying to make sure that it’s safe to slide onto the shoulder of the road. I slam my fist against the console.

“Pull the f*ck over, Prescott.”

When she does, I open the passenger door, stumble out of the car, and try to take as much air into my lungs as I can. Everyone’s after me. After us. Me? I know what I’m facing. Life in prison or death. But Pea, she doesn’t deserve this kind of crappy life. We need to get out of this place as soon as possible.

Bending down, my hands over my knees, I draw in deep breaths and feel her hand circling my sweaty back with her comforting touch.

“I love you,” is all she says. I take a few moments before turning around to face her.

If we’re being fair, how come this whole world is so unfair to us?

“This is going to shit,” I grit.

“But it’s still going there with you. Nice journey, if you ask me.” Her smile makes me want to breathe regularly again, so I try. This girl is dealing with a missing brother, loser father, MIA mother and a violent abortion. And she still smiles. For me.

I straighten up and hook my arm over her shoulder, pulling her into my chest.

“Cockburn—” I start.

“I know,” she says, cutting me off. “We can’t afford to stay here. We’re taking Godfrey down tonight, then driving to Vallejo to see Preston and then getting on the first flight to London to deal with Camden. We have enough for tickets, right?”

Preston is not in Vallejo, a guttural scream tickles my throat, ready to jump out, but I just nod. “Plenty.”

“Good. Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re getting out of this.”