Chapter Thirty – Luke

 

As soon as I saw the SUV, my stomach twisted.

The black Tahoe came to a rolling stop at the intersection where my street met with Chuck’s. The driver glanced both ways at the sign, his eyes slipping right past me like I was any other parked SUV, and just kept going as he powered through the intersection.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but for a brief moment, I imagined vanilla and citrus went wafting by my nose.

Molly was in that car. I don’t know how exactly I knew, but I did.

A second later, a text from her popped up on my phone.

“Hey! Sorry, can’t get drinks tonight like we planned. Have this work party thing to go to, and I’m on my way right now!”

“Shit.” I tossed the phone into the passenger seat, on top of my black duffel, and started the Land Rover up. Thank God I’d been paranoid enough not to let the unicorn horn out of my sight for longer than a few minutes, or else I’d have been stuck returning to Prophet without a weapon.

And I would have, too. Especially with Molly going up there all alone, like this.

I kept the Land Rover’s headlights off in case the driver had better eyes on his rearview than he did up front. I threw the car into drive and pulled out onto the road. At the stop sign, I hung a left and turned on my lights when I didn’t see anything up ahead.

Normally, when you’re following someone, having a team of three people is your best bet. Close communications from your surveillance team, and semi-frequent switches, lessen the likelihood of your mark actually spotting the tail.

Unfortunately, I had only me.

Following someone all by yourself on a desert road in the middle of the night? That wasn’t going to happen. Even the least paranoid person in the world is going to notice when you take the same turns as they do after twenty miles on the road.

But, fortunately, I wasn’t really following the driver. I knew exactly where he was going.

I’d researched the area while I was on the plane coming in, and the only way up to Prophet was that long stretch of road that took you straight through the Arizona desert, Highway 77. From there, it was more or less a straight shot to the Illuminati Mansion, with no real detours or shortcuts I could find.

I pulled out of the neighborhood and onto the main road. Twenty or so car lengths ahead, shone the black Tahoe’s taillights and license plate. A heavily tinted rear window, reflecting the overhead street lights as they went by, blocked my view of Molly in the backseat. I couldn’t imagine what other car she might be in.

It had to be this one.

I gave the car more gas, trying to make up some of the distance between us. I needed to get past him if I wanted to get ahead of him. Twenty car lengths rapidly shortened to fifteen, then ten.

Up ahead, the next traffic light switched from green to yellow. Molly’s driver must have thought traffic laws were just suggested rules of the road, and not actual laws, because he accelerated a little and sailed through the intersection with no problem as the light turned red.

That was okay, though. I was of the same mindset.

Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I gunned the engine.

Up ahead, cars began to enter the intersection from both sides.

I slammed down harder, saying a little prayer.

A red Mazda slammed on its horn as it came out in front of me, and time seemed to slow.

Adrenaline, and my training on tactical driving, kicked in, and I cut my wheel right as I slammed on the brakes.

The whole SUV seemed to shudder in an unspoken threat and rocked violently as it shifted direction, almost as if it actually wanted to go into a spin or, even worse, flip right over.

“No, no, no!”

Tires squealing, I spun the wheel left and gave it some gas to shift gravity through acceleration to the back wheels. I said a silent prayer to whatever was out there in the world, crossing my toes that I’d make it out of this alive and not take anyone else down with me.

The Land Rover fishtailed for a moment, its tires spinning and losing traction as it swept around the Mazda, its ass end hanging out for all to see in the middle of the intersection, before finally catching purchase on the road and rocketing me forward down the road.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I took off down the street, the Tahoe’s taillights still within view. Molly’s driver didn’t brake, didn’t change lanes, didn’t anything. They just kept going like nothing in the world was wrong, and there wasn’t a lion shifter coming up fast and hot on their trail.

The engine roared to life like a bear, its engine kicking into high gear as I got into the far right lane. Looking over to my right to shield my face, I passed the Tahoe miles before the turn for Highway 77 even appeared. I pulled a California stop at the red light, hopped onto the road that would soon become the highway, and headed north towards Prophet.

As I raced through the night, with the stars overhead staring down at my stupid escapades, that lingering smell of vanilla and citrus stayed with me. It was like it had moved into my nose, my senses, and I knew every time I smelled either of those fragrances, I’d think of her.

“Don’t worry, Molly,” I whispered to the empty car, silent except for the road noise of the humming tires on the desert asphalt, “I’ll get you. I promise.”