"Elaine," Zane snapped. "Stay with me! Fuck."
I forced my head up, breath coming fast and uneven. My fingers were locked tight around the gun in my lap, knuckles white, hands trembling so badly I was afraid I'd drop it.
Zane reached for his phone without taking his eyes off the road.
"Route Seven," he said into it. Nothing else, no greetings and no explanation.
He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the console.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means we stop running in about two minutes."
That should have comforted me.
It didn't.
Another shot cracked the air, close enough that I felt it more than heard it. The car jolted as something hit the side panel. Where the hell were the cops when you needed them?, someone most definitely would have alerted them with this many gunshots.
The SUV on our left surged forward, aligning with my window. I saw the outline of a man inside, arm lifting.
"Elaine," Zane said sharply. "I need you to listen to me."
I looked at him.
