Page 44 of Stars and Scars

“I’m topped out.. Don’t worry, I’ve got them right where I want them.”

Is Grayson solid, reliable, and decent? If ever there was a time I needed to know, it would be right now.

All I can do is hold on and hope that my trust in him isn't misplaced.

10

GRAYSON

The Jeep isn’t built for a drag race, but the suspension on the SUV was never meant to traverse these kinds of mountain roads. Especially not at top speed.

We begin a deadly dance, predicated on hyper fast reflexes and the ability to keep inherently squirrely vehicles under tight control. On the straight aways, the SUV catches up easily, looming in the rearview mirror and blinding us with its headlights.

On the curves, however, I leave them in the dust. Then they catch up at the next straight away, and the tango starts all over again.

“That guy’s a good driver,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

Charlotte peers behind us, worry stretching across her face.

“You can lose him, though, right?”

“Of course. But I’m not going to try.”

Charlotte gasps and stares at me in horror.

“What? Why not?”

“Because they might be part of the Order.”

I jerk the wheel hard to the right, and we screech around a sharp bend. The driver side front wheel goes off the pavement and turns a fallen branch into kindling. Bits of wood and dried bark patter against the undercarriage as we lose sight of our pursuer.

The SUV returns in my rearview mirror when I’m less than halfway up the next slope. I might actually be able to lose them, but now I’ve switched gears. Now I’m trying to lay a trap. I just hope that the other driver isn’t as familiar with the area as I am.

“Um, if you’re going to try and catch this guy for interrogation, or whatever, maybe you should wait for help?”

“I’ll lose my chance if they get spooked. I’m the only one who has the subtlety this kind of work requires.”

Even as the words come out of my mouth, I regret them.

Am I talking tough to impress her, or because I’m worried I might be wrong this time?

We come to a steep incline, nearly 20 degrees. The SUV flounders a bit, but I surge forward. At the crest of the hill I downshift and hit the brakes. We still catch a couple feet of air, despite my efforts.

The jeep slams down hard. One of Charlotte’s earrings comes loose and flies past me, narrowly missing the bridge of my nose. I snap the wheel left and then right, evening out our course. The right front wheel goes off road, sending a cascade of stones and dust skittering down an almost vertical drop. Charlotte goes white, her hand holding the roll bar in a death grip.

Behind us, I hear the SUV’s engine whine as it catches air. The big, black truck bounces around crazily and slams into a tree. I begin to slow, thinking this might be my chance to lay hands on the driver.

But kudos to the engineering team behind the SUV are in order, because other than a crumpled fender it seems in perfect working order.

“I should reach out to that truck manufacturer for an endorsement deal,” Charlotte snaps as we screech around another sharp bend.

We make it around the bend, and I see what I’ve been waiting for: A sharp left turn onto a short gravel road terminating in a cyclonic fence gate choked with overgrown weeds.

“Brace yourself.”

“I hate it when you say thaaaaat!”

I flatten the gas pedal to the floor. Charlotte’s scream pierces my ears as we slam right into the overgrown fence. The rusted chain snaps like cheap toilet paper and we don’t even slow down as the gates fly open.

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