Page 63 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

“I like to think I’d come up with something more… poetic.”

He gives me a quick glance. “You do know that Bonnie and Clyde’s story doesn’t end well, right?”

I try not to think about Nic and me getting shot in this stolen car. "True. But they didn't have your strategic mind leading the way. Plus, I'm way smarter than Bonnie."

I reach for the radio, switching it on. A familiar guitar riff fills the car, and I can't help but sing along.

"You know this song?" Nic asks, sounding surprised.

"The Killers? Of course.Mr. Brightsideis a classic."

“Were you even born then?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. When did it come out?”

“Early 2000s, I think.”

Probably not, but I don’t want to say that and remind him of our age difference. He doesn’t say it’s a problem, but a part of me wonders why he keeps trying to back away from me.

“What do you like to listen to? Mozart?” Okay, so I’m making an age joke.

“Ha-ha. Classical music isn’t bad. It’s calming when… well… never mind.”

“When committing crime?”

He nods. “I like rock. Classic, but contemporary as well.”

“Do you like Radiohead?”

“I listened toKarma Policein law school." He drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat.

“You’re not such an old man, after all.”

He shakes his head. "I think I proved that pretty thoroughly last night."

Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I hold his gaze. "You certainly showed impressive… stamina."

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. "Careful, or I might have to pull over and demonstrate again."

I bite my lip, torn between embarrassment and desire. I’m glad we’re in a good place now, though. I hope we can keep it up until our ordeal ends.

The lighthearted moodevaporates as we cross into New Jersey. Through the windshield, I spot the flashing lights of a police checkpoint ahead.

“Fuck.” Nic scans the area. “Dammit.”

“What?”

“There’s no exit before we reach it. I can’t detour without creating suspicion.”

“Why are they stopping people?”

“No clue.” He pulls out his wallet as we pull behind a car in line. He pulls out a card from the back. I note that it’s a driver’s license but it has another name. “Check the glovebox and tell me the name of the registered owner. See if his insurance is in there too.”

I do as he asks. “James Reader. What if this is about the stolen car?”

He shakes his head. “I doubt it’s that.” But he looks grim. I feel like he’s not telling me something. “Hand me the ball cap.” He puts it on, bringing it low across his brow.

"What do we do?" I whisper, watching the line of cars inch forward.

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