Closer
“So if you know this henchman of your mate’s is part of that splinter cell that wants to kill you, then why is your mate asking me to do it?” Drake asks as he pulls his posh car alongside the mailbox cluster for the houses on my street. I snort derisively, grabbing the door handle. “Because he doesn’t believe me.” “Wait—what?” Before I get into the explanation, I hold up one finger for patience, then make the quick dash to the mailbox and drop Rebecca’s DNA test kit in. There’s another car slowing to a stop directly behind Drake’s—clearly the driver has the same idea we do—so I wave politely and smile, then hurry back to the passenger side of the car. Drake inches the car forward while I strap my seatbelt on again, then puts the car in gear. “How about you explain that? What kind of
- Writer
