43
Sara
Peter is driving, and I’m glad. I don’t think I could do it right now—not without crashing, at least.
I don’t have that worry with Peter. He handles the car like he does everything else: with calm, lethal competence. As I watch him pull out of the parking spot, it occurs to me that I’ve never actually seen him behind a wheel before. Whenever we were in a vehicle together, someone else drove and Peter was in the back seat with me. Which brings me to another question: Where are Peter’s teammates? Why is he here alone?
And what did he mean by “quit his job?”
My mind is racing in tune with my hammering pulse, but I gather my careening thoughts and try to focus on one thing at a time. “What do you mean by ‘us?’” I ask, staring at his strongly etched profile. Or more specifically, d
