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I navigated out of Simon Benedict’s neighborhood and pulled onto Northern Avenue. A green muscle car behind Shea’s bike caught my attention. Whether it was the Chevy Nova we’d seen earlier, I couldn’t tell from the glare off the windshield, but it seemed the same emerald shade. So far, our dogged shadow hadn’t made any aggressive moves. Maybe the driver was just keeping tabs on where we were going. Maybe they were biding their time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Either way, in light of Amber’s concerns for her friend’s safety, I didn’t want to lead our shadow to her place.
At the last second, I turned hard onto the northbound I-17 on-ramp and floored it. Shea followed on her motorcycle, having no trouble keeping up. The Nova followed suit.
“Okay, girl,” I said to Conor’
