Overdrive (30 page)

My walkie-talkie crackles, startling us both. Another thread of relief weaves its way through my bloodstream.

“Jules. Are you there? Roger's in the building–I repeat, Roger is in–shit, and someone else is coming. It's Riley.”

Panic flickers across Roger's face.

“Shit, Jules, another set of headlights, I think it's–fuck.”

I punch on the talk button. “What is it?”

“Cops.” He cuts out and then back in. “It's the fucking police. Shit. It's too early. I'm going to draw them away–get out of there, Jules. Get out!”

I'm so startled I drop the walkie-talkie. Broken pieces scatter across the warehouse floor.

Get out.

The command repeats over and over in my mind as I try to process the next steps.

Think, Jules. Think.

“You have to leave, Roger.”

“Eloise would want me to protect this–her cars. I have to at least do that.”

A strangled cry releases from my throat. “Did you hear what Nick said? The police are coming–and Riley.” I swallow hard. “He's not a nice man, Roger. He'll bring reinforcements, guns. Some of the police are on his payroll. It's not safe here.”

“I won't leave.”

My chest wrenches like someone's yanked out my heart. There's no way I can stay, not without Emma. I jab my finger at Roger. “Fine. But don't blame me if you get shot.”

I spin around and start running toward the door. He calls out my name, but I don't–can't–stop. He had his chance. I race toward the bay door and yank on the handle. It's stuck. I run back to the Mustangs, fueled by adrenaline and determination.

Only one other exit, and it's the garage on the main floor.

On foot, I'll never make it.

Eleanor.

Using the butt end of the broken walkie-talkie, I bust the glass on the passenger side window, reach inside, and pop the locks. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Roger protest. A blade of glass slices into my skin. I see the blood, but it doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts. I'm numb.

Focused.

My fingers tremble like it's the first time I've hot-wired a car. I bust into the steering column. A drop of my blood hits the floor.
Breathe.
Grab the wires from under the dash.
Inhale.

The wires are already stripped.
Exhale.

I twist them together and a bolt of electricity fires off a series of short sparks. The engine kicks over and I stomp on the gas pedal to flow fuel through the injector. Eleanor sputters. Please God, no . . .

Another shot of gas and the Mustang hits idle. The engine echoes like a panther ready to chase its prey.

I can do this.

Steadying myself, I look up over the dash, prepared to run straight through Roger if he gets in my way. I freeze.

It's Emma.

  •  •  •  

My little sister stands in the middle of the warehouse, looking so small and vulnerable, she's almost a doll. Red blotches cover her neck and cheeks, the front of her chest. Her anxiety is taking control.

I blink-blink-blink until I'm sure she's not a mirage.

Tears stream down her face.

I jump out of the car.

“Jules?”

Her voice is so tiny, it's almost a squeak.

“How did you–?”

She races toward me, throwing herself into my waist. Her hands hold tight. “I was so scared. . . .” I press my hand against her head, keeping her close. Her heart beats fast through her shirt. “If not for Roger . . .”

“But how?” I can't process her words. Everything moves in slow motion. Realization hits. Roger called Melissa's mom and knows we lied. I look to my left, then right, double check again. But Roger is gone. A loud bang outside snaps me out of my trance. “We'll talk about that later. Ems, we have to do something really scary right now, okay?”

Her small nod transports me back to when our mother first left. To when my sister was just six years old, confused and frightened. It's the same now, only this time, the stakes are so much higher. Our lives hang in the balance.

“I need you to get in the car.”

As she does, I punch in a code on the keyboard attached to the side of the garage. The bay door doesn't open.
Fuck.
I try again, punching random numbers until I realize it won't work. Mat has disabled all of the alarms and door locks.

I'm going to have to do it manually.

The broken walkie-talkie crackles on the floor. I kick it aside and get back in the car. With a trembling hand, I shift the car into gear. “Buckle up, Ems.”

I hit the gas and the car shoots forward. The back tires squeak on the pavement.
Holy shit.

I take the corner slow to the main floor, put the car in neutral, get out, and yank on the bay door handle. It inches open.

Sirens squawk from every direction.

There's an explosion, followed by a series of gunshot blasts. I can't see what's going on. My adrenaline spikes.

Emma screams.

I heave on the door with everything in me. It gets stuck midway, but it's enough for me to get through.

There's another gunshot.

Sirens wail as more cop cars approach. Tires screech, more gunfire, a series of commands and shouts.

And . . . fuck me. A helicopter in the distance.

My stomach hurts, my heart pounds. Adrenaline rushes into my blood.

I get back in the car and slam the door shut. “Hang on, sweet pea!”

Ready.

Strap in.

Set.

Go!

I jam the car into first and hit the gas, shifting to second before I even clear the bay door. The car hits the uneven road and shoots toward the back gate. My head slams forward when the tires hit the ground and I involuntarily crank the wheel.

Eleanor spins a one-eighty.

Everything goes in slow motion.

Police cars close in on the Trophy Case. If they get any closer, they'll block the only exit–I'll be trapped. We all will.

Get out.

Nick's voice propels me forward. I turn the corner and slam on the brakes. It's Riley.

I can't get through. There's not enough room to pass.

My stomach plummets as I realize my only option. I have to reverse. Riley gets out of the car and aims a gun at the windshield–he doesn't even seem to care who's betrayed him. He's pissed and no one is safe, not even Roger.

“Emma, duck!”

I skulk lower in the seat and slide Eleanor into gear. A bullet
pings
off the side mirror.

Emma's high-pitched scream reverberates through the car.

I step on the gas but the gear hasn't engaged.

Through the windshield, I see Riley smirk.

Reverse, Jules. Reverse.

I inhale deep and focus. Slide the gear back, left, and up. The clutch engages. I stomp on the gas and the car shoots back. I yank on the e-brake and spin the wheel. Step on the gas.

In my rearview, a dark sedan vaults toward Riley from out of nowhere.
Roger.
His front bumper slams into Riley's car and the front tires go flat, rendering his car useless. I turn around in my seat just as Riley pivots at Roger, the gun leveled at his windshield.

I have to go back.

Roger saved Emma, saved me. I owe him this.

I crank the wheel to spin a one-eighty and charge toward Riley. Emma pokes her head up over the dash and I yell at her to stay down. I floor it. Riley spins around to shoot at me, but the bullet goes wide. He dives sideways to avoid the front end of my car and hits the ground. The gun skips across the pavement.

Eleanor and Roger's sedan are nose to nose. Our eyes meet through the windshield and I see his emotion–the apology, the regret. We both know things could have been different.

An incoming siren grows louder. Shit. I can't risk getting caught.

I flip another U-turn, quick-shift to third, and step on the gas. The wheels bounce along the bumpy road. In the distance ahead, I catch a flash of red and I know it's Nick.

Using Nick's Mustang as a marker, I hit fourth gear and fly through the gates, scraping the side mirror on the metal. It hangs limply against the side of the car. Fuck.

A fiery explosion bursts in my rearview.

Tears spring to my eyes when I realize there's no one on my tail. This is it, the homestretch. We're almost free.

I crest the hill at almost a hundred and fifty miles an hour. The car lifts off, then slams back onto the ground with enough force to knock my teeth against each other. I spin the wheel, slam on the brakes, and slide to a stop right next to Nick.

This time, I let the tears fall.

  •  •  •  

Nick gives me the thumbs-up and takes off. I pull up behind him, keeping pace. The warehouse fades into the distance.

Emma slumps in the seat beside me, her body limp. Her eyelids are so heavy she's almost asleep. I reach across and rub her leg. “We're going to be okay now, Ems.”

It's almost a shock to realize I mean it.

We pull over at the edge of Kyle Canyon Road as two more police cars turn down the dirt road. Nick rolls down his window. His eyes are red, his cheeks streaked with dirt. “You have Emma?”

My sister leans forward and waves.

Relief spreads across his handsome face. “You've got to stop running away like that.”

Emma sticks out her tongue. She's putting on a brave front, but the sweat from her palms leaves imprints on her jeans.

“Chelsea and Mat?”

“Safe,” he says. “Once they knew Roger had Emma, it made more sense to stay clear of the showdown. They worked the scene from afar. Mat intercepted the police scanners and called off the chopper–otherwise we'd never have gotten out of there. But we should go before more cops arrive.”

“But how did they know?” I say, grateful. “And how did Roger get to Emma first?”

“Mat will explain it fully, but it seems not all of our communication was as private from Roger as we thought. Should have known. He got to Riley's cousin's house before Mat and Chelsea–which was probably for the best.”

I widen my eyes. “Kevin must be scared crapless . . . losing Emma to Roger. Riley won't be impressed.”

“I suspect he's halfway to Mexico by now.”

The whole situation is almost ironic, but there's something deeper too–Roger knew we'd betrayed him, and he still came to the Trophy Case. He still tried to make it right, even though he could have been in danger.
Is
in danger. I don't know what to make of that.

The Shelby rumbles under me. “This car doesn't like to sit around.”

Nick juts his chin. “Think you've got more under the hood than me?”

“It's not the horsepower that matters.”

His eyes burn with mischief. “Challenge you to a race, Ghost?”

This time the nickname doesn't bother me–it's a part of who I am. In this moment, I'm no longer invisible, no longer a ghost of the past. Nick sees me–really sees me–and with my new family and Emma by my side, I am invincible.

I shift into first, rev the engine, and flash Nick a smile that tells him I'm more than happy. I'm home. “I dare you to keep up.”

NICK'S FEET STICK OUT FROM
under a '67 Camaro. I'd recognize his camouflage boots anywhere. Jazz music pulses through the garage.

It's after hours, but I can tell he's been busy. An old GTO is parked in the far bay and a Corvette is wedged between a Chevelle and Vicki. Nick says he specializes in muscle cars, but I guess even he'll make exceptions. Corvette status is still up for debate.

Emma sneaks up on him and tugs loose one of his laces.

There's a sharp
thunk
, followed by a curse of pain. Emma cups her hand over her mouth to stop from laughing.

“When I get my hands on the imp that . . .” Nick slides out from under the car and fake scowls. “Should have known it was you.”

Grease smudges both of his cheeks and there's a fresh scrape on his forehead–probably from hitting his head on the oil pan after Emma startled him. Even dirty, he still makes my heart race.

I hold out my hand. “Want help up?”

His eyes undress me. “And get you all greasy?”

“You've got showers in here, right?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “On second thought.”

Emma claps her hands over her ears. “Gross, you guys.”

My sister pretends that we disgust her, but just the other day she made it clear we're never allowed to break up. She hops up onto one of the workbenches in Nick's shop and picks up a wrench. Barely a week old and already chipped from use. Business has been steady since he opened Nick's Garage last month.

He stands, brushes off his coveralls, and taps Emma's nose. “Aren't you supposed to be in dance?”

I reach into my purse to pull out a small bottle of champagne. “We're celebrating.”

Nick's eyes brighten. “The deal closed?”

“Today.”

I am now the proud co-owner of a small dance studio in a complex right across the street from the small two-bedroom apartment I rent. Using the rest of the money Roger gave us, I've hired a senior ballet instructor while I retrain my muscles. Roger will remain on as a silent partner, at least until I graduate and turn eighteen.

Roger carried through on his promises–every single one.

Nick pulls me into his arms for a congratulatory hug and light kiss. My stomach flutters.

“I guess we better pop the cork on that bottle,” he says, scooping it out of my hand. He inspects the label. “Sounds fancy.”

“Courtesy of Roger.”

I'd stopped by the mansion earlier to pick up the rest of our things. It's not the first time since everything happened that I've seen him, but it's less awkward. Baby steps. He's promised to send money for Emma every month, at least until she's an adult, but I get the sense he'd hoped for something more. Friendship? I guess a part of me doesn't mind the idea.