“Good,” I mutter, wiping the blood off the gun’s grip. “Dante is next.”
Beau stands and holsters his weapon. “Blackridge is backwoods. I’ve got a safe house nearby. Another just across the border in Washington if shit gets loud.”
Travis exhales shakily, face pale. “We’re really going to Oregon.”
Connor’s blood is still leaking across the floor, soaking into the grout of his designer tile. We walk out of the condo and onto the driveway.
“We need to ditch the SUV,” Travis says. “It’s already flagged, probably by half the state.”
“It is absolutely flagged,” Beau replies, unbothered. “We should abandon it somewhere quiet.”
We cut through two blocks of overpriced Silicon Valley condos, each more sterile than the last, until we find a side street with no traffic, no porch lights, and no cameras we can see. The SUV’s headlights sweep across manicured lawns, mailboxes with corporate logos, and sleeping houses that all look exactly the same.
Travis pulls to the curb and slams it into park. “Okay. We ditch it here and pray nobody checks the Ring cams.”
I throw open the back door. Krueger leaps out immediately, landing with force, muscles bristling, head up and ears forward. He scans the dark like he is ready to rip apart anything that moves. Luna stays curled in the carrier beside him, wide-eyed and vibrating with fury.
“Easy,” I mutter, reaching out. “We’re just switching cars.”
Krueger nudges my side with his snout.
Beau moves efficiently, popping the glove box, wiping the steering wheel, pulling out anything with prints or identifiers. He tosses burner wrappers, pockets the USB, and slides the last gun magazine into his coat.
“Hurry,” he says calmly. “We shouldn’t linger in a stolen, blood-soaked vehicle in a neighborhood where everyone owns a drone and a doorbell camera.”
Travis groans and climbs out. “This is so fucking illegal.”
Beau shuts the door behind him. “You’re deep in the illegal part, my friend. We passed misdemeanor six corpses ago.”
We cut through a line of hedges leading to the underground parking garage beneath Connor’s building. Concrete columns, dim overhead lighting, the distant buzz of a faulty fluorescent.
Connor, being a tech-bro narcissist with more cash than sense, owns three vehicles. Each one flashier than the last.
A matte black Audi with custom rims.
A silver Tesla that practically screams I overpay for convenience.
And a cherry red BMW convertible that deserves to be pushed off a cliff.
“We’re not taking the BMW,” Travis says immediately.
“No shit,” Beau adds. “Only assholes drive red cars in a manhunt.”
We choose the Audi. Sleek, quiet, spacious enough for three fugitives and two animals once the back seats are folded down. Beau pops the trunk while I open the rear door and drop the seats.
“Load them up.”
Krueger leaps in without hesitation, turning once before lying down. I slide Luna’s carrier in beside him. She hisses low under her breath, glaring at Krueger.
“They fit,” Travis mutters. “Barely.”
“They’ll manage,” Beau says, climbing into the passenger seat.
Travis slides behind the wheel and starts the engine. “I still can’t believe we’re stealing a dead guy’s car.”
Beau buckles his seatbelt without looking at him. “He won’t be filing a report.”
I ease into the backseat beside the animals. Krueger shifts and presses his massive head against my thigh like he can sense the storm building under my skin. I rest a hand on his fur, grounding myself.
