“Of course we’re going,” I say, already moving toward my bag. Jonah had washed everything salvageable from our brush with death and had even picked up some essentials that had to be replaced for me. Were they in colors I like? No, but I’ll let it slide this time. He was under extreme duress with me being in the hospital, and the whole blaming him for all of troubles argument. He can have a pass on this one. My shoulder protests as I bend down, but the adrenaline dulls the pain. “Jonah, how long will it take us to get in position?”
He’s already calculating, his professor brain working faster than most supercomputers. “If we leave now, we can intercept near Millerton.”
“Perfect.” I turn to Lucas, who’s filming us with his phone again. “Weather Boy, if you’re coming with us, make yourself useful and plot us a course.”
“Yes, ma’am!” He salutes dramatically but does as I ask, lowering his phone.
I grab my bag. Max circles around us excitedly, sensing the pre-chase energy that’s suddenly electrifying the room. The three of us hurry outside to the SUV, Jonah already rattling off data points about updraft velocity and wind shear that make my heart race.
When we reach the vehicle, I pop the trunk to check my dad’s salvaged equipment and feel my stomach drop. In my haste toget Jonah’s pants off, I completely forgot that Dad’s equipment isn’t exactly in working order.
“Shit,” I mutter, picking up the mangled pressure sensor. “This is worse than I thought.”
Jonah appears at my side. “Can we use any of it?”
I turn the console over in my hands, examining the circuit board inside. “Maybe, but not without serious repairs. The tornado did a number on everything.”
“What about the backup sensors?” he asks, pointing to a smaller box nestled in the corner.
I check it quickly, but it’s no better. “Water damage. The casing cracked.”
Jonah frowns at the equipment, then looks at me. “Do you think you can fix it while I drive?”
I lift my sling with my eyebrows raised. “With one functioning arm? I’m good, but not that good.” I wiggle my fingers poking out from the edge of the sling. “This kind of repair needs two hands and preferably some tools we don’t have.”
Lucas, who’s been hovering nearby pretending not to eavesdrop, suddenly perks up like a dog who heard the word “treat.”
“Well...” he drawls, stepping forward with a barely concealed grin, “I can fix it, but that means I get to ride along with you instead of following along.”
I shoot Jonah a look that clearly says “absolutely not,” but he’s already considering it, his scientist brain working through the problem like an equation.
“You know electronics?” I ask, sounding skeptical.
Lucas puffs up his chest. “I built my own weather station when I was twelve. Plus, I’ve been handling broadcast equipment for years.” He reaches for the damaged console. “This doesn’t look too bad. Water damage, some bent connectors. I can jury-rig something while we’re on the move for the consoleto not only work, but connect with the equipment my station provided.”
“It’s not a bad idea, Lila,” Jonah admits.
I groan. “You want him to ride with us?”
“Do you want working equipment?” Lucas counters, already examining the circuit board.
Jonah gives me an apologetic look. “We need the equipment.” He places a gentle hand on my good shoulder. “It’s just one chase.”
I look from the hopeful expression on Lucas’s face to Jonah’s apologetic one, then down at my useless arm in its sling. As much as I hate to admit it, Weather Boy is our best option right now.
“Fine,” I concede with all the grace of someone agreeing to a root canal. “But there are rules.”
Lucas nods eagerly. “Anything.”
“No filming inside the vehicle while we’re chasing. No unnecessary commentary. No touching anything except the equipment you’re fixing. And if I tell you to shut up, you shut up immediately.”
“Deal,” he agrees, far too quickly. “You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I mutter, but I step aside to let him collect the damaged equipment.
Ten minutes later, we’re on the road. Jonah drives, his eyes flicking between the windshield and the GPS where our storm target is marked. I’m relegated to the back seat with Max, since Lucas needs the front passenger seat to work on the equipment. The indignity burns almost as much as my shoulder.
“The main issue is the water damage to the pressure sensor,” Lucas explains, his fingers deftly working inside the console’s guts. He’s got tools spread across his lap that he apparentlykeeps in his news van “for emergencies.” “But I think I can bypass this section and reroute through the secondary circuit.”
