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“We don’t say contract killer either. For fuck’s sake, Trev.”

“I’ve never, you know,” I said, looking at his profile, the dark aviator glasses, the chiseled features, his dark smooth skin, “told anyone what you do.”

“I know that,” he said, checking the rearview mirror, distracted.

“Just so we’re clear.”

“We’re clear,” he murmured, but he wasn’t really paying attention to me.

“What’re you doing?”

“Is your seatbelt on?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

I looked at him again—his black leather jacket, the cashmere turtleneck underneath, the scarf the same color—and thought that he looked like he was ready to go sightseeing or something.

“Do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Reach under the seat and pass me the gun.”

“You just rented this car and there’s a gun under the seat?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“That’s not that big a deal right now. Could you get the gun?”

When the handgun with the silencer was in my grip, I straightened up. At the same moment, he began to slow. Another car flew by us, several others having passed, but when this one did, we were suddenly in pursuit. He had the Lexus up over ninety before the car in front of us missed a turn, skidded, slid, and hit the concrete barrier. When the car stopped, we did too, in the middle of the freeway, and got onto the median. He reversed fast before spinning around and driving the wrong way back to the car. It was early, so we were mostly alone, but still there were lots of blaring horns before we stopped.

I reached for my door as Conrad threw his open and grabbed the gun from me.

“Do not get out!” he barked at me even as he did.

“I—”

“Do not get out!” he roared a second time, standing outside the car before sprinting toward the other.

I couldn’t see—not from my angle or the other car’s—and I wanted to go, but the man had given me a direct order, and it was more about trust than anything else. Did I trust him enough to stay put?

When I saw him loping back, I turned and waited for him.

He got in, shoved the gun at me, threw the car into drive, and peeled out, fishtailing back onto the freeway as we drove away.

“Jesus Christ, Conrad, what the fuck?”

“There should be a holster under your seat. Can you get that for me?”

“Conrad!”

He growled at me. “Okay, so those guys were supposed to kill us.”

“Kill us?”