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“Was it the flash drive?”
His head turns slightly.
Got you.
“You don't have it,” I say.
Silence.
“You searched his garage.”
His hand tightens around the steering wheel.
“You didn't find it.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
I smile. “You did not just say that to me.”
His eyes snap to mine in the mirror. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Rude.” I scowl at him. “Also sounded like a threat.”
“It is.”
“See? That one was much better. Direct. Concise.”
His jaw clenches.
I move my wrist again.
The vehicle begins to slow.
My eyes move to the windshield. There’s an intersection ahead.
Mercer's foot goes to the brake.
My heart slams once. Hard.
He looks left. Then right.
The rope slips over my hand. Not completely, but enough.
His foot hits the gas.
Now.
I launch myself forward between the seats. My bound arms go over his head.
Mercer swears. “What the fuck—”
I yank backward with everything I have.
His body jerks against the seat.
The vehicle swerves.
His hands fly from the wheel and grab at my arms.
