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Time was running out.
The words blurred together and I reached up to massage my temples. Logan’s hand touched my forearm. “Brianna.”
I looked up, blinking against the black swirls that marked my vision.
“We should get going, you’ve got to meet Emily in a few hours, and you’ve worked through lunch.”
I glanced at the clock. Almost four. My eyes fell back to the books.
He reached over to slide them out of the way. “Tomorrow.”
I followed Logan numbly back to the garage, grateful for the movement at least, and rubbed my eyes one last time for good measure before finally settling again into the soft gray leather if the car’s seat. It must have been a half hour later when I got an odd sense we were heading in the wrong direction.
I pressed my feet into the floorboard, rising out of my relaxed position to see the road. I didn’t recognize it, but the sun was on the wrong side of the car. I glanced at Logan, still apparently at ease, and then through the window, focusing on the side mirror. There was a line of cars behind us, nothing out of the ordinary, but I couldn’t shake that strange feeling.
Logan pulled into the left lane to pass a minivan, and took a hard right onto a two lane road. I looked at him again—no noticeable signs of distress—and back to the mirror. I’d about given up, decided I was being paranoid, when a black sedan turned too fast onto the road several blocks behind us. It disappeared behind a truck, but Logan’s foot pressed the accelerator, and we were whooshing past the marked speed limit signs. He glanced at my seatbelt before turning a sharp left.
It wasn’t scary, not yet. The car was built for fast maneuvers, and Logan was calm and confident, unquestionably a good driver. But when a second car appeared, this time cutting across a street in front of us, the car jerked hard to avoid it, throwing me against the door. Logan pressed a tiny black gadget into his ear as we swerved left, and then right, dodging slower traffic before veering off onto another street. Logan was reciting numbers, picking them from the navigation screen on the dash, and spun mid-intersection, taking us back a half block to a narrow alleyway.
He barely slowed, spinning again to land us in southbound traffic on the other side. I pressed my hand to the door, finding and gripping a handle I was fairly certain was made for exactly that. I glanced in the mirror and saw a third car join the chase. Well, maybe notexactlythat.
A minute later, a Suburban cut in front of us and I cringed, but it kept speed and Logan stayed on its tail. When two more appeared behind us, I realized they were the Division cars. The cavalcade. We played a short game of cups, and then the front SUV veered into the turn lane and Logan sped past it. I looked back, nothing except a solid wall of black Chevrolet, and over at Logan.
He reached up, slipped the device from his ear, and dropped it into the console. Two streets later, he slowed, looking over at me.
“Okay?”
I stared at him. I wasn’t sure.
He pulled over. “Brianna?”
I glanced out the back, no sign of any suspicious vehicles or black SUVs, and then again at Logan with a shaky laugh. “I guess Brendan knows where we are now.”
His brow drew down, and then he realized my mistake. “Those aren’t Division men.”
“They’re not?”
He shook his head. “That’s my team.”
“But—”
“I’ll explain it later, I promise. Right now, we have to get you back to Division before anyone finds out you’re missing, or it won’t be easy to go back to the archives tomorrow.”
He reached for the shifter, but I put a hand on his arm. “We’re going back? After this?”
“You’re safe with me, Brianna.”
I drew my fingers away. “But those men. Why would you risk it?”
His gaze never faltered. “I was under the impression what you were doing was important.”
I glanced at my hands. The ancient symbols marking the inside of my wrists. Back at Logan. “Aern told you to do what I asked.”
“At all cost.”
