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And that’s a new one for me.
“Hades—”
Her phone rings from within her bag. She shoves a hand in to silence it, swallowing as her eyes raise to mine.
“I just—”
Her phone rings again. This time, she pulls it out of her bag and peers at the screen, frowning.
“I—hang on, this is my building super.” Her eyes raise to mine, as if seeking permission. I just nod, and she answers the phone.
“Hi, George? What’s up—”
Her face goes white. Her hand flies to her mouth as it falls open, her eyes wide and horrified.
“Oh my God! Hang on! George, can you—no, keep them out if they don’t have a warrant! I’m getting in a cab right now!”
Forget how pale and terrified she looked before. Now, she looks like she’s going to explode.
“Elsa—”
“I have to go.”
She spins and makes a run for it—crashing out of the private room and fleeing across the dining room. I don’t really realize how quickly I’ve followed her until I catch up with her right outside the front doors of the restaurant.
Elsa’s madly trying to flag down a cab when I grab her arm.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s fine!” she blurts, her eyes wild as she keeps waving a hand in the air. “I—I have to get home. Now.”
“What—”
“It’s mysister, okay!?” she screams. “I have to get home to my—”
“Come on.”
She gasps as I grab her by the arm and the hip, hustling her down the street.
“Get off me!!” she yelps, twisting under my grip. “I need to get a cab—”
“No, you don’t.”
We come to a stop right in front of my dark green ’67 Camaro Z28, and I yank open the passenger side door for her.
“Get in.”
She blinks, looking shocked and numb as she turns to me.
“What?”
“I’m driving you. Get in.”
“I—Hades, I need a cab.”
“I’m way faster than a cab, trust me. Now get in the damn car.”
11
