Page 16 of Violent Skies

“I’m excited,” I correct him. “Are you ready?”

“We just came to make sure you were,” Riggs answers.

“You’re annoying.” I scowl. “Where’s Cress?” I look around for her.

“Work,” Rafe answers. “Dropped her off myself.”

“Good,” I nod, everything about not having her in our sight is making me nauseous but I can’t show him that, if I did, he’d call the whole thing off instantly. She’s safe at the hospital, I tell myself, it’s the best place for her.

If she gets hurt… I can hear Koa in my head, his grip on my morals and responsibilities still so loud in my ears. She won’t get hurt. I promise.

“I can shut it down for five minutes tops. Flickers of inactivity,” Murphy says. “It won’t take them long to notice that something is up with their system. Be, like, super fast.”

“Wow, sage words of advice, Murph.” Rafe pushes his fingers through his hair and smiles at a few girls that wander by him.

“Focus,” Riggs warns. “You can come back and chase tail after we check out this car.”

“Promise?” Rafe says, not taking his hungry eyes off them.

“Promise.” Riggs grabs Rafe by the collar and gives a head nod to us before shoving him toward the deep green Mustang that he drives everywhere.

As expected, Birdie is the ultimate distraction. There’s a crowd around the Skyline where she’s leaning on the hood and drawing attention to herself. “She’ll be fine,” Rafe says from beside me, halfway into the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”

I shake free of the concern creeping into my subconscious and follow suit. She can handle herself better than the rest of us, but this is a different environment, an unknown danger, and we have no idea what we’re dealing with.

The car rumbles to life and a few girls in our vicinity squeal as Rafe flirts with them subtly out the window. I rip from the parking lot toward the impound lot. If we time it perfectly, Birdie will be tearing from the start line and no one will even notice that we’re gone.

“You ready to call them?” I ask Rafe as I kill the engine a block behind the lot. The chain link fence will snap under the pair of cutters in the trunk and I make to grab them when my phone rings. “Good?”

“You need to be quick.” Murphy doesn’t even say hello, and it’s hard to hear him over the sound of the Skyline purring loudly in the background.

“We’re good,” I try to convince him as Rafe starts dialing 911.

“No,” Murphy barks. “Birdie is too fast.”

“Now.” I snap my fingers at Rafe who instantly starts the call as I grab the cutters.

“She’s already a quarter-mile ahead of the next guy and is cackling in the front seat like a witch. I’m actually terrified for my life!” Murphy yells.

“Don’t be a baby!” Birdie hollers from the background and I hear the car shift gears.

“You’re going to kill us!” His voice cracks and Birdie laughs.

“It’s called an adrenaline rush, Murph. Breathe it in!” She says again.

“Too tight, Bird! That corner was too tight!” Murphy snaps. “Can you two move please? She’s a mile out from finishing. We need sirens… like now.”

“Get into their system. We’re moving…” I nod to Rafe.

“Yeah, I don’t know, ma’am, it’s really loud and sounds dangerous. They just ripped by my house! I have three small children asleep!” he rants to the operator as we shuffle through the shadows. “Get the cops out here now! Before I call a news station! Yeah, sure, say whatever you want! I know your type! Maybe it was racist, maybe I’m just fed up with this city! Screw you! They’ll do something about the lack of police presence on our streets!”

I shake my head at his dramatics, but it seems to work because he disconnects the call and immediately calls Murphy, shoving an ear bud into his ear so he can hear him as we move. Rafe uses his free hand to pull out his gun and flashlight before jogging after me.

“There.” He points and I look up at the camera above us with a nod right before the red recording light is cut. The fence goes slack and I roll it back to let Rafe in ahead of me with his flashlight. “Sounds like she took me seriously.” The sky around us lights up in red and blue as the sound of sirens howl into the Arizona clouds. We pause for a second, listening to make sure the sound dies and the moment it does we start to move.

“Murphy said it’s west, four rows in at the back, between a red Toyota and a bike.” Rafe leads the way and it’s another two minutes of searching the lot before the car comes into sight. “BJK6390.” He kicks the license plate and starts to pick the trunk lock as I wander around to the driver's side door to do the same.

The trunk pops and we both go still, waiting for the alarm, but it never comes so we start searching. The glove box is empty and nearly everything has been pulled from the cracks and crevices, but the passenger seat is stained deep red.