Lawrence guided the old Buick past the black SUV, which was now fully up against the curb, lights extinguished. It would have been nice to slow down and see how many people got out, but it was clear Lawrence didn’t want us drawing attention to ourselves that way.

Once we were a couple of car lengths past it, I glanced back. No doors were opening, no one was getting out. The Annihilator’s lights came back on, and the truck slipped back into the lane behind us.

I was still turned in my seat, taking in our new situation, when Lawrence barked at me, “Eyes front! Don’t look!”

I shifted back, tried to get a glimpse of the SUV in the mirror on the passenger door.

“This is not a good thing,” Lawrence said. “Not a good thing at all. I hate it when I get made. Absolutely fucking sloppy. You want to know what they’re doing right now?”

“What?”

“They’re taking down my license plate, that’s what they’re doing right now.”

“That’s bad, right?”

“Normally, it would be, but I’ve got bogus plates on this car, so it’s not that big a problem.”

“Uh, isn’t that illegal, Lawrence?”

He had only a moment to glance at me and grin. “Which Hardy Boy are you? Frank or Joe?”

I decided not to respond to that, but go on the attack myself. “So what’s your plan now, Sherlock?”

“We just drive along, like we don’t know who he is and don’t care, and maybe he starts thinking that maybe he was wrong, that we weren’t following him.”

As the Annihilator gained on us, its raised headlights shone through the back windows of the Buick, reflecting off the rearview mirror and nearly blinding Lawrence. “Fucking SUVs,” he muttered. He was on edge, and it had to be taking every bit of resolve he had not to tromp on the accelerator and leave that lumbering vehicle in our dust.

“We’ll just keep going straight up Wilson,” he said quietly. And so we did, driving at the speed limit, a couple of guys out for a cruise around the town. The Annihilator kept pace behind us, barely a car length, those annoying lights illuminating everything inside the Buick.

“Okay, moment-of-truth time,” Lawrence said, put on his blinker, and turned right down a side street, nice and proper, like he was delivering, instead of me, his grandmother back to the nursing home.

The SUV stayed with us, rounding the corner without slowing down. I didn’t want to admit this to Lawrence, but I was starting to feel just a tad apprehensive. And by apprehensive, I mean scared.