“No. Just keep your body aligned in case they hit us from behind. They’re in a car and we’re in a truck, so the impact shouldn’t do too much damage.” He maneuvered in and out of traffic, looking like he was in a hurry but not like he was running from anybody. The car kept pace behind him, not getting any closer.

“They’re not bad,” he murmured, looking around for a second vehicle. Nothing stood out.

Dana kept in position but glanced at the passenger-side mirror. “Are you sure they’re following us?”

“No.” He merged onto I-95 S, not surprised when the car followed suit—along with tons of other traffic. “I’m going to exit in about ten minutes and drive fast, so get ready.”

She swallowed audibly. “You’re already driving fast.”

Yeah, he was. He angled to the right.

“What do you think they’re waiting for?” She whispered, for some reason.

“Fewer witnesses.” His instincts were humming, and he trusted them. “Or maybe they’re hoping to follow us home?” This sucked. He had to be careful with Dana in the car, damn it. “Hold on.”

She reached for the dash.

He took the exit at the last second, barreling down the road and making a fast right.

Horns honked behind him, and the car swerved across three lanes to follow him. “Thought so,” he said grimly, reaching for the gun. “When I tell you to duck, you do it.”

Gulping, she nodded, her eyes wide.

He punched the gas and sped through a quiet, rundown commercial office area, yanking the wheel and zipping around a darkened dental office to the parking area in the back. “Get in the driver’s seat, get down, and get out of here if I yell.” He opened the door, jumped out, and ran toward the side of the building, where the car had just turned in.

Lifting his hand, he squeezed off three rapid shots, continuing to walk forward. The first bullet hit the windshield above the driver’s head, shattering the glass. The next one hit the engine block, and the third the right front tire. The car veered to the left and drove over bushes and a nicely manicured lawn to smash into the glass front door. Its horn blared continuously.

A building alarm instantly blasted through the rain.

Wolfe ran to the car and ripped open the passenger-side door, yanking a bleeding man out and throwing him on the ground. He leaned in to find the driver slumped unconscious over the steering wheel.

He flipped the guy on the ground over and set a knee in his chest and a gun in his face, searching him for weapons and finding a high-end Ruger SR, which he slid into his waistband with his free hand. “Who are you?”

The guy was about thirty with dark hair and tattoos down the side of his face. “Screw you.”