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Chapters (30)
  1. Dedication
  2. Epigraph
  3. CHAPTER ONE
  4. CHAPTER TWO
  5. CHAPTER THREE
  6. CHAPTER FOUR
  7. CHAPTER FIVE
  8. CHAPTER SIX
  9. CHAPTER SEVEN
  10. CHAPTER EIGHT
  11. CHAPTER NINE
  12. CHAPTER TEN
  13. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  14. CHAPTER TWELVE
  15. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  16. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  17. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  18. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  19. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  20. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  21. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  22. CHAPTER TWENTY
  23. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  28. Acknowledgments
  29. Also Available by Christopher Swann
  30. AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY

“Somebody inside the room fucked up the A/C unit,” Peaches finishes for me.

“And D knew,” I say. “Which means he was talking with at least one of the Feebies.”

Silence on the other end of the line. I say nothing and try to ignore the sweat at my hairline, my temples, under my bra.

“Why you tellin’ me this?” Peaches asks.

“Because I’m looking for Tane and want to know what I’m walking into. I’m following a lead right now to Bala. And because I still feel bad about spraying Billy in the face.”

“Bala?” Peaches says, a low growl.

Another ding on my phone. It’s an alert from the tracking app. Cargill’s on the move. “Gotta go,” I say, and I hang up on Peaches before he can say anything and pull up the tracking app. There’s the blinking dot, heading south on Northside. I put my phone into the stand on my bike so I can follow the dot while keeping my hands free, and then I see the dot turn west onto a side street. Uh-oh. If Cargill is circling the block, he will drive right past me in a matter of seconds.

I start my bike and head north, back toward North Avenue. I glance down at my phone and see the blinking dot has just turned onto my street. He’s maybe fifty yards behind me. I look over my shoulder and see bright headlights, gaining. I face forward and gun it to the intersection, then lean hard into a right-hand turn back to the RaceTrac. Luckily traffic is light so no one plows into me. I pull into the RaceTrac and park my bike next to a dumpster, shielding me from view. The blinking dot has just reached North Avenue. After a few seconds, it turns my way—Cargill is coming right past me. I look around the dumpster and see his black-and-chrome truck stop at the light at Northside. The windows are tinted enough that it’s impossible to tell at night how many people are in the vehicle, but I’m guessing Cargill isn’t alone. When the light changes, he turns left onto Northside. I back out and follow him, just making it through the light. He’s three cars ahead of me. Now it’s a new game: follow the leader.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN