“Just forget it, okay?” I said. “I went after Piscary to save my mom’s life, not yours.”

“Thank you anyway. If it means anything, I’m sorry now for putting you in that rat pit.”

I tilted my head to see him, holding the hair out of my face as the wind gusted. “And you think that means anything to me?” I said tightly. Then I squinted. He was almost jiggling where he stood. What was up with him?

“Scoot over,” he finally said, looking at the empty seat beside me.

I stared at him. “What?”

He looked past me to Jonathan and back. “I want to drive your car. Scoot over. Jon never lets me drive. He says it’s beneath me.” He looked over at Glenn skulking beside a pillar. “Unless you would rather have an FIB detective drive you home at the posted speed limit?”

Surprise kept the anger out of my voice. “You can drive a stick?”

“Better than you.”

I looked at Glenn, then back to Trent. I slowly sank back into the seat. “Tell you what,” I said, my eyebrows rising. “You can drive me home if we keep to one topic on the way.”

“Your father?” he guessed, and I nodded. I was getting used to this deal-with-a-demon business.

Trent put his hands back in his pockets and rocked back and forth once on his heels in thought. Bringing his attention from the blue sky, he nodded.

“I do not believe I’m doing this,” I muttered as I threw my bag in the back and awkwardly shifted over the gear stick to the other seat. Taking my red Howlers cap off, I wound my hair up into a bun and jammed the hat back on against the coming wind.

Glenn had started forward, slowing as I waved good-bye to him. Shaking his head as if in disbelief, he turned and went back inside the ballpark.

I buckled my belt as Trent opened the door and slid into the front. He adjusted the mirrors, then revved the engine twice before pushing in the clutch and shifting it into first. I braced myself against the dash, but he eased forward as smoothly as if he parked cars for a living.

While Jonathan hurriedly got into the limo, I snuck a glance at Trent. My eyes narrowed as he took it upon himself to fiddle with the radio while at a stoplight, not moving even when it turned green. I was ready to smack him for messing with my radio when he found a station playing Takata and turned it up. Peeved, I hit the set button.

The traffic signal changed from green to yellow, and he sent the car leaping through the intersection, slipping ahead of oncoming traffic amid squealing tires and horns. Teeth gritted, I swore if he wrecked my car before I had a chance to, I’d sue his ass.

“I won’t work for you again,” I said as he gave the irate drivers behind him a friendly wave and merged onto expressway traffic. My anger hesitated as I realized he had intentionally sat through the green light so that Jonathan would be forced to wait until it changed again.