I’m draped over Six’s shoulder, and she dumps me into the backseat of the SUV. Bernie Kosar settles himself on my shins and licks my lifeless right hand. Sam takes the keys and gets behind the wheel while Six retrieves our stuff. As soon as we’re on the highway and I no longer hear sirens, I’m able to relax and concentrate on my right hand. The dagger’s handle transforms and retreats from my knuckles and wrist. I drop the dagger in the foot well.

Fifteen minutes later, Six tells Sam to pull over, and we screech into the lit parking lot of a closed diner. She jumps out before the car has come to a complete stop, leaving the door open.

“Help me,” she orders.

“Six, I don’t want to be a dick right now, but I can’t really move my arms and legs.”

“Dude, just really try. We have to get them off our tail,” she says. “If we don’t, then you’re dead. Think about it.”

I struggle into a seated position and feel blood circulate to my legs. I climb out of the car and waver there in my burned clothes, having no idea what she needs help with.

“Find the bug,” she says. “Sam, keep the car running.”

“Roger,” he says.

“Find the what?” I ask.

“They use bugs to track vehicles. Trust me. They did it with me and Katarina.”

“What does it look like?”

“I have no idea. But time is short, so look fast.”

I almost want to laugh. There isn’t a single thing in the world I think I could do fast right now. But nonetheless, Six goes racing around the SUV while I slowly drop to a knee and manage to crawl beneath it, flashing my hands on its undercarriage. Bernie Kosar gets to sniffing, starting at the bumper and moving his way forward. I spot it almost immediately, a small circular object no bigger than a quarter stuck to the plastic cover of the gas tank.

“Got it,” I yell, plucking it off. I pull myself out and hand the device to Six while remaining on my back. She briefly studies it, then drops it in her pocket.

“Aren’t you going to destroy it?”

“No,” she answers. “Check again. We have to make sure there isn’t a second, or a third.”

I crawl back under with my hands blazing, scooting from the back of the SUV to the front. I don’t see anything.

“You’re sure?” she asks when I stand.

“Yes.”

We get back in and speed away. It’s two o’clock in the morning, and Sam heads west. With Six’s instructions, he keeps the SUV between eighty-five and ninety, and I can’t help but worry about police. After thirty miles, he jumps onto an interstate and drives south.