He could still see the pregnant girl’s handprints on the dusty white paint.

He popped the hatch and it rose like a clamshell, revealing a modest cargo area with a slim hinged cover that would hold a few lightweight items and also conceal what you were carrying beneath. He shoved the guy into a seated position at the edge of the small compartment.

The driver leaned toward Peter, his voice too low for Bobbie to hear. “Dude, you’re fucked. We know who you are, who all your people are. You have exactly one chance and it’s right now. Let me go and walk away or everybody dies.”

Peter thought of the girl’s handprints and slammed the hatch down on the guy’s head.

“Ow, fuck.” The driver bent forward, curled into himself.

“It’s always more fun when somebody else gets hurt, isn’t it?” Peter scooped up the driver’s legs, rolled him inside the cargo compartment, then closed the hatch.

Bobbie watched from five yards away. “This isn’t right, none of it.” She still had the gun on him, but one-handed. The other hand dipped into her pocket.

“Bobbie, I’m doing my best.” Peter hustled up to the driver’s-side door, one eye on the roads. How long had it been since the driver had sent Peter’s picture to his buddies? They’d be here any moment. Peter grabbed the driver’s phone from the dirt where it had fallen.

No texts or calls showed on the phone, but the orange two-way radio hissed softly on the dashboard. From the speaker, a dark voice. “Three, what’s your status?”

Peter removed the phone’s battery cover and battery in case they were using location tracking, tossed the pieces into the car, then collected the orange two-way and marched around to the rear of the car again.

When he raised the hatch, the driver stared at him balefully, tied up and hurting in the cargo bay of his own car. Peter showed him the radio. “I need you to tell them something. We’re heading north on Highway 37, and you’re right behind me.”

“Dude, I’m not saying shit. If I lie to him, he’ll kill me.”

Peter let the werewolf peek out from behind his eyes, just a little. “Imagine what I’ll do if you don’t.”

The driver saw something there and swallowed hard. But his mouth just tightened and he shook his head.

“Okay,” Peter said. “I can respect that. But consider this. If they’re on our ass and start shooting? You’re in the trunk. So you’re gonna catch the first bullet.” He raised his arm to close the hatch, head on a swivel to scan the roads.

“Wait, wait. How do I know you won’t just kill me afterward?”

“Because I’m not like you. Yes or no?”

The driver let out a breath and nodded.

Peter didn’t know if this would work, but it was better than nothing. He held the radio to the other man’s mouth. “Be good now.” Then pressed the talk button.