Chapter 9 Lewis
I follow Amy down the hall, my eyes glued to the sway of her hips.
Ninety-eight percent of my headspace is taken up with the Dodge, but there’s a hyperactive two percent that’s obsessing over this girl. Over her butt, if you want to get specific. If I’m being honest, she already had a sexy vibe back on campus, but this is on a whole other level.
When she swung open the bathroom door and I saw her standing there, I nearly told her just how hot she looks right then and there, but I had two good reasons to stay quiet.
First—definitely not a good idea at all to mix business and pleasure.
And second—she’s been in a crappy mood since she woke up.
I don’t want to poke the bear. Because you never know when the bear might just turn around and smash your face in.
I pile my breakfast plate up high, help myself to the world’s grossest coffee, and join Amy in the booth, where she’s busy ripping her pastries to shreds without even taking a bite. What the hell is her problem? The girl’s a freaking psycho.
“Hey.”
When I toss a packet of sugar at her forehead—slam dunk, baby!—she purses her lips and looks up.
“Not a morning person, huh?”
I sip on my coffee, ignoring the way she’s narrowing her eyes at me. She’s not an afternoon person, either. Or an evening person, come to think of it.
“Morning, Mr. Perky.” She throws a chunk of pastry at my face and smirks. “You’re in a good mood for someone who just had their ‘baby’ stolen.”
What a little bitch.
“What can I say? The run did me good. I went hard this morning. Really pushed myself. I’m still pissed, but I’m completely, totally powerless here—all I can do is take it easy and be patient.”
“I like your thinking.”
She turns to gaze out the window.
“So—what’s the plan for today?” I ask.
“We’ve got a three-hour drive ahead of us.”
“And then what?” I press. “I want to know what happens once we get there.”
“I’m going to check in with a few people, get the lay of the land. Figure out what’s what.”
“Come on, man! Spill.”
Slowly, she shifts her focus back to me, hugging one knee into her chest. “What was that you were saying about being patient?”
I try to ignore how uncomfortable her attention makes me feel.
“Why are you being like this? We’re in this shit together.”
“Incorrect.” She shakes her head. “Think of it like… I’m on a speedboat and you’re getting dragged behind me on a tow tube.
” She holds up a hand before I can interrupt.
“I’m not pulling you into things you don’t need to be involved in.
And don’t give me any of that ‘my car, my baby’ stuff.
You don’t get to decide how much I tell you.
What you do get is this—I’m going to work my ass off to get your car back.
And that’s pretty damn generous of me.” She pauses. “So don’t push it.”
By the time I follow her out to the Pontiac, I’m starting to get the sense that my post-run buzz will be pretty short-lived today.
AMY HASN’T SAID A WORD since we checked out of the motel. Three hours later, and we’ve wound our way through Manhattan and all the way to Brooklyn.
“Gimme ten.”
I barely have time to nod before she’s jumping out of the car.
I lean out the window, watching as she walks past a disused warehouse plastered in graffiti, where two guys and a woman are waiting for her with open arms. I can make out their expressions from here, their faces shifting from surprise to smiles.
Though I can’t hear what they’re saying, I spot the exact moment when the conversation takes a turn, their grins fading as they lean in.
One of the guys gives her a curt nod before rolling up a metal shutter and waiting as Amy peers in.
She’s pointing something out to him, barking out instructions as he dips inside.
What the hell is she doing? Is that where my car is?
It’s too much to resist. Before I know it, I’m throwing caution to the wind, leaping out of the car and making a beeline for Firebird, recoiling when she whips around.
By the time I get to her, her eyes are wild with anger.
She slams a hand down on my chest, holding me back, and I gaze over her shoulder.
The hangar is huge, stretching long and wide into another entrance at the far end, daylight spilling in from the back.
Amy’s thumping at my chest, but I can’t feel a thing.
It’s not there.
“Fuck, Conley!” she growls, shoving me back.
“I thought my car was there.”
“Go sit back down!”
I don’t have time to do as she asks. We look up to see the guy on his way back over, flanked by the other two. I grit my teeth, biting back on my disappointment.
The girl gives me a once-over. “Who’s this?”
You could cut the air with a knife, and since I have no idea whether I’m supposed to say hi or introduce myself or what, I let Amy take it from here.
“Nobody you know,” she replies. “And trust me—it’s better that way.”
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s talking like I’m a serial killer, or something.
“You guys keep me posted, okay?” Amy continues.
“I’ll be right here,” says the guy who opened the hangar. “You know I got your back. I’ll clear the path.”
“Thanks. Let Cripps know, too.”
“Sure.”
Amy shoots me a dirty look. “Time to hit the road.”
She whirls around, and I follow her back to the car, racking my brain to figure out what just happened back there. I need to know what the deal is. I want to know whether there’s a chance we’ll find my car, or whether… I need something to hold on to.
“Are you tr—”
“You pull that shit one more time, we’re going straight back to Sycamore!” she blurts, backing up the car.
She’s jabbing at me with a finger, and it’s dangerously close to my eye. Damn, she really is pissed.
“Listen up, you clown. When I tell you to sit your ass down and wait for me in the car, you do exactly that.” She snorts. “This isn’t a fucking road trip through rainbow land, okay? You’re this close to screwing up my plan.”
“Yeah, maybe if you’d share that plan, I wouldn’t screw it up!” I snap. “I’m on edge, okay? And you’ve left me hanging all morning.”
She sighs. “I’m gonna need you to be patient, Lewis. I let you come with me, but I never said I’d keep you in the loop.” She glances at me. “You’re going to see a lot more than I’d like you to see, trust me. Don’t make me regret this even more than I already do.”
I frown. “Are you scared I’ll tell someone? Is that it?”
Her eyes stay riveted on the steering wheel, and she opens her mouth like she’s about to fire off some smart-ass reply—then closes it.
Instead, she jerks on the wheel and peels off, tires screeching.
Okay, Amy, you win. You can deal with this alone for all I care.
I reach for my phone. It’s been a while since I last touched base, and the messages are flooding in.
LANE: So?
DON:??
ADAM: What’s happening?
I don’t even know what to say. There’s a determined glint in Firebird’s eyes, but I’m still none the wiser as to the game plan. I hate how she’s keeping me in the dark like this, but in a weird kind of way, I trust her all the same.
LEWIS: We’re in New York. I think she’s fact-finding.
LANE: Well, keep us posted, dude. It’s stressing me out, you being in this fucked-up situation.
ADAM: Relax. Seems like she’s got it under control.
LEWIS: Hope so.
DON: I told the coach what the deal was, all good there.
LEWIS: Thanks. Fingers crossed I’ll be back tomorrow.
LANE: With your car.
DON: We’re with you in spirit, buddy.
I am so, so lucky to have friends like these guys. If my Dodge really is lost for good, I know they’ll have my back. Shit. I really need Amy to work some magic, here.
SHE STILL HASN’T SAID A word since she lost her shit with me earlier—same old dead-eyed look plastered on her face as she drives us through streets she seems to know like the back of her hand, turning down countless blocks, one eye on the clock.
Every now and then, she stops and disappears inside a building for a handful of minutes, then drops back into the car, and off we go again.
Here and there we cruise past huddles of onlookers, and she slows down, gives them a quick wave, before peeling away.
Who even is this girl? It’s coming up to four, and as time ticks by, I’m starting to seriously wonder about her.
She’s a whole different vibe to the girls I’m used to.
There’s something about her that’s got me curious, and there are about a million different questions I’m dying to ask, but from the side-eye she keeps sneaking my way whenever I’m about to open my mouth, I’m thinking that’s not such a good idea.
We make our hundredth pit stop, and this time when she gets back in and slams the car door shut, my patience is wearing thin.
“Got anything?”
“I’m working on it. You hungry?”
I shake my head. We haven’t eaten since breakfast, but the knot in the pit of my stomach has cut my appetite, and the sense of mystery hanging in the air isn’t helping, either.
THE EVENING COMES AROUND, AND Amy pulls up outside a grocery store.
“I’m gonna grab some water. Want anything?”
“Alcohol and chips. I feel like I might need it if I find out my car is fucked.”
“Sounds good.”
Gee, thanks. Something a little more supportive would’ve been nice, but this is just how Firebird rolls, I guess.
“Good thing I brought my fake ID,” she adds.
Perfect. This just keeps getting better.