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Again.

Only for real this time.

He almost couldn’t take it in.

Shock gave way to rage. “Jesus Christ. What the hell is hedoing?” He grabbed his phone but then couldn’t think who to call. Who the hell did you turn to in a situation like this? It wasn’t like anyone could get to them in time…

“He’s decided we’re a threat,” Quinn called over the whine of the straining engine. “Can you shoot?”

Andy blinked, thinking he hadn’t understood. “What?Can I what?”

Quinn snapped, “Do you know how to use a gun?”

Had he really been thinking things couldn’t get any worse?

“Me?” Andy stammered, “No. No way. Marcus tried to teach me. I have horrible aim.”

“Well, I know you can drive,” Quinn said coolly, zipping around an oblivious truck hauling a giant gray Easter egg of a trailer, “because I taught you. Trade places with me.”

“What?”

Hehadto have heard that wrong. Did Quinn actually say—

“Come on. Let’s go. Take the wheel.” One hand still on the steering wheel, Quinn unsnapped his seat belt.

Andy gaped. “Quinn, you’re out of your goddamned mind!”

“Take the fucking wheel, Andrew.”

“Quinn…” But, hands shaking, Andy dropped his phone, unfastened his seat belt.

This wascrazy. Robie didn’t have to shoot them; they were about to kill themselves.

“I’m going front, you go back.” Quinn was already in motion, half rising, half crawling out of the way as Andy, heart pounding so hard his whole body vibrated, crawled behind him. For one terrifying moment there seemed to be a forest of arms and legs and no room to move, but then he slither-fell into the driver’s seat. At the last possible second, Quinn let go of the wheel and lifted his foot from the throttle.

The sedan swerved, lagged—then Andy grabbed the steering wheel and jammed his foot down. The sedan righted, leaped forward, Andy and Quinn rocked in their seats. Quinn let out a blood-curdlingwhoopof triumph.

The next instant he’d rolled down his window, drawn his pistol, and leaned out.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Was there a more terrifying sound in all the world?

Andy was thinking,You can’t do that. There are other cars, other people.

Not that he had a better idea. Driving along like ducks in a shooting gallery wasn’t working so well for them. Other cars and other people were at risk there too. Numbly, he floored the gas pedal, watching the needle climb past ninety…ninety fuckingmiles per hour. He spared a look for his rearview and saw the Nissan veer sharply left, then sharply right.

“Aww. He doesn’t like people shooting back,” Quinn drawled.

Andy glanced automatically at the dashboard. Less than a quarter of a tank of gas. Not that it mattered because they were going to wipe out any second now when one of the cars he was rocketing past moved left instead of right—

He jumped at that flat, hardpopas Quinn fired again. This time the Nissan seemed to falter and fall back a length or two. Smoke began to billow from the engine. Quinn said something Andy didn’t catch.

“That was his radiator,” Quinn called, resettling in his seat. “Take this next exit.”

Andy nodded numbly, not thinking past the relief that the shooting seemed to be over for the moment. Taking a leaf from Quinn’s playbook, he moved left, using other cars to create a safety space around them. They covered the next couple of miles in a little caravan. Then, as their exit came up, Andy made his move, at the very last instant swinging right and exiting off the highway. He made the tight turn safely, despite the startled squeal of tires, and came to a stop at the traffic lights.

“Nicely done.” Quinn was still watching the road behind them.