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But there's nothing.

I shrug and twist back around. Must be T being paranoid about something. Seconds tick by and still Grem doesn't turn, continuing to stare out the back window.

“There,” he shouts, startling me. “I see it. Black Escalade. It cut between us and the follow Suburban. Seems to be taking every turn we do.”

“Fuck,” T and Trey say together. In the rearview, their eyes meet.

“What's going on, guys?” I say, trying to temper the nervous high pitch of my voice. But no one responds. The cab of the Suburban settles with an eerily tense silence.

T bellowing my name is the only warning before he slams on the brakes. The car skids along the dark asphalt, the screeching of tires bouncing off the nearby buildings. I lurch forward and my neck snaps as the seat belt catches, preventing my face from colliding with the back of the driver seat. The back end fishtails, tossing me one way and then the other.

Wide-eyed, I search for Trey through the madness. Now unbuckled, braced between the front passenger seat and his own, he’s aiming the large gun out the back window.

“Hold on,” T shouts.

I throw both hands out, grasping for anything to steady myself for whatever's about to come. T slams on the gas, jerking me backward at the force of the sudden acceleration. I sway as we weave in and out of the slower cars.

“Did we lose them?” T barks.

“No,” both Trey and Grem respond.

“We have another visitor too,” Trey shouts. His gaze flicks from the back windshield to me. “It's okay, Mess. We'll be all right. Trust me.”

My head snaps up and down in a jerky nod. I do trust him, but that doesn’t calm my heart from thundering against my chest.

“Get us out of downtown,” Trey shouts to Grem.

“Trying,” he growls in return as he flips through the Nav. “Here.” Slamming a finger onto the screen, a new route appears. “This takes us to the local FBI office.”

“FBI?” Trey and T shout, sounding annoyed rather than happy.

“Those fuckers won't do anything,” T growls as he jerks the wheel right to avoid slamming into a slow older Ford truck.

I shoot out an arm, bracing it on the center console to keep from toppling onto Trey.

“I knew this was a bad fucking idea.”

Why the hell T's words make me sad, I have no fucking clue. Hot tears well along my lower lids, threatening to spill over. “I'm sorry,” I choke out around the burning of unshed tears now clogging my throat.

“Fucking hell, Randi. You get your shit together and don't fucking cry on me, you hear me?” T yells. “I didn't mean it like that and you know it. I'm just… fuck!”

For once my body doesn't respond to his direct command. In fact, it does the opposite. Warm tears stream down my cheeks, dripping from my chin onto my gray long-sleeve T–shirt.

“I can't help it, you ass,” I yell, swiping away the traitorous tears with the back of both hands. “It just happens. I'm telling Sarah you yelled at me.” Okay, not the best comeback, but it’s all I can come up with at the moment.

“Wow, she's pulling out the big guns,” Trey says, his serious tone completely lacking his normal happy-go-lucky pitch.

“Everyone hold on,” T warns.

The soft leather digs beneath my nails as I tighten my grip and slam my eyes shut, preparing for the worst.

The squealing of tires rips through my ears. Reflexively, my shoulders shoot up in an attempt to protect my hearing from the piercing sound. T shouts something, sending the other two into a flurry of movement. The seat belt snaps against my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs and whipping my head forward, nailing the headrest of the driver seat.

“Tank,” Trey shouts. The unease in his tone shoots my panic into overdrive. Strong hands unclick my seat belt and shove me to the floorboard. “Careful, you ass.”

“Stay down,” Grem yells above my head. “Fuck, this is bad. What the hell is going on?”

Using their bickering as a distraction, I press both palms to the coarse black floor mats to slowly rise up. Peering over the armrest, I glance right and then left, making sure no one is paying attention before popping up to look out the front windshield.