Page 41 of The Vigilante's Lover

Holy crap, this car. I feel like Jax!

The accelerator moves almost on its own, as if it can sense when I want to speed up or slow down.

I’m distracted by the screen in the dash and the displays on the windshield.

When I run off the road for the third time in five minutes, a sultry female voice from the speakers asks, “Would you like to commence auto-drive?”

I wonder what that entails. Is it like cruise control, where it manages your speed? Jax sometimes turned all the way around in his car, paying no attention to the steering wheel.

“Yes,” I say.

But as soon as my voice is registered, the voice says, “Authentication needed.”

I don’t see or hear anything scanning me, but I sense I’m being monitored.

“Pulse rate elevated,” the voice says. “Heat signature not in database.”

The car starts to slow down. I push on the accelerator, but nothing happens.

Crap!

“I’m Mia Morrow,” I say quickly, then add, “A special.”

I’m trying to impress a car.

“Mia Morrow verified.” The car begins to speed up again. “Auto-drive initiated.”

The wheel starts to move beneath my hands. It neatly manages a curve.

We pass a speed limit sign and the voice says, “Please state your preferences for our records. Speed limit? Below or above? Provide your answer in five-mile-per-hour increments.”

“Speed limit,” I say. The car slows down to precisely sixty-five miles per hour.

Well, that’s boring. “Actually,” I add, “one hundred miles per hour over the speed limit.”

The car shoots forward like a rocket. A visible beam shoots out ahead of the car, following the white line to guide its direction.

I clutch at the wheel, but the movements are disconcerting, so I let go again and grip my seat belt, which has tightened down against me.

“Destination?” the car asks.

“Uh, actually, let’s do the speed limit again,” I say.

The car glides to a normal speed. The light beam goes out, although the steering wheel continues to follow the curve of the road. I guess it takes bonus tech to auto-drive at high speeds.

“Destination?” the voice asks again.

I don’t know what to tell it. “Jax De Luca?” I ask.

“Whereabouts unknown,” it says. “Last known location: Ridley Prison. Would you like to go to Ridley Prison?”

“No,” I say quickly. Weird it doesn’t know Jax was at a silo a few days ago. But I definitely don’t want to go to the jail. For all I know the car will bust through the walls. I think for a second. “Colette,” I say. Shoot, I don’t know her last name.

“There are 17,576 women with the name Colette in the mainland USA,” the voice says. “Please narrow your choices.”

“Colette the Vigilante,” I say.

“Mia Morrow is not authorized for that information,” the voice says.

Well, boo.

I can’t go to a silo. I can’t get to Jax or Colette.

The road is quiet. Only the occasional car passes, its headlights piercing the dark.

“Destination?” the car insists.

I’m beginning to hate her. “Stop auto-drive,” I say. Maybe now she’ll leave me alone.

I hold on to the wheel again. I’m probably a sitting duck in this car. As soon as Klaus gets free, he’ll alert someone. He might even be able to take control of his vehicle remotely.

What was I thinking?

Still, the giddiness of being in such a car doesn’t fade.

“Does this car have a stealth mode?” I ask.

“This Aston Martin is equipped with three cloaking levels,” it says. “One. Heat and infrared. Two. Radar and transmissions. Three. Low visibility.”

“I want them all,” I say.

“Reminders. All internal heating will be turned off. All ability to communicate will be cut. Low visibility can only be achieved in certain light levels and environments.”

“Fine, fine,” I say. “Just do it.”

“Cloaking levels one, two, and three initiated,” it says.

I try to relax. I figure Pale Boy and whoever sent him will think I’m clueless. Hopefully this car is smarter than they are.

I drive for another hour, fighting sleep. I don’t know where I’m headed or what I’m doing next. When I feel like I’ve done enough random zigzagging on highways and back roads to make it difficult to figure out my path, I pull over beside a twenty-four-hour convenience store to look at my stash.

“Can I get a light?” I ask the car.

“Interior lights will compromise cloaking levels one and three.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “It’s just for a minute.”

An overhead light pops on.

The sight of my grandma’s quilt gives me some comfort in the unfamiliar car. I’m glad I took it. I don’t know if I’ll ever get home again.

The pile of gadgets I took doesn’t mean anything to me. The watch, the shoes, bits of metal with no obvious use. Two slender metal wands. The big onyx ring I was wearing is in there. It must have fallen off my finger during the struggle. I put it on again.

I sit back against the driver’s seat. What am I doing here? Nobody knows where Jax is. This car won’t help me.

Maybe I should just drive to the silo and take my chances.

“Your temperature and pulse indicate fatigue and hunger,” the car says. “Would you like a cold beverage or caffeine shot?”

“Yes to the cold beverage,” I say. Good thing, since I don’t have a penny to my name to even walk into the convenience store.

A list of drinks scrolls on the dashboard screen. I choose “Mr. Pibb” and have to smile that my would-be abductor has the same soft-drink preferences as me.

A buzzing sound by my elbow makes me shift nearer the door. The console opens and a can of Mr. Pibb rises from inside.

This, I understand. I take the can. Can Vigilantes get anything they want, anytime they want it? I remember Jax calling that guy to bring me clothes. Who was that? Armond? I had been half asleep, but I caught the end of the conversation.

Armond. Could he find Jax for me?

If this is Klaus’s car, he would know Armond too. And Armond isn’t a Vigilante, so it shouldn’t snub me.

“I need to contact someone,” I tell the car.

“This will compromise cloaking level two,” the voice says.

“Fine. Whatever. Please contact Armond,” I say. Then I realize, shoot, I don’t know his last name either.

“There are 1,598 men with the name Armond in the mainland USA—”

“The one who designs Jax’s suits.”

“Contact found. Would you like a secure transmission?”

My heart speeds up. “Yes,” I say.

“Connecting.”

It’s going to do it!

After a moment, the bald man I remember from before comes onscreen. “Identify yourself,” he barks. Then his face softens when he sees me. “Who are you?” he asks.

“I’m a friend of Jax,” I say quickly. “The girl he got the clothes for.”

Armond frowns. “I’ve made a lot of women’s clothes —”

“Recently,” I say. I don’t want to know about all the clothes Jax has commissioned for other women. “In St. Louis. The red sweater dress and blue pantsuit.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, sitting back. “Que bonita, very slight. Did you like the clothes? Jax favors the color red.”

“I noticed,” I say. “I need to find him.”

Armond laughs. “Many a pretty lady has tried to locate the elusive Jax.”

My face burns hot. “Not like that. I — I stole a car for him.”

Armond sobers and looks around me. “Who’s had this car?”

“I don’t know. A man came and tied me up. I got free. Jax would want to know.”

“What sort of man?” Armond asks.

“Pale. German accent.”

“Dios,” Armond says. “This is interesting.”

“Can you find him for me? Or at least get him a message?”

“I can try,” he says.

“Tell him the safe house was compromised again. A man, slightly shorter than Jax, pale, blond, with a German accent. He wanted to know why Jax was interested in me.”

“Are you safe?” Armond’s bushy eyebrows draw together in concern.

“I don’t know,” I say, trying to force a laugh. “I did steal this car!”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“I’m figuring it out. I have it cloaked.”

He nods. “Good, good.” He glances down. “You sent this securely. Do you want to unencrypt it so I can send Jax your location?”

Unease flows through me. “No. Just tell him to meet me —” I try to think. What sort of code could I use about where to go?

A map is projected on the screen. I’m in a small town called Jamestown. But I’m just twenty miles from one named Alpine.

“Tell Jax I learned how to tie an alpine coil in Tennessee,” I say.

“All right,” Armond says. “I will try. Be careful.”

“I will.”

The screen reverts to its standard line of commands.

I can only hope Jax isn’t too far away.