Let’s do this, Grey.

“Here.” I toss the R8 key at Anastasia. She catches it with one hand. “Don’t bend it or I will be fucking pissed.”

“Are you sure?” Her voice is full of excitement.

“Yes, before I change my mind.”

What’s mine is yours, baby. Even this…I think.

She lights up like Christmas, and rolling my eyes at her elation, I open the driver’s door to let her in. She starts the engine before I’m even in the car.

“Eager, Mrs. Grey?” I ask as I fasten my seat belt.

“Very.” She flashes me a wild-eyed smile and I wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake. She doesn’t take the top down—my girl is not wasting any time. Slowly, she reverses so that she can turn the car around in the driveway. I glance behind us, and Sawyer and Ryan are scrambling into the SUV.

Where were they?

Ana reaches the end of the driveway and glances nervously at me. Her early bravado has slipped a little. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes,” I lie.

She inches out into the road and I brace myself. As soon as she’s on the pavement, she puts the pedal to the metal and we shoot down the street.

Fuck. “Whoa! Ana! Slow down! You’ll kill us both!”

She eases off the accelerator. “Sorry,” she says, but I know from her tone she’s anything but, and I’m reminded of our time, only yesterday, on the Jet Ski.

I smirk at her. “Well, that counts as misbehaving.”

Ana slows down a little more.

Good. That’s got her attention.

She drives steadily along Lake Washington Boulevard and through the Tenth Street intersection. My phone buzzes. “Shit.” I struggle to retrieve it from my jeans. It’s Sawyer. “What?” I snap.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Grey. Are you aware of the Black Dodge following you?”

“No.” Turning around, I survey the street behind us through the cramped rear window of the R8, but as we’re on a bend, I don’t see any cars.

“Mrs. Grey is driving?”

“Yes. She is.” Ana turns onto Eighty-Fourth Avenue.

“The Dodge set off after you left. The driver was waiting in the car. We ran the plates. They’re fake. We don’t want to take any chances. Could be nothing. Or it could be something.”

“I see.” Myriad thoughts dart through my mind. Maybe this is just a coincidence. No. After everything that’s happened recently, this can’t be a coincidence. And whoever is following us could be armed. My scalp prickles with alarm. How could this have happened? Sawyer and Ryan were out there the whole time. Weren’t they? They didn’t think it odd that someone was sitting in a car? Did it follow us to my parents’ place?

“Do you want to try to lose them?” Sawyer asks.

“Yes.”

“Will Mrs. Grey be okay?”

“I don’t know.”

When has she ever let me down?

Ana is concentrating on the road ahead, but her earlier spirit has vanished and her grip on the steering wheel has tightened; she’s figured out something’s wrong. “We’re fine. Keep going,” I tell her in the most soothing tone I can muster.

Her eyes widen, and I know I’ve failed to reassure her.

Shit. I pick up the phone again. Sawyer is talking. “We haven’t been able to get a close look at the driver. The 520 is probably the best place to try. Mrs. Grey could try to lose them there, too. The Dodge is no match for the R8.”

“Okay, on the 520. As soon as we hit it.” I say.

Damn, I wish I was driving.

“We’ll be right behind the Dodge. We’ll try to come alongside it. Are you okay with this?

“Yes.”

“Do you want to put us on speaker, so Mrs. Grey can hear us?”

“I will.”

I slot the phone onto the speaker cradle.

“What’s wrong, Christian?”

“Just look where you’re going, baby,” I murmur gently. “I don’t want you to panic, but as soon as we’re on the 520 proper, I want you to step on the gas. We’re being followed.”

Ana blinks several times as she absorbs this news, and the color drains from her cheeks.

Shit.

She sits up straighter and squints into the rearview mirror, no doubt trying to identify our pursuer.

“Keep your eyes on the road, baby.” I speak softly. Calmly. I don’t want to spook Ana any more than she’s spooked already. We just need to get back to Escala as quickly as possible and lose this asshole.

“How do we know we’re being followed?” Her voice is high-pitched and breathless.

“The Dodge behind us has false license plates.”

She drives carefully across the Twenty-Eighth Street intersection, around the roundabout and up the 520 on-ramp. Traffic is light, so that’s something. Ana’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, then she takes a deep breath and abruptly seems to slow down.

Ana, what are you doing?

She’s studying the flow of traffic; suddenly she drops a gear and floors the gas so we shoot forward through a break in the traffic onto the highway. The Dodge has to slow right down to a crawl to wait for a gap to follow us.

Whoa. Ana. Clever girl!

But we’re going too fast!

“Steady, baby.” I keep my voice even, though inside my stomach is in knots. She drops her speed and starts to weave between the two lanes. Knotting my hands together, I hold them in my lap so I don’t distract her. “Good girl.” I glance behind us. “I can’t see the Dodge.”