“It’s an app that bypasses those kinds of sensors.” Again, he took her hand, and together they crossed the parking lot, running to their cars while trying not to draw too much attention. “Pretty ridiculous the police use such a rudimentary system, but not surprising. The app interfaces with the system, working like a security badge.”

She stopped between her car and his. “What are you, a jewel thief?”

“I gave that up years ago.” He opened the driver’s side door of his car and jutted his chin. “Get in.”

She folded her arms. “Why do we have to take your car?”

“Rachel, we have about ten seconds before they figure out we’re missing.” He braced his hands on the roof, his jaw tense. “Get. In. The. Car.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she opened the passenger-side door and slid into his silver Mustang. That man was so bossy. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten how much his behavior infuriated her.

Within seconds, he tore out of the parking lot and zoomed toward the highway, each block taking her farther and farther away from the story that would have catapulted her to the top in her field. She held her breath, checking the mirrors for signs they were being followed. Part of her wanted to protest and go back to the police station, but rationally, she knew they had no other choice. They had to run.

A police car turned from a side street, merging into traffic and following right behind them. “We’ve got company,” she said, wiping her damp palms on her pants. Neither one of them spoke, waiting for the cop to turn on his siren and demand they pull over. It was as if they were running out of oxygen and they were afraid to take a breath or move a muscle. Only when the police car switched lanes a couple of minutes later and drove past them did they relax. “You think they’ve figured out we’re missing yet?”

“Even if they have, they’ll waste time looking up my car’s registration. By the time they do, we’ll be in the city. We’ve got a few minutes before they can put out the APB.” While zigzagging through lanes of traffic, he slid his cell from his pocket and dialed. “I’ve got a situation and need your expertise. I’m in the mood for a BLT. Heavy on the bacon. I’ll meet you by our usual place. Ten minutes.” She heard a man swearing on the other end. “I don’t have an hour, Willie. Tell your date for the night you got somewhere to be. I’ll make it up to you next time you need my expertise, you get what I’m saying?” He paused. “Yeah. Good deal.”

Seriously, that was his plan? Hope the cholesterol in the sandwich would kill him before those FBI agents did?

She tapped her fingernails on the window. “A BLT? We’ve got the FBI and the police after us, and you’re picking up a sandwich?”

Getting off the highway, he glanced over at her. “Willie’s my client. I didn’t order a sandwich from him. I let him know I’ve got the cops on me and that I needed some new wheels.”

“He’s going to give you his car?”

Logan’s hands tightened on the wheel. “We’re going to trade cars.”

Understanding dawned. “Wait, he’s one of your clients? You mean a criminal?”

The sides of his lips twitched. “He’s never been convicted.”

She didn’t miss that he’d circumvented the question. The man was a car thief. She’d bet the only reason he hadn’t been convicted of the crime was because he had Logan defending him in court. “He’s giving us a stolen car? Why do we need a stolen car?”

“Rach, we’re the only witnesses to the murder of a mobster by FBI agents. If it came down to it, who do you think the cops will believe? The FBI or two murder suspects? We need to go off the grid for a while until we can figure out what’s going on.”

For more reasons than she could count on both her hands and feet, going off the grid with Logan Bradford was the last thing she needed. Most important, she had to stay and report the story or risk losing her chance at winning a job in the New York market. The Rinaldi murder was the biggest story of her career. Plus, spending an extended period of time with Logan was bound to end in another murder because she’d likely kill him. There had to be another solution. “Don’t you have a friend from the FBI who helped you when Rinaldi kidnapped Danielle? Why can’t we call him?”

“I don’t need to call him. As soon as he hears what’s up, he’ll start digging on his own.” He frowned, driving into a Detroit neighborhood she reported from on a weekly basis due to its high incidence of murders. “The FBI works like the military. You follow the orders of your superior or risk court-martial. There’s nothing he can do at this point. His hands are tied.”

She unzipped her purse and pulled out her iPhone. “Let me call my boss from the news station. He can—”

“No.” He grabbed it out of her hands and pitched it out the window. “No cell calls.”

She didn’t bother containing her anger. Who the hell did he think he was? Her father? “Why’d you do that?”

“FBI can trace it.”

“You just called your friend.”

He patted the pocket of his jeans where he’d placed his phone after his call to his car-thieving client. “I’ve got a signal jammer on mine to keep anyone from tracing our location or listening in on the conversation.”

She huffed. On the run with Logan and without her cell was her version of hell. “Then why’d you speak in code with the BLT talk?”

“In case it didn’t work.” Shrugging, he pulled into a dark parking lot of a twenty-four-hour hot dog joint and cut the engine. “Nothing’s foolproof. Always have a backup plan.”

Craning her head to check the environment, she was relieved by the absence of cops in the area. Of course, this neighborhood, referred to in the media as “murder central,” was known for the lack of police presence. While tonight that worked in their favor, she wondered why Logan didn’t meet this guy at his law office like a normal attorney.

A metal banging coming from the back end of the car caused her to jump in her seat. Some guy walked around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. She stuck her hand in her purse again, this time wrapping her fingers around her pepper spray.

Logan jutted his chin, his hand on the handle of the door. “Get out of the car.”

She glared at him. “Stop ordering me around. I’m not one of your bondage bunnies from the club.”

Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his stubbly jaw. “Sorry. Get out of the car. Please.”

Her friends had regaled her with stories of Logan’s chivalry, but she had yet to see it. Apparently, Kate and Danielle got to experience Logan the knight in shining armor while she got Logan the Neanderthal.

Not taking her hand off her spray, she slid out of the car and got a good look at whom she assumed was Logan’s client. With a baby face like his, he couldn’t be more than twenty-one years old. “Hey, man,” he said, shaking Logan’s hand. “Gotta say, I never expected a call like that from you. Not setting me up, are you?”

“No.” Logan slid his gaze toward her before returning to Willie. “I’ve got a little situation and just need to lie low for a bit. I really appreciate this.”

“You’ve saved my ass. ’Bout time I got to return the favor.” Willie lovingly caressed the hood of Logan’s car. “I hate to chop your ride though. Why don’t I just—”

“No, take it to your shop and do your magic,” Logan said, tossing his keys to Willie. “I want it gone.”

Willie pocketed the keys and did a double take as he noticed her standing to the right of the passenger door. Brows furrowed as he stared at her, he dropped a different set of keys into Logan’s waiting hand. Willie’s eyes widened in recognition and he snapped his fingers. “Hey, aren’t you Rachel Dawson from Channel Five? You’re even hotter in person.”

“Back off, Willie,” Logan warned.

Willie’s gaze bounced between her and Logan, a slow smile breaking out. “Oh, that’s how it is. I get it.”