"What so funny?" he asks.

"I love this truck. I might have to buy me one. Ask Spencer if I can have it."

Ford repeats what I said and I can tell he's laughing. I barely make out Spencer's retort, but Ford repeats it for me. "He said if you help him get the full season, this will be one of the many signing bonuses he offers up for the contract."

I buckle myself in, then turn the ignition. The beast rumbles to life and I let out a little squeal. "OK, I'll do my best, Spence." Thankfully this thing is an automatic, so I put it in gear and gun it out of the parking lot, Ford and Spencer following along in the van with the crew, yelling in my ear to slow down.

But my foot has other ideas. I haven't driven in a while and I've never driven a truck. My lead foot is getting even heavier now, so the beast lurches forward with power. I roll my window down and pump my fist back at them as I whoop it up.

And promptly get flashing red and blue lights for my trouble.

"Oh, shit! The po-nine's here!"

"Rook," Ford says very seriously in my earpiece, "do you have a license?"

I pull off to the side of the totally abandoned road. How the hell did the cops even see me out here? We're like ten miles out of town. "Yes, but it's still Illinois."

The cop pulls in behind me and then the van pulls in behind the cop. Spencer jumps out and tries to run interference. He shakes hands with the cop and they walk up to my window together.

"Ma'am—" I'm suddenly having flashbacks of Ronin checking me for drugs and a laugh bursts out.

Spencer and the cop look at me funny.

"I'm not drinking, I swear."

"What?" the cop asks.

"I'm just saying, I'm not drunk or anything, officer. It's just I've never driven a truck like this before and it was so much fun, I got a little carried away." I stop to bat my eyelashes at him. "I'm sorry, I'll tone it down, OK?"

"License and registration."

Fucktard. I reach into my pocket and pull out my license and hand it over. Spencer's already on the other side of the truck fishing through the glove box for the insurance card and registration. When he finds them he hands the papers to me and I pass them along.

The cop takes them, eyeballing Spencer as he shuffles through the glove box, trying to hide a gun under some Dairy Queen napkins. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."

"It's permitted, Scott. You wanna see my concealed carry card?"

"Only if it has her name on it, Spencer. She's the one driving the truck."

I glance over at Spencer and raise my eyebrows. He just shakes his head until the cop walks back to his car and gets inside.

"Goddamn it, Rook! You're on the road thirty seconds and you get pulled over!"

"Am I gonna get busted for that gun in the glove box?"

"I'm not sure. He could be a dick about that, but it's not technically illegal—we could fight it. I forgot it was in here to be honest, I have guns stashed everywhere. And you driving like Danica Patrick isn't f**king helping the situation. This might be the Wild West, but you can't piss off the locals like that, Rook!"

"That's not fair, Spencer! It's the middle of nowhere!" I look around trying to figure out where the cop came from but all I see is a little dirt road that leads up a hill and some cows munching on grass across the way.

"Well, if you'd listened to me when you were busy gunnin' it, I would've told you that a cop lives right up that road and that's where he eats his lunch every day."

"Oh."

Ford walks up and leans in my window. "This is good TV, Rook. Nice going."

"It wasn't a plan, you dickbitch," Spencer growls at him. "This guy hates my guts and he just saw my f**king piece in the glove box, so let's not piss him off, OK?"

We wait there in silence for what seems like eternity and then the cop finally comes back, writing something down on a pad of paper.

"Scott," Spencer says, trying to begin the negotiations that are surely coming. "Don't be an ass**le. You know my trucks are legal, you know that gun is mine. She's new, she was having a little fun, she's—"

"She's got a missing person's report out on her in Illinois. Some guy who says he's her husband, Jon Walsh."

I lean out the window and puke right on Ford's shoes.

Chapter Twenty-Six - ROOK

"Rook?" Spencer and Ford are saying my name together but all I can do is try to remember how to breathe. "Rook? Stop, Rook. Look at me!"

"Get her out of the truck. Take her out!" The cop is pushing Ford to get out of the way and trying to open the door but I'm grasping onto the window and pulling in the opposite direction because I feel like I'm dying.

I'm dying.

He's found me.

I grab at Ford's shirt, pulling him towards me as I gasp for breath. "Help me! I can't—"

"She's just hyperventilating. Rook, look at me." I look up at the cop and he's pointing to his eyes. "Look at me, OK? Can you look at me?"

I nod, my breathing becoming harder and harder.

"Do you have any breathing conditions? Do I need to call an ambulance?"

I shake my head as I continue to sob and gasp for air.

"OK. Listen, I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just going to put my hand over your mouth and pinch one nostril closed. Then you can only breathe through one side of your nose. This will help you calm down, OK?"