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Half an hour later, the car entered the city.

I asked him to drop me at the intersection — better not to be seen.

"And if you are?"

He saved the location in his navigation anyway.

I reached for the door handle. It didn't open. I kicked the bottom of it.

"Piece of junk."

"People who haven't ridden in decent cars always say that."

Dominic released his seatbelt and leaned halfway across. I pressed back into the seat; he glanced at me, expression neutral, and reached past me to flick a switch at the top of the door frame.

Still looking at me. "It's open."

I shoved him back, got out, and walked without turning around.

When I finally did look back, the Bentley was already gone. He really did drive fast.

The light was fading. I'd been running on empty for hours. I walked along the street with no energy left, and then I stopped.

Elliot was standing right ahead.

"What are you doing here?"

He put his arm around my shoulders, easy as anything. "You said you'd caught a cab. I figured you'd get out around here." His eyes moved over me, corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "Outside traffic gets complicated further in."

I didn't know if he'd seen Dominic's car or not. He didn't bring it up, so I let it go.

I said nothing.

Elliot pulled me closer, leaned in, and inhaled slowly over my hair. "No alcohol. Some perfume. And..." He paused. "Motor oil?"

His nose was something else.

Fine. Invest in it in the next life.

"I told you — I got hit. Motor oil makes sense."

"As long as you're not hurt." He took my hand.

I pulled free. He caught my wrist and held it. I stopped resisting.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I looked at him. The audacity of the question.

"Fine. Whatever."

Fine. We'd keep walking like this until the day it ended.