Mason leapt into his car, forced it to life, then tore out of the parking spot at record speed. A trail of smoke fumed behind him, the cars in front hesitant to move in case he should crash into them. Thankfully, he had enough driving skill to avoid them.
It was the rest that worried him.
No cops, he reminded himself as he reached for his phone. Did Bill technically count as a cop? Sure, he had been involved in the “death” of Marvin Wendell, but that didn’t mean he had to be here tonight. Even if he was—and a great help he could sometimes be—Mason had no clue as to his friend’s condition. Maybe he could be up and walking about, maybe not. Either way, he had suffered enough for one day.
Mason tossed his phone onto the passenger seat and focused on the road ahead. Bright lights shone through the darkness, intensifying his pounding headache. The stress was finally catching up to him, making him dizzy and weak. He squinted against the blinding headlights and stared at the clock on the dashboard.
Time was running out.
Pushing his foot down on the pedal, the car picked up speed, accelerating quickly as it hurled him across town like a slingshot. But was it fast enough? Every twisted possible outcome of tonight flickered through his mind like a slideshow. In very few of them did he survive the killer’s trial, but he was okay with that—as long as Diane made it out, who cared?
Mason dry-swallowed, shifted gears, and vanished in the direction of the hills.