I squinted and gripped the steering wheel at ten and two.

The digital timer on the dashboard ticked down.

*00:11:04.*

The Escalade lunged forward, striking my rear bumper with a dull, heavy thud.

My tires lost traction for a fraction of a second on the wet asphalt.

I corrected the skid, steering into the slide until the rubber gripped the road again.

“They’re pushing me, Vance,” I said.

“We have units moving to intercept,” Vance replied. “Do not let them force you off the road.”

The Escalade pulled into the left lane, drawing parallel to my driver’s side door.

The passenger window of the SUV was tinted black, but it began to slide down.

I saw the dark barrel of a weapon emerging from the opening.

I slammed on the brakes.

The heavy sedan groaned, the anti-lock braking system pulsing violently under my foot.

The Escalade shot ahead, its driver unprepared for the sudden deceleration.

I cranked the wheel to the right, taking a sharp turn onto a narrow side street lined with overhanging oak trees.

The Escalade’s brake lights flared red in the mist as the driver attempted to follow.