“Too late,” Mara said, looking in her rearview mirror.

I turned around in my seat.

Through the smeared rear window, two sets of headlights had just swerved across three lanes of traffic behind us.

They were moving fast, ignoring the speed limit and the slick pavement.

“Sedans or SUVs?” I asked.

“Large,” Mara said, stepping on the gas. “Black Ford Explorers. Standard contractor issue.”

Our sedan surged forward, the engine whining against the wet wind.

The rain was coming down harder now, turning the red brake lights ahead of us into streaks of smeared paint.

“They have our telemetry from the monitor,” I said.

I grabbed the portable monitor and tried to wedge my pocketknife into the seam of the casing.

The blade slipped, slicing a shallow cut into my thumb.

Blood dripped onto the glowing screen.

“Natalie, focus,” Mara yelled over the roar of the engine. “Can you disable the transmitter?”

“It’s potted in epoxy,” I said, looking at the solid blue plastic inside the seam. “She sealed it.”

Behind us, the headlights grew larger, brighter, blinding in the side mirrors.