Page 87 of The Vigilante's Lover
Holy crap, this car. I feel like Jax!
The accelerator moves almost on its own, as if it can sense when I want to speed up or slow down. I’m distracted by the screen in the dash and the displays on the windshield. When I run off the road for the third time in five minutes, a sultry female voice from the speakers asks, “Would you like to commence auto-drive?”
I wonder what that entails. Is it like cruise control, where it manages your speed? Jax sometimes turned all the way around in his car, paying no attention to the steering wheel.
“Yes,” I say.
But as soon as my voice is registered, the voice says, “Authentication needed.”
I don’t see or hear anything scanning me, but I sense I’m being monitored.
“Pulse rate elevated,” the voice says. “Heat signature not in database.”
The car starts to slow down. I push on the accelerator, but nothing happens.
Crap!
“I’m Mia Morrow,” I say quickly, then add, “A special.”
I’m trying to impress a car.
“Mia Morrow verified.” The car begins to speed up again. “Auto-drive initiated.”
The wheel starts to move beneath my hands. It neatly manages a curve.
We pass a speed limit sign and the voice says, “Please state your preferences for our records. Speed limit? Below or above? Provide your answer in five-mile-per-hour increments.”
“Speed limit,” I say. The car slows down to precisely sixty-five miles per hour.
Well, that’s boring. “Actually,” I add, “one hundred miles per hour over the speed limit.”
The car shoots forward like a rocket. A visible beam shoots out ahead of the car, following the white line to guide its direction.
I clutch at the wheel, but the movements are disconcerting, so I let go again and grip my seat belt, which has tightened down against me.
“Destination?” the car asks.
“Uh, actually, let’s do the speed limit again,” I say.
The car glides to a normal speed. The light beam goes out, although the steering wheel continues to follow the curve of the road. I guess it takes bonus tech to auto-drive at high speeds.
“Destination?” the voice asks again.
I don’t know what to tell it. “Jax De Luca?” I ask.
“Whereabouts unknown,” it says. “Last known location: Ridley Prison. Would you like to go to Ridley Prison?”
“No,” I say quickly. Weird it doesn’t know Jax was at a silo a few days ago. But I definitely don’t want to go to the jail. For all I know the car will bust through the walls. I think for a second. “Colette,” I say. Shoot, I don’t know her last name.
“There are 17,576 women with the name Colette in the mainland USA,” the voice says. “Please narrow your choices.”
“Colette the Vigilante,” I say.
“Mia Morrow is not authorized for that information,” the voice says.
Well, boo.
I can’t go to a silo. I can’t get to Jax or Colette.
