Vance had just merged onto I-40 East when his amber eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. The playful smirk he'd held since the hotel vanished instantly. "Vlad, don't look now, but we've got company. Three cars back."
A heavy, matte-black Cadillac Escalade SUV with tinted windows and no plates had swerved through two lanes of traffic to stay on their tail. It moved with an aggressive, predatory rhythm, mimicking Vance's every lane change.
"It's the second wave from last night," Vlad muttered, his hand dropping to the suppressed pistol holstered at his hip. "They didn't give up on the drive."
"They're bold, I'll give 'em that. Trying to hit us in broad daylight on the way to the airport," Vance said, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the steering wheel of the Mustang Mach-E. He tapped the screen of his iPhone, which was still docked to the dash. "I'm trying to ping their comms, but they're running a military-grade scrambler. They aren't local cops, Vlad. These guys are high-tier."
The Cadillac suddenly surged forward, its massive engine roaring as it closed the gap between them. It lunged toward the Mustang's rear bumper, clearly intending to PIT maneuver them into the concrete barrier.
"Vance, floor it," Vlad commanded, his gaze fixed on the side mirror. "We can't let them box us in before we hit the hangar."
Vance didn't need to be told twice. He slammed his foot down, and the Mach-E's electric motors screamed with instant torque, throwing them back into their seats as the car lunged forward, weaving through the morning Nashville traffic at a breakneck speed. Behind them, the Cadillac didn't flinch, effortlessly keeping pace and beginning to pull alongside them.
The heavy Cadillac Escalade lurched forward, its massive grill slamming into the rear bumper of the Mustang with a jarring metallic crunch. The impact sent a violent shudder through the Mach-E, causing the SUV to swerve momentarily as its tires shrieked against the Nashville asphalt.
Vance fought the steering wheel, his muscles straining to keep the electric car from spinning out into the morning commuters. "They're playing for keeps!" he yelled over the roar of the wind.
Vlad didn't waste a breath. He unbuckled his seatbelt and stayed low, crawling over the center console and into the back seat as the Mustang stabilized. He kicked out the remaining glass of the rear window, creating a clear line of sight. He drew his suppressed pistol, bracing his elbows against the seatback for stability, and aimed for the lead SUV's front left tire. He squeezed the trigger twice; the suppressed thud-thud was nearly lost in the wind, but the Escalade's tire disintegrated into rubber shreds, forcing the driver to veer sharply into the shoulder.
His victory was short-lived. Two more black SUVs roared out from the traffic, flanking the Mustang like a pair of wolves. One of the contractors leaned out of a passenger window, a submachine gun in hand. A deafening spray of gunfire erupted, and the Mustang's rear window glass flew off in a thousand sparkling shards, peppering the interior.
"Duck!" Vlad roared.
Both men tucked their heads below the dashboard and seatbacks as stray bullets shredded the headrests and punched holes through the roof liner. The smell of ionized air and spent brass filled the cabin as the Mach-E became a high-speed target on the I-40.