Mitch’s head snapped around, and he glared at Sissy. “You promised me!”

Sissy turned back to face forward as the light dropped to green. “I lied,” she said simply before gunning the engine.

Mitch gripped the dashboard. If his love of cars didn’t border on the religious, he’d have started ripping that dashboard apart. But he simply couldn’t. He simply couldn’t do that to this beauty. So instead, he held on for dear life and prayed to any available higher powers for help.

But when he wasn’t trying not to pee his pants in fear, Mitch had to secretly admire the way these two females handled cars. Ronnie hit a tight turn, and Sissy was right with her. She didn’t flinch; she didn’t even look stressed. At one point, she even said, “Did you see that?”

“See what?” And he couldn’t keep his voice from breaking as tires squealed.

“Boot sale at Marlands. We are so going back there later.”

How she even saw that he’d never know. He couldn’t do anything but stare blindly at the upcoming road, praying that something wouldn’t suddenly appear. They quickly took the race out of downtown and to the backwoods. Now Mitch understood why the roads were so wide. So two cars could race side by side. From what Mitch could tell, the entire town—not just the Smiths—was filled with the descendants of bootleggers who, when they weren’t running from the local law, were racing each other for kicks.

Ronnie passed Sissy, and Sissy let out a curse, but not in English.

“Was that German?”

“Cursing in German sounds much cooler, don’t ya think?”

He didn’t have time to answer as Sissy shot past Ronnie, her evil cackle doing nothing but making his already queasy stomach a little queasier.

Mitch gripped the dashboard tighter as Ronnie pulled up beside them, the two of them hitting speeds that couldn’t be remotely legal in any country on the planet.

“Are you praying?” she asked.

“I was raised a good Irish Catholic. When you know you’re gonna die, you pray.”

“Oh, calm the—fuck!”

Mitch’s head snapped up in time to see a Smithtown sheriff’s car parked sideways, completely blocking the road. The sheriff leaning against the door, his arms crossed over his chest—he’d been waiting for them.

“Sissy…”

She didn’t answer, too busy hitting the brakes and spinning the car to the left, while Ronnie spun hers to the right so they wouldn’t collide with each other in their effort to not hit the sheriff.

When they came to a screeching, squealing, grinding stop, Mitch realized his side of the car was about five inches away from a rather enormous tree. Visions of him and the car wrapped around that tree trunk did nothing for his current lack ofequilibrium.

Gripping the steering wheel, Sissy had her eyes shut and kept muttering, “Shit, shit, shit,” over and over again. Although Mitch didn’t think her current chant had anything to do with their near miss of the tree. He was positive of that fact when the bullhorn went off.

“Sissy. Mae. Smith. Get. Your. Ass. Out. Of. The. Car—Now!”

Sissy cringed even as she reached for the door handle. She’d barely gotten it open when a big hand reached in, grabbed her by the ear, and dragged her out.

“Owww!”

“Barely back two days, and already I find you breaking every law ever put on the damn books.”

“We weren’t doin’ nothin’,” she argued, sounding remarkably like a ten-year-old.

“Keep that mouth shut, Sissy Mae. Ronnie Lee Reed, get your ass over here!”

Mitch needed to get out of the car, but the passenger side was simply too close to that tree. So he had to do some fancy finagling to drag his big body out of the car and through the driver’s side. His brother grabbed him under the shoulders and helped him out the last few inches. Once he stood, the two brothers stared at each other and then threw themselves into each other’s arms, sobbing.

They were just so glad to be alive.

When Ronnie Lee jabbed her lightly in the ribs, Sissy never expected to look over and see Mitch and his brother hugging like they’d just been helped off the Titanic. When Sissy’s gaze moved back to Ronnie’s, they both rolled their eyes at the unlimited drama two cats could create.

“Are you listening to me?”

Sissy’s body jerked at the booming words, and she turned back around. “Yes, sir.”

“When’s your daddy coming home?”

With a shrug, Sissy said, “Got me.”

“You don’t know?”

Cringing away from the yelling, Sissy shook her head.

“And I guess your parents are with them, Ronnie Lee.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you two think you can just come here and start up where you left off twelve years ago?”

“We didn’t do anything,” Sissy said again.

“Quiet!” The sheriff walked over to Ronnie Lee and stood in front of her. “What have I always told you? She’s a bad seed, and you should stay away from her.”

“Uncle Jeb, that’s not fair.”

“And how come you always blame me?” Suddenly, a finger was in Sissy’s face. Sissy always called that the “cop finger.” Cops were the only breed she knew who could point that one forefinger at you and make you shut up immediately. Hell, Dez did it all the time.

“I clocked y’all goin’ a hundred and seventy-five.”