The Charger woke up like it resented the interruption, engine settling into a low rumble that traveled through the seat and into my spine. I pulled out of the alley behind Yumi's workshop and pointed us south toward the freeway.
Vale slouched in the passenger seat with his coffee balanced on one knee and his sunglasses back on despite the sun already dropping toward the water. He looked like a man who had never worried about anything in his life, which was either the truth or the most elaborate lie I'd ever encountered. Given everything I'd learned in the last six hours, I was leaning toward elaborate lie.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I'm processing the fact that your ex-girlfriend keeps a dead bird in a jar and wants to build me a weapon powered by how many women want to keep me alive."
He sipped the coffee and made a face. "Frankie's better at this. Yumi treats coffee like a chemistry problem she already solved and got bored with."
