Along Highway 87 North
Leonie had wedged the cell phone in the calf-high boot she wore. She kept her eyes ahead, occasionally glancing out the window, trying not to appear as though she were listening to the awkward conversation.
To Ray Brewster she texted: north on 87, past Kingston 5 min ago.
She turned off the phone and she slid it into her boot.
The two men in the front seat, locked in their discussion, locked into their anger and mistrust, did not notice.
Braun drove aggressively and fast, and closed the distance between himself and Zviman’s car to ten miles. He glanced at the text message.
He was entirely sure of their destination. All stories, he thought, come back to their beginning, all circles must close.