6
“Get in.”
In all this time, Mike had never seen Rob Massar’s car before. The Audi A5 Cabriolet in chocolate brown cost half as much as his own BMW i8 Roadster, but it didn’t look totally diminished for sitting next to a hundred-and-twenty-grand of low sports car in the underground garage.
“Nice ride for a Fed.” Even if it was ten years old.
“Personal car. I can ram a tinted-window black Chevy Suburban up your ass if you’d prefer. But I’m not actually here, so get in.”
“Let’s take my ride and I’ll show you what a car can really do.”
Massar gave him a look. It was either exasperation or I’m about to pull my sidearm on you.
Mike climbed in.
Massar was on the move before Mike had the door closed. He buckled in fast. The A5’s wheels squealed on the concrete as Massar climbed up the ga
