9
“This is kind of fun. Though the automatic really is a crime. I can’t imagine a single situation in which you’d think an automatic is better than a standard.”
Vern had foolishly assumed that riding in his Corvette would feel less life-threatening than in her Fiat Spider.
Giving Denise a five-hundred-horsepower engine in a car capable of a sub-four-second zero-to-sixty was not a wise choice. How she didn’t get a ticket, he’d never know. Maybe it was because they were nothing more than a bronze-colored streak as they soared along the roads. Whether he’d live to tell about it was still in question.
The quiet country roads of Vashon Island would never be the same. They’d reached the Tahlequah ferry at Tacoma in record time. The fifteen-minute crossing to Vashon gave his heart a few momen
