Maddox was saying, as he grabbed a bit desperately for his seat belt and yanked it across his body. “It’s a nice car! I just thought you would have gone for something a little flashier, what with being a god an’ all. . . .” “I try to fly under the radar and remain stylish all at the same time.” Rafe cranked the wheel of the vintage Jaguar, narrowly avoiding a police car that drifted across two lanes of Columbus Avenue traffic so it could slow to a stop curbside just above West Sixtieth Street. The tires screamed, and Rafe flung an obscene gesture out the window at the cops. “And I’d rather not get arrested on the way to hell,” Fennrys muttered grimly, trying not to clutch too obviously at the door handle as the car’s momentum slung him from one side of the backseat to the other. “Relax. There’s not a cop car in existence that could catch me, and those flatfoots didn’t even see us go past.” He grinned rakishly. Fennrys stifled his impatience as best he could and followed Maddox’s lead, reaching for his own seatbelt.
