Forrest whacked his hand away but somehow in the process ended up bawling in his brother’s arms, making too damn much undignified noise. But Quinn was weeping too, the Aveo’s engine still chugging away, and the car’s air conditioner droning. A blast of cool air from the dashboard helped Forrest to gear down from sobs to sniffles, pull away from Quinn, and find a paper napkin amid the fast-food debris that littered the car. He wiped his face, blew his nose, and said, “Shit.” “Shit and a half,” Quinn agreed huskily. “Did you just hear some kind of a pounding noise?” “No.” “Must have been in my head.” “Mine feels like it’s about to explode.” “Yeah. And we need to go to the cops.” Dully Forrest studied the rental car’s controls. Somehow the gearshift had ended up in park. He reached for it. Quinn’s hand stopped his.
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