It seems unlike Ilyasov to recycle plans, but it’s also a real possibility. I have to be careful.
I edge towards the car slowly, squinting as I try to see through the crack in the window. The car isn’t running, but I can hear the sound of a late night radio DJ talking through the speakers.
No one answers. I’m hesitant to touch the handle.
I stretch onto my toes and peek through the crack. That’s when I see a person slumped over in the passenger seat.
I barely get the name out before Arya is running past me to fling open the door.
I wrap my arms around her waist and yank her back as fast as I can, but her hand is already on the handle. The door opens. I whip us both around, preparing for a blast that doesn’t come.
“Goddammit, Arya!” I snarl. “That could have been a car bomb. It would
