Rylee stormed toward the crashed limousine with extreme rage, ready to make her absolute best intimidation roll. Natural twenty coming right up, baby. Dirk Bradshaw would be so scared that he’d tell her everything about the Conclave of Mechanists and then some.
As she approached the wreckage, she couldn’t help but laugh. Thank goodness the vehicle hadn’t had any ADAS. Those dang advanced driver assistance systems always made it hard to sneak up on a vehicle, informing the driver that she was getting too close. Car cameras and sensors had become the bane of her existence lately.
She reached the limo and grasped the handle of the upside-down door, yanking it away. The door came right off, smashing into the ground beside her. Beyond the open doorway, Rylee saw two people: Dirk and some young man. Both were unconscious.
Rylee reached in and grabbed Dirk by the shoulders, hauling him out of the wreckage. As he stirred, she shoved him into the glass wall of the Bass Strunnel. His eyes widened as he realised the predicament he’d found himself in.
“Where is that kobold going?” she asked, resisting the urge to slam her fist into his chest. “Tell me!”
Dirk gave a dark, toothy grin. He coughed, and for a moment Rylee was sure he would say nothing. “Cambridge. It’s a workshop for auto repairs around Cambridge. Is that what you want to hear? It doesn’t matter – you’ll never get there in time.”
He was lying. She was sure of it. There was no way he’d give up that information so easily. And yet, in doing so, she’d found out exactly what she needed to know. The Hobart workshop was unlikely. The Conclave would want a suburb they could use that would not attract attention to themselves.
“Brighton it is. Thanks, Dirk.”
His eyes widened, panic there before he managed to conceal it. Rylee dropped Dirk to the asphalt – he struck it with a thud, grunting.
“I’ll be taking him with me,” she said with a grin. “See you around, Tyrone.”