Red and blue lights swirl with morning fog, making a purple haze like the sky is bruised.

I grip the handlebars and glance over my shoulder at the cop car speeding up behind us.

No way this is happening. I clench my jaw and focus on the road, hoping the lights and speed are for someone else, but the siren blares a warning. Only three hours out of San Francisco, and it’s already over. Cop’s gonna recognize us. Or maybe the motorcycle. Both. Not to mention we have a tampon box full of diamonds stolen from a criminal burning a hole in Mei’s bag. If the cop goes through our stuff, it’s over.