Sienna’s face hardened. “Then help me finish it.” Over the next six hours, Lily Thai became a ghost. She switched Sienna’s phone with a burner. She drove the Navigator to a chop shop in Van Nuys, paid the owner five hundred cash to repaint it matte gray. She called Mack, who rerouted the entire Limo Patrol fleet to create a moving screen of identical stretch SUVs across the city.
“Go for 7.”
She walked out into the blue morning, the radio on her hip crackling with a new call: Patrol 7, Code 33 at Union Station. Possible intoxicated wedding party. Limo Patrol - Lily Thai
But first—the wedding party.
“That’s a bus lane.”