I chew on my lower lip as I consider my next step. Maybe I should wait just a little while longer. I could always open up my laptop and do some work in the car. I’ll buzz him at seven-thirty. Or maybe . . .
My next thought is yanked right out of my head when a sound off to my left distracts me. My window is halfway open, letting the cool morning air in. I hear footsteps.
I turn to look just as something flashes in my peripheral vision.
“Don’t move,” says a man’s deep voice.
My eyes bug out as my brain computes what they’re seeing. In my near vision is the barrel of a gun. It looks so much bigger up close like this than I would have expected after seeing them on television.
Then it hits me. This gun is real. This isn’t TV. You are being held up by a criminal with a weapon that could kill you in less than one second! I have never seen this man before in my life. He’s heavy, sloppy, in need of a shave, and not attractive. Surprise, surprise: real-life criminals do not look like Colin Farrell.
My jaw drops open, but I can’t seem to make my voice work.
“Where’s Toni?” he asks.
I blink a few times, hoping my heart is going to start working again real soon. I’m on the verge of passing out from sheer terror and also a severe lack of oxygen.
He wiggles the gun at me. “Are you deaf? I asked you a question. Where’s Toni?”
“Uhhh, in bed?”
The guy leans in closer, giving me a better look at his scraggly face and a heavy dose of his morning coffee breath. Damn. My hand goes up on its own and slowly waves the space in front of my nose, trying to clear the air a little.
“You think this is funny, huh? You know what this is?” He pushes the gun in through the window, stopping the end of it just by my left eye.
I blink a few times. My eyelashes literally brush up against the metal. “That’s a gun. I’m pretty sure that’s a gun. It’s kind of hard to see when it’s resting on my eyeball, though.” My breath is coming out in little gasps. I look up at him, pleading with my eyes. “Please tell me there aren’t any bullets in it.”
His southern accent is thick. “Now, why in the hell would I pull a gun on you and not put bullets in it?”
“Because you don’t want to go to jail for shooting me?” A girl can dream.
“Unlock your doors.” He pulls the gun away from my eye and points it at the corner of my door.
“You want my car?” My fingers move very slowly over to the unlock button of my door, like they have no choice but to obey.
In the back of my mind, I’m thinking that if I were watching this happen to someone on a television show, I would know the right thing to do. I would probably be yelling at the girl in the car, telling her, “Don’t open the door, dumbass! He’s going to kill you!”
But I’m not watching television. I’m sitting right here, the star of the show, and it’s a really bad scene. I find that there’s a certain amount of paralysis involved in being terrified. My body does not want to listen to my brain right now. Maybe it’s the gun. Maybe that’s the real problem here. When there’s a gun pointed in my face, I find I’m very motivated to do exactly what I’m being ordered to do. It’s so much easier to ignore an armed criminal from the comfort of my family room. How very inconvenient.
The locks go up. I expect him to tell me to get out, but he walks around the front of the car, pointing the gun at me the entire way. Next thing I know, he’s climbing into the passenger seat.
He shoves my computer onto the floor to make room for his fat ass.
I find this very offensive. So offensive, in fact, that I momentarily forget to be terrified. “Could you not break my computer, please?”
He settles himself in the seat, turning partway to look at me, his girth making it difficult for him to do so comfortably.
“You don’t seem to understand what’s happening here, girly. You don’t need to be worried about your laptop; what you need to be worried about is not getting shot.”
Tears well up in my eyes. All I can think right now is how sad my babies would be if I never came home again. “Please don’t shoot me. I have three kids. And my ex is a total asshole, so if I die, they’re going to grow up with him as their only parent, and they’re going to be seriously messed up from it, I can promise you that. He tried to steal a watch from me. A gift he gave me for my birthday. What kind of guy does that?”
“Cry me a river. I don’t give a shit about your kids or your ex.”
The man is obviously a criminal and is either already a murderer or is possibly about to become one. His answer is not surprising at all, but I find it unacceptable. It pisses me off. Do I expect him to have party manners? Apparently, yes. I do. Clearly, I’m nuts. Being threatened at gunpoint does not bring out the hero in me. It brings out the crazy. I can’t seem to let his bad manners slide. They eat away at me until I can’t stay quiet any longer.
“Don’t say that about my children.”
His mouth falls open a little. “Lady . . . are you nuts?”
I squeeze the steering wheel with both hands and stare out the windshield. My brain is buzzing. I can hardly think straight. All I can remember is that this guy does not give a shit about anything, and he’s threatening my life and thereby threatening to leave my kids mom-less.
“Yeah, I might be nuts. Just keep saying mean things about my kids and see what happens.”
I have no idea where this foolish courage or recklessness is coming from. I realize that it’s highly possible I will piss this guy off so much that he’ll shoot me just to shut me up. But I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s like this weird adrenaline is coursing through my veins, controlling my brain, controlling my mouth, controlling everything that’s happening around me. And the only way to get rid of this nervous energy seems to be through talking. So talking is what I do.
“I’ve had enough of people shitting on my kids, okay? My son got kicked out of daycare because the stupid director has a problem with kids who have speech impediments. I mean, how fucked up is that?”
I look at the guy, but he’s just staring at me, so I keep going. “That’s wrong. You should never be rude to a child just because he has a disability. You should try to understand where he’s coming from, put yourself in his shoes. And if you have something to say about it, you don’t say it to the kid. You can scar him for life doing that. You say it to the parent. Alone. Handicaps are not a choice. You should never make a kid feel bad about being who he was born to be.”
The man has nothing to say to that. His mouth hangs open like he’s been hypnotized. I shake my head, disgusted. I’m getting nowhere with this guy, and now instead of scared, I’m pissed. This reaction of mine must be some kind of survival mechanism or something, because it makes no sense. I know that, and yet I can’t change how I feel.
“So what’s next? Am I supposed to drive you somewhere? I’d really rather not, if I have any say in the matter. But I’ll tell you what . . . I don’t mind letting you use my car. You’ll have to come over here and get into the driver’s seat, though.” I reach over to the door handle, hoping he’ll just let me leave. I’ll jump out and run faster than I’ve ever run before. He won’t even see me, I’ll be such a blur. Like The Flash. Fyoo! Gone-ski! See ya later, suckah!
“I want you to take me to Toni,” he growls.
I put my hands back on the steering wheel and sigh in annoyance. Looking at him, I glare. “Did you do your research?”
“Do my research? What the hell you talking about?” He sounds even more frustrated than he did before.
I hiss out a sigh of annoyance. Like I have time for criminals who fail to do the simplest Google search before perpetrating their crimes.
“Research. It’s basic stuff. Before you go somewhere and point a gun at somebody, and, oh yeah, take a hostage in a vehicle, don’t you think it might make sense to find out if I actually know anything at all about this so-called Toni person? Or hey! Here’s an idea! Maybe you could have just wai
ted for him to show up!”
“You work with her. Don’t pretend like you don’t know her. And she’s never here. I’ve waited before. I’ve only seen her one time, and she pulled inside that place. It’s locked up like a goddamned fortress. I figure with you here, she’ll have to come out and deal with me. Face up to what she has coming.”
“Listen, I know of her. But I do I know her? No. She’s not a very open person, in case you didn’t already know that. She keeps to herself. She doesn’t share personal details.” My voice rises with my frustration. “I have no idea where she lives, I have no idea what days she comes to work, and I have no idea what her hours are!”
“You expect me to believe you work with her and you don’t know anything about her schedule?”
I shrug. “Believe it or not, I don’t care. It’s the truth.” I gesture out the front window. “Do you see anybody here? You see me opening the big door? No, you don’t. Because I don’t have the combination to their front door. I am not an employee of this place.”
I don’t know where I’m getting this stuff. I’m just letting it flow. I’m praying the universe is in charge and my guardian angel has the wheel, because if it’s only me driving this bus, I’m in trouble. Big trouble. This man is losing his patience with me.
He punches my dashboard to emphasize his point. “What are you doing here if you’re not an employee? I’ve seen your car here before, you know. You’re lying, that’s what you’re doing.”
I take an extra-deep breath to try to cool myself down. I can’t afford to piss this guy off any more than I already have. “I’m not lying. I was just doing a little freelancing for them, that’s it. But you know what? After this bullshit, I’m not doing it anymore. It’s not worth it. I’m so tired of being falsely imprisoned . . .”
“You ain’t falsely imprisoned here.”
I look at him, wanting so badly to slap him. “Oh really? What do you call this?” I gesture around us. “Do I want to be here? No! Do I have a sign on my forehead that says Kidnap me? I don’t think so. Why does this keep happening? What does all this say about me?”
He shrugs, confused. “I don’t know. That you’re in the wrong place at the right time?”
I slap the steering wheel, glaring at him and the evil force that seems to delight in allowing me to feel joy for approximately twenty-four hours before ripping it away from me. “Exactly. Wrong place, right time.” I pause, thinking about that for a moment. “Or maybe it’s the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He jabs the gun in my direction. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s the right time. Call Toni. Tell her to come outside or to get her ass over here. Tell her you have something important you have to show her right away. Don’t tell her it’s me, though, or you’ll be sorry.” He pokes me in the shoulder with the gun.
“Call her? With what?” Thank goodness I shoved my phone in my back pocket when I left the house. I look around the car and act stupid.
“On your cell phone.” His eyes scan the interior of the vehicle, and he notices my purse on the backseat. He reaches around to grab it, dumping its contents into his lap. “It’s got to be in here somewhere.”
My eyes land on the can of pepper spray sitting on his leg. If I could just distract him with something . . .
He picks up the can of pepper spray and turns it over, reading the label. He snorts. “Guess you won’t be needing this.” He pushes the window button down and tosses the can outside into the parking lot. He looks up at me. “You really don’t have a phone?”
“I think I said that already.” I look out the window so he won’t be able to see my eyes as I craft the story I hope will get me out of this mess. “I have problems with my text messages. The autocorrect kills me. Turns all my sentences into cuss words. So it’s in the shop. They’re fixing it.” Yeah. The autocorrect anti-cussword task force tech support team is on it. Hopefully he’s dumb enough to believe my story. If I get locked in my trunk or kept prisoner somewhere, like always happens in the movies, I’ll be able to call for help. Dev would be so proud.
He laughs. “Good. That’ll make this easier.” He turns around. “Drive.”
My heart stops beating in my chest for several painful seconds. I gulp in some air, trying to force my system to reboot. How does my not having a phone make his plan easier? I’m supposed to drive? Am I going to die? Is he going to force me to chauffeur myself to a remote body-dumping location? This seems incredibly unfair, especially considering the fact that I just discovered the best sex of my life. I can’t let my sex life end here!
“Drive where?” I ask, hoping someone from the team will drive up and save the day as I stall for time.
“Out of here. I’ll give you directions once you leave the port. We can give your friends a call from another location. Make Toni come to us where we can be alone and none of those jerks will have the upper hand, hiding behind their steel doors.” He looks over at the warehouse and sneers.
It takes me all of three seconds to decide what I have to do. This guy is a complete idiot. He has no plan. He’s functioning off pure hatred, maybe with a little dose of revenge on top of it, changing his mind about what he wants to do as the wind blows. And I somehow got caught in the middle of it. I’m no commando. I’ve had zero training for anything. I can’t negotiate with a kidnapper or judo chop him into submission. Today was supposed to be my first day training with Dev. If I’d had just one day of training—one single, solitary day—I might have been in a better position to make a good decision about how to handle this situation. But I didn’t. I have just my mother-instincts telling me that I need to take a small risk to avoid a bigger one. I can’t leave my kids without a mom.
“Drive!” he says more forcefully, jabbing me in the shoulder with the gun hard enough to leave a bruise.
“Fine! I’ll drive!” I’m shaking. Terrified. Pissed beyond words. If I could get my hand on that gun, I’d shoot him in the dick with it.
I put the car in reverse and grip the steering wheel, staring at the door thirty feet in front of me.
“What you waiting for? Let’s go.” He looks behind us. He’s expecting me to back up and drive away. To go somewhere where he can shoot me and bury me in a shallow grave, probably. Too bad I’m not on board with that plan.
No. I do not accept this. I will not die today. I have three amazing kids and a boyfriend who also has an amazing kid. I have more left on this earth to do before I bite the big one: more Halloweens, more cases with the Bourbon Street Boys, and more sex with Dev.
It’s time. Time to Hulk-out.
I slam the car into first gear, drop my foot like a brick onto the accelerator, and lift the clutch.
A roar worthy of the most awesome Incredible Hulk episode rips from my mouth, filling the interior of the car with echoes of my rage.
The warehouse door comes flying at me so fast, it’s like it has left its spot on the building to join me in my mission of destroying my car to gain my freedom.
“What the . . . ?!” my captor yells, just as we’re making impact.
The last thing I remember is a big, loud BOOM! . . . and then darkness.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Dev?” I wait. Nothing happens. “Dev, where are you?” I have the strangest sensation moving through me. I can’t feel my body exactly, but there are tingles. And wherever I am, it’s dark. I think Dev is here, or he should be, but I don’t see him. I don’t see anyone. Where am I? Why is it so dark? Ack! Please don’t let this be hell!
Something squeezes my hand, bringing me instant relief. I don’t need to panic. I’m not dead and I’m not about to meet Beelzebub himself. Dev is here. Nobody else has hands that damn big.
I feel myself smiling. It’s not without pain, though. My nose and head are killing me. “There you are,” I whisper. It’s the best I can do.
Something tickles my ear, and then his voice is there delivering warm puffs of air onto my neck. “I’m right here. I won’t leave you.”
“Why
is it so dark in here?” I struggle to open my eyes. When I manage to crack them open just a bit, the light is so bright, I slam my lids shut again. “What the . . . ?”
“Take your time,” says a softer, female voice.
I tilt my head in her direction. “May?”
Somebody squeezes my left hand. “Yes, sweetie. It’s me. I’m right here with Dev.”
I attempt to open my eyes again. This time I have a little more luck with it. I manage to catch a glimpse of my very worried sister, before I have to give up again. This time I don’t give in to the darkness because of the bright light; I do it because opening my eyes takes too much effort, and I’m exhausted for some reason.
“Where am I?” I ask.
Dev answers. “You’re in the hospital.”
“My kids?”
“They’re fine.”
My brain drifts off for a little while; I’m not sure for how long. But then I remember something Dev said to me, and it makes me worry.
“Did you say hospital?” I force my eyes open.
Dev is leaning over me, concern marring his features.
I look at him and then at May. She’s been crying; her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. “Are you okay?” I ask her.
She laughs with what looks like relief. “You’re asking me if I’m okay? You’re crazy.” She leans down and kisses me on the cheek. Then she tries to hug me, but I wince at the pain it causes. I hurt all over, but especially on my face.
“Ow.” I reach up and touch my forehead. There’s cloth there where there should be skin. I roll my eyes up to try to see my own face, catching a glimpse of something white. “What’s on my head?”
May takes my hand and pulls it away so that I’ll stop trying to touch my injuries. I notice out of the corner of my eye that there’s an IV stuck in the back of my hand.
“You were in a car accident. You hit your head on the steering wheel. The airbag failed to deploy.”