Drawn in Blood by Andrea Kane Page B

to Fred. Nor did he say a word.
    Rosalyn froze. “Who are you? What do you want?”
    The menacing Asian man stil didn’t answer. He just continued driving over the Wil is Avenue Bridge into the Bronx.
    Rosalyn wasn’t stupid. She knew this wasn’t a case of a mix-up in drivers. This had been planned. And it was linked to the murderer who was threatening Matthew.
    Alarmed as she was, she forced herself to outwardly keep her cool. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “And why? What do you plan on doing this time?” The driver veered off into a lousy section of the Bronx. “Your husband has visitor on the way,” he stated. “FBI. More questions. Burbank weak. He talk. Stupid. Dangerous. We warned. He not listen. We punish. You die.”
    Die? So much for Rosalyn keeping her cool.
    “You’re wrong,” she responded, confused and desperate. “The FBI’s not coming by. And, even if they do, Matthew wouldn’t say a word. He didn’t last time. He won’t this time.”
    “No trust. Too many talks between him and FBI. No more.”
    The finality in his tone was absolute. There was no reasoning with this animal.
    That did it. Rosalyn lunged forward, scrambling to climb into the front seat and wrestle away control of the steering wheel. As she did, she spotted the long, open switchblade on the passenger seat, and shuddered. The knife was covered with blood. She forced her gaze away, trying to climb over the center console, groping and clawing at the driver’s thick arm to break his concentration and yank his hand off the wheel.
    He grabbed hers instead, bending her forearm sideways until blinding pain shot through her and she could hear the crunching sound of bones. She cried out, struggling to escape his grasp.
    “Stay in back,” he ordered, shoving her off the console. “You can die quick. Or you can die slow. Your choice.” He released her arm, sending her sprawling into the back.
    Rosalyn slid back into her seat. Her arm was throbbing horribly. Her life was on the line. And she had no idea how to save it.
    Fate intervened.
    The Explorer approached a red light. Her intended kil er accelerated to run it. As he did, the wail of an ambulance siren reached their ears. An instant later, the emergency vehicle appeared and sped through the intersection.
    Rosalyn’s abductor slammed on the brakes, swearing in Chinese. He and Rosalyn both lurched forward.
    She didn’t miss a beat or pause to regain her bearings. Manual y, she pressed open her door lock, yanked the handle, and flung open the door. She hit the ground running, heading for the first crowd of people she saw—a bunch of teenage boys shooting hoops.
    Hands trembling, she unhinged the gate and rushed inside, slamming the gate as if it were some kind of protective wal .
    The basketbal game stopped. A half-dozen tal , muscled teens turned in her direction. A half-dozen pairs of wary eyes stared at her. She twisted around, peering back at the street and the unmoving Explorer. The driver had leaped out and dashed around to the open rear door. Suspicious passersby, recognizing a stranger on their turf, were already pausing on the sidewalk to scrutinize him. He scanned the area for a minute. Then, he slammed the rear door shut, ran back around to the driver’s side, got in, and gunned the engine, disappearing around the corner.
    Rosalyn sank down on the cracked and broken ground, leaning her head against the fence and trembling from head to toe. The pain in her arm was so sharp, she could scarcely breathe.
    “Hey, lady, you al right?”
    She looked up and gazed blankly at the sweaty teenager holding a basketbal , who had come over when he saw her col apse.
    “Al right?” Her laugh was hol ow.
    “You on something?” he asked, seeing her glazed expression.
    Oh, how she wished she were. “No.” She managed to shake her head, simultaneously reaching for her tote bag and remembering it was stil in the car with her file. “A hospital…I need a hospital. My