for that matter. She wondered how that felt for him.
For her, it was extremely terrifying. But it didn’t matter how it felt. It was what she had to do.
Then her phone map went completely kerplooey—the result of a bug in the new upgrade—and she tried to decide what to do. Just drive and hope the directions came back or what?
To her left loomed a stone pedestrian bridge completely covered in graffiti. Gang tags, she figured. The very worst place to stop. She drove on, scanning for a better spot, and realized she had just missed a merge.
“Damn it,” she said, and swerved into a little industrial park that looked to contain nothing but auto body shops, and put the car in park. She squinted at her phone and tried to recalibrate, holding it close to the driver’s side window to catch a few more bars. Nothing. She extended it toward her windshield, mentally willing the phone to behave. Time was racing by. For all she knew, J.T. was dead by now. Maybe she should call 911 again. No. Bad idea.
While she held the phone next to the window, she reached down into her bag and pulled out the tranquilizer gun. It was then and only then that she realized it wasn’t loaded.
“Great,” she muttered. “Fantastic.”
There was a sharp rap on her window. She jumped a mile and looked up. It was a young, dark-skinned man in a hooded jacket smiling down at her. Beneath the glare of a streetlight she saw that he was tapping on her window with a gun.
She fumbled to put the car into drive and take off the emergency brake. But she was shaking too badly and nothing happened.
Then he pointed the gun straight at her. She gasped and then she pretended she was Cat and thought,
So what’s he going to do when I just blow out of here? The odds of hitting me are much lower than most people realize.
But what if the odds are in his favor?
She kept her eyes glued to his as she tried to find the gearshift.
Brake
, she reminded herself.
Then movement in her peripheral vision startled her into looking straight ahead for a second—
She jerked.
The car was surrounded by men. And nearly all of them had guns, and they were pointing them straight at her.
A dozen—a hundred—horrible scenarios rocketed through her mind—she liked the ones where she died instantly the best of all—and then the guy with the scars made a circular motion with his free hand. He wanted her to roll down her window.
No way
, she thought, but it wasn’t like she had bulletproof glass windows or anything. She remembered all her self-defense classes about fighting back and not appearing weak. She started to pick up the tranquilizer gun but realized that as soon as they saw it, they’d open fire. With a scream of “Aiya!” she laid on the horn, got into drive, got off that brake, shifted into drive, and rabbited forward. The men scattered and Heather slammed into a cinderblock wall. Her body jerked forward, then whipped backward, and probably the only reason the airbag didn’t deploy was because she hadn’t built up very much speed.
The guys broke into cheers and applause and Heather’s hooded friend aimed his weapon at her again. All she had to do was figure out reverse. That was all—
—and then she heard a “chirp-chirp” and the guy opened her door himself. He squatted down on his haunches beside her. He was holding a remote control fob in his hand.
“Fire!” she screamed, which is what you learned in self-defense class, because no one would come to your aid if you screamed for help.
“Hey, calm down, girl,” he said. “
Man.
”
She swallowed hard. “I’m a student. I work part-time. I don’t have very much money and my sister is a cop.”
He pulled in his chin. “No shit?”
“No shit. So don’t try anything or she will put your ass in the electric chair!”
He and his thugs burst into laughter. She was aware that he was dangling his gun between his legs and she could push him over with a well-placed side kick and make a run for it.
For her, it was extremely terrifying. But it didn’t matter how it felt. It was what she had to do.
Then her phone map went completely kerplooey—the result of a bug in the new upgrade—and she tried to decide what to do. Just drive and hope the directions came back or what?
To her left loomed a stone pedestrian bridge completely covered in graffiti. Gang tags, she figured. The very worst place to stop. She drove on, scanning for a better spot, and realized she had just missed a merge.
“Damn it,” she said, and swerved into a little industrial park that looked to contain nothing but auto body shops, and put the car in park. She squinted at her phone and tried to recalibrate, holding it close to the driver’s side window to catch a few more bars. Nothing. She extended it toward her windshield, mentally willing the phone to behave. Time was racing by. For all she knew, J.T. was dead by now. Maybe she should call 911 again. No. Bad idea.
While she held the phone next to the window, she reached down into her bag and pulled out the tranquilizer gun. It was then and only then that she realized it wasn’t loaded.
“Great,” she muttered. “Fantastic.”
There was a sharp rap on her window. She jumped a mile and looked up. It was a young, dark-skinned man in a hooded jacket smiling down at her. Beneath the glare of a streetlight she saw that he was tapping on her window with a gun.
She fumbled to put the car into drive and take off the emergency brake. But she was shaking too badly and nothing happened.
Then he pointed the gun straight at her. She gasped and then she pretended she was Cat and thought,
So what’s he going to do when I just blow out of here? The odds of hitting me are much lower than most people realize.
But what if the odds are in his favor?
She kept her eyes glued to his as she tried to find the gearshift.
Brake
, she reminded herself.
Then movement in her peripheral vision startled her into looking straight ahead for a second—
She jerked.
The car was surrounded by men. And nearly all of them had guns, and they were pointing them straight at her.
A dozen—a hundred—horrible scenarios rocketed through her mind—she liked the ones where she died instantly the best of all—and then the guy with the scars made a circular motion with his free hand. He wanted her to roll down her window.
No way
, she thought, but it wasn’t like she had bulletproof glass windows or anything. She remembered all her self-defense classes about fighting back and not appearing weak. She started to pick up the tranquilizer gun but realized that as soon as they saw it, they’d open fire. With a scream of “Aiya!” she laid on the horn, got into drive, got off that brake, shifted into drive, and rabbited forward. The men scattered and Heather slammed into a cinderblock wall. Her body jerked forward, then whipped backward, and probably the only reason the airbag didn’t deploy was because she hadn’t built up very much speed.
The guys broke into cheers and applause and Heather’s hooded friend aimed his weapon at her again. All she had to do was figure out reverse. That was all—
—and then she heard a “chirp-chirp” and the guy opened her door himself. He squatted down on his haunches beside her. He was holding a remote control fob in his hand.
“Fire!” she screamed, which is what you learned in self-defense class, because no one would come to your aid if you screamed for help.
“Hey, calm down, girl,” he said. “
Man.
”
She swallowed hard. “I’m a student. I work part-time. I don’t have very much money and my sister is a cop.”
He pulled in his chin. “No shit?”
“No shit. So don’t try anything or she will put your ass in the electric chair!”
He and his thugs burst into laughter. She was aware that he was dangling his gun between his legs and she could push him over with a well-placed side kick and make a run for it.
Similar Books
