Page 7 of Point Blank

The impact whipped her to the side and glass pelted her cheeks. The airbag fired toward her. She raised her hands to protect her face but the parachute whacked into her skull. A piercing ring reverberated through her eardrums.

No, no, no!

Her pulse spiked. Her hands trembled as she flipped open the console between the two front seats and fished around inside.

It was an accident. It had to have been an accident.

Tremors overtook her body and her teeth chattered against the chilly wind that circled in through the blown-out window. A door slammed. Bile burned the lining of her stomach. Glass crunched outside as footsteps approached.

Slow, steady footsteps. Not hurried, panicked ones. She rummaged through a pile of gas receipts and her pinky brushed against the cool steel of the object she sought. She lifted out the knife and her gaze took in the engraving on the handle.

M.B.

She flicked out the blade, and her breath spiraled in the air between her mouth and the deflating airbag. The screaming urge to run ricocheted through her mind.

You’re being paranoid.

The driver’s side door was yanked open and a gloved hand caught her sweater. Her focus locked on the barrel of a gun—pointed between her eyes. A man stood beyond the weapon, a knitted mask pulled over his face.

“Get the hell out of the car!” he barked. He moved his thumb and cocked the gun. Terror shot through her system.

He’s going to kill me.

She tightened her hand around the knife and thrust the blade toward his neck. The smooth metal sunk into his skin. Blood gushed out in a giant stream, hitting the inside of her windshield and steering wheel. A gurgling sound erupted from his throat and he collapsed on top of her. The gun fell into her footwell. A scream squeaked from her lips as his weight crushed her. Large, glassy brown eyes locked on hers through the holes in the mask. She shoved at his shoulders and he crumpled to the ground. Then she stretched toward the passenger seat, grabbed her bag, and jumped out.

“Get her!” Footsteps slapped against the wet pavement and she turned as three men charged from the SUV. Terror beat its ferocious drum into her skull.

She jumped over the man’s legs, her shoe narrowly missing a pool of his blood as she ran. Her high heels splashed through puddles. Water seeped through the unfit footwear and squished in her toes as she darted down the street. No other footsteps sounded over the roar of traffic from the neighboring street. Had they stopped following her? She whipped around and her ponytail splayed in front of her eyes.

She smacked it away and surveyed the night as she turned the corner of the next street.

They were gone.

Her lungs ached on every inhale of crisp air that coated her throat. Her overworked legs threatened to slow, but she wouldn’t give in until she was hidden. She dashed around a corner. An alleyway lay ahead, and if she cut through a yard, she could make it back to W University Avenue.

How had they found her? She’d changed her name, no longer ran in the same circle of thieving friends, yet her past had come back to haunt her. She’d been stupid to think someone wouldn’t find her, that they wouldn’t recognize her face on ads.

What do they want? Why kill me now?

The squeal of tires ripped through the air. She turned, and a black SUV rounded the corner, its front bumper crunched in and one headlight shattered. The one still working landed on her with the heat of a laser beam. The vehicle shot toward her.

No!

She skirted down the alleyway and squeezed between an old wooden fence and garage. She pressed her back against the planks. Blood roared against her throat.

The SUV crept down the alley. She pinched her eyes shut as it inched past. She had to get somewhere safe—and fast. She opened her eyes as the taillights passed. She peeled herself away from her hiding spot and cut through the nearest yard, making her way back to W University Avenue. She kept her face low and her pace swift as she charged down the still-bustling street. Although it was still busy, there weren’t enough people to conceal her. God, she wished she had one of their umbrellas to hide under.

Bang!

She shrieked. Her hands flew to her chest and sought out the source of the noise—a bus releasing air pressure. She fought to bring her heart rate down.

A bus! “Wait!” She ran to the door and pounded on the glass. The driver’s hand froze on the stick shift. He made a face and the door buckled open. She fished into her purse and dropped in enough fare to cover three bus rides.

The driver’s attention was already off her and on the mirror next to him. “Find the nearest seat, please.”

She dropped into the vacant one directly behind him. The vehicle’s fluorescent lights made her wince. She pressed her hands against her thighs and collected one steady breath after another. She couldn’t fall apart. She needed to hide. She dragged her gaze to the lit screen above the driver’s head.

Gaslamp Quarter