Page 29 of Running to You

That wouldn’t last.

Eliza had crawled to the storm door and was halfway outside. Sam slid an arm beneath her chest and lifted her to her feet, propelling her outside.

She stumbled and would’ve fallen down the steps if he hadn’t caught her.

What did that guy do to her?

He scooped her up and carried her to the car. Tossed her in the front seat. Bolted around to the driver’s side as one of the men pushed out the door—Goatee. He limped toward the street.

Sam should’ve hit him harder.

Goatee made for a white van parked in front of the neighbor’s house.

Sam pressed the ignition on his Audi and gunned the engine.

Reached the end of the street. “Which way do I go!”

Nothing.

“Eliza! Which way—?”

“Left.” Her voice was low, like she was fighting to focus.

He turned the wheel and floored it again. “Stay with me. You need to navigate me out of here. I don’t know the neighborhood. We need other people. Cars. Crowds.”

“Okay.” Her voice was weak, but she directed him.

He kept one eye on the rearview. The van was back there, never too far behind.

He careened down residential streets, praying no children or pets would run into his path. It felt like Eliza was leading him farther and farther from the main road.

The van spun around a curve behind him, closing in.

“Where are we going?” he shouted. “We need—”

“It’s right ahead.”

What was? But…there. A wider road. He barely paused at the stop sign, spinning into the right turn, earning a blaring horn from the guy he’d cut off.

He angled into the turn lane, passed a truck in front of him, jerked back into the lane in front of the guy.

That earned a honk and a hand gesture.

But the truck shielded his Audi from the guy pursuing them.

Sam accelerated, desperate to put space between them. Traffic kept him from getting too far.

Think.

They had to get off this road. Hide. Wait for the goons to give up and go away.

Ahead, he saw only open space—the ocean. There’d be fewer places to hide once they hit the coastal road.

He needed a packed lot. A seafood restaurant on a corner. The lot was full.

At the last second, he yanked the wheel to the right, moving them into the parking lot, praying the truck blocked the attacker’s view. Barreled to the back. No outlet. He stifled a curse word as he maneuvered the car between two pickups on the edge of a forest.

And stopped. Breathed. Prayed.