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My feet hit the concrete and I whirl around to grab him, except—
He’s not there.
He’s standing a few feet away from me, transfixed by the black sedan with dirty windows screeching down the lot towards us.
The sedan screams to a halt right in front of him. Josh’s face is on the cusp of a smile. A smile? Why on Earth would he be smil—
Oh, God—he thinks it’s Ruslan.
He’s not stupid or reckless. So there’s no other explanation for why he would movetowardsthe reckless vehicle with that distant, hopeful look on his face.
The side door flings open and a man appears. A man with a black mask obscuring his features. I see it all in slow motion as Josh realizes something is wrong. He throws himself backward, but it’s too late.
The man grabs him by the shoulders.
Hauls him into the darkened interior of the car.
And the door slams shut.
I beg my legs to move faster but by the time I reach the vehicle, the locks are thrown and the wheels are beginning to squeal. I pound my fists against the dark glass, even as the wheels spin fast and the machine lurches away.
“No! Josh! JOSH!”
A tiny fishtail of the rear bumper knocks me sideways and sends me tumbling onto my ass. I hit hard, hard enough for the glass cuts to reopen in a hundred little lines of pain, but I don’t have time to sit and cower. I’m on my feet again immediately, leaping into the driver’s seat of my car and tearing out of the parking spot as fast as I can.
The girls are squealing in terror, but I can’t tend to them right now. I have to get Josh back.
I swerve out of the parking lot and the girls scream again in unison. “It’s okay, girls. It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”
The truth is I’m just spitting words at them. But even tried and tested words of comfort don’t cut it when you’re speeding through the streets, horns blaring, tires smoking, every bump in the road sending us careening left and right and left again.
“Auntie Em! Slow down!” Caroline screams.
“You forgot Josh!” Reagan cries. “You forgot Josh!”
I have eyes on the sedan. Of course it doesn’t have a license plate.Fucking bastards. This has to be Mr. Tuna Breath’s doing. That run-in was too fucking weird to be coincidental.
“Auntie Em! What are you doing?” Caroline screams when I swerve to avoid oncoming traffic.
WhatamI doing? Who the fuck do I think I am—Jason Bourne?
I need help.
I don’t have time to let that sink in. The sedan is moving fast and if I blink, I could lose them. My first instinct is to call 911 but my hand is shaking when I pick up my phone. Another pothole makes my thumb pull up the speed dial menu instead of the keypad.
“Fuck!”
I drop my phone as the car in front of me slows down and I have to wiggle around him fast. Thankfully, it’s ringing and, since my phone is connected to Bluetooth, I’m able to transfer the call to speakerphone from the steering wheel.
The only problem is I didn’t dial 911.
I accidentally dialedRuslan Oryolov.
“Emma.”
That deep, confident voice is bringing back all sorts of terrible memories.
Stop—this isn’t about you.
