Page 34

"No, I had to make myself a sandwich," Mom complains.

Pete works five minutes from the house. Mom is so anxiety-riddled that Pete always comes home for lunch, ostensibly to make himself a meal he doesn't have to pay for, but also to checkon Mom and to make sure she eats. He'd never not show up without telling her.

"Did he call you?"

"No, he didn't. He's not answering either. Neither were you."

I see five missed calls from Mom. Shit. Today was really not my day. Mom keeps ranting in the background while my mind goes to all kinds of wild scenarios, and then I hear footsteps. All the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The feeling of dread in my stomach intensifies. I don't want to look up, but I do it anyway. A small cry escapes me when I stare into the barrel of a gun.

"Drop the phone. Not a sound."

I drop the phone from where Mom's voice is still prattling on about the injustices of the day, fighting the feeling to pee my pants. The eyes of the man holding the gun are black abysses, empty of all emotions. "Walk."

I don't think I can, but somehow, I put one foot in front of the other. "I don't… have any money."

He doesn't answer, which somehow makes it worse.

"Audra?" My mom calls; she must have finally realized I'm not listening or answering. "Audra?"

I want to yell for her to call the cops. But one, I'm not sure I'd survive long enough to finish my sentence, and two, by the time the cops would arrive… if Mom even figures out where to send them… I'd be long gone.

A car sits idling at the end of the alley. It's the same car I saw this morning. The same one that followed Pete.

Oh my God.Sweat breaks out all over me.

"Get in."

I look around, but there is nobody here. The strip mall where our office is located is deserted after six, and after seven, it's a regular graveyard.

I turn and look at the man again, to… what? Plead? Beg him to let me go? One look at his face tells me how futile that would be. So I climb into the car, clutching my Gucci bag for dear life, thinking that any beat-up purse right now with a gun inside it would do me a lot more good than the cherry red leather.

The man scoots in next to me, and the driver takes off without a word.

I watch the neon lights fly by. Drunken tourists. A cop issuing a ticket to a speeder. Life goes on, while I'm sitting in a car with two strangers, a gun trained at me.Think Audra. Think.

But aside from the surrealism of the situation and the questionwhyrunning through my head, I can't think of a single thing I could do. We stop at a traffic light. I try the handle, but, of course, the child lock has been engaged. The button to roll down the window doesn't work either.

Aside from the heavy breathing from the man next to me, there is not a sound. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't even tell medon't, as if he was expecting me to try. Which makes it worse. Because it means he's a pro. He's done this before.Whyruns through my mind again.What do they want?

I should ask. But my throat feels tight, like invisible fingers are squeezing it closed. The car keeps moving through the city. Outside the window, life goes on as if nothing has changed. Neon lights blink. Tourists spill out of casinos laughing too loudly. A couple crosses the street holding hands, arguing about something trivial.

Normal.

Everything is normal.

Except my life has just tilted off its axis.

My hands are trembling in my lap, but my mind feels strangely… clear. Too clear. Like the moment before a car accident, when everything slows down. Think.

Pete. The thought slams into me so hard it almost knocks the breath out of my lungs. Do they have him, too? Is that why he didn't text or call today? Why he didn't come home during lunch like he usually does?

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Maybe they took him first. Maybe he's already… I force the thought away before it can finish. No.

No. I may be about to divorce him, but that doesn't mean I don't care about him. My stomach twists when the car turns off the main road. The bright lights of the Strip fade behind us. The streets grow darker. The buildings get lower, and soon the tourists disappear entirely. We drive through a part of the city I barely recognize. Warehouses. The kind of place I'd avoid, even during the day. Chain link fences topped with barbed wire. Most of the buildings are dark, but a few have security lights buzzing overhead, casting sick yellow pools across cracked asphalt. The driver slows.

My heart starts beating harder now. Not faster. Heavier. Like it's bracing itself. The car rolls into a narrow alley between two massive concrete buildings. No windows. No people. Just darkness. The engine idles for a moment. The man next to me finally moves. The gun shifts slightly. There is an audible click; the driver must have disengaged the child locks.