They didn’t move, but a drip of sweat slid down the pudgy face of the man closest to them.
Josie hustled to keep up with Madge’s longer legs across the entryway and outside into the pelting rain, her neck afire from the scrape of the barrel. She wouldn’t think about it. If Madge tripped…
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“Hurry.” Madge bit her lip, stopping behind a faded white van. She opened the back doors and shoved Josie in, following to slam the doors behind them. Pushing Josie against the far wall, Madge sat, gun pointed at Josie’s chest. “Go.”
Her husband turned around, bloodshot eyes wide. “Jesus, Madge. What did you do?”
Josie sank into bristly carpet. “Kidnapping, attempted murder, battery for a start.” She glared at the balding twenty-five-year-old man she’d tried to help. Maybe she could talk some sense into him. “This is bad, Sam. Really bad.”
Sam whipped the van out of the lot and into traffic. “Madge?” He glared in the rearview mirror.
Madge shrugged. “I had to get out of there and thought I could. But now, everyone saw me with a gun, and I just panicked.”
Josie eyed the weapon. The stench of sweat and desperation assaulted her senses. Would they kill her? “The police are coming.”
Sam yanked the wheel and flew into an alley, driving until he screeched to a stop in a narrow garage. Quickly he jumped out of the van and opened the back door.
Josie prepared to strike, then froze at the Glock Sam pointed at her. At least it looked like a Glock, similar in size and shape to the weapon Shane had taught her to shoot years ago.
“Get out.” Sam grabbed Josie by the hair and tugged her out next to a dented old Cadillac. Pain lanced her scalp. “Get rope, Madge.”
Josie struggled, trying to reason with him. “Max is going to kill you. You know that, right?”
Sam backhanded her, sending her head spinning. Pain rocked through her cheek. God. She didn’t know him at all. He would actually kill her. He handed his gun to Madge and spun Josie around. A rough rope abraded her wrists as Sam wound it around and then knotted it tight.
Josie winced. What if she couldn’t get away? “Everyone knows it was you. They saw Madge with the gun; in fact, she shot my husband.”
Sam jerked her around, leaning his face toward her. His young, handsome face with the whimsical goatee that had always charmed her. “So, we get out of town for a while. Max needs us. No way will he kill us.” Sam grabbed Josie’s upper arms, his long fingers sure to leave bruises. “You, on the other hand…”
Quick movements had her trussed up, and Sam shoved her into the trunk of the Caddy. Seconds later the engine revved, and they were on the road again. They’d changed vehicles. Someone was directing Madge and Sam.
The trunk’s rough carpet scratched her cheek. Moldy, smelly carpet. She sneezed.
She had to get free before they took her to Max. Wasn’t there a television show she’d watched last year about getting out of a trunk? She hadn’t really been paying attention. The car hit a bump, and nausea swirled through her stomach.
She rolled onto her back, scooting her butt under her to kick off her heels. Darkness. No light filtered inside. How much air did she have? Her arms ached, tied at the center of her back. Flipping to her side, she shimmied, pulling her knees up until her hands caught the bottom of her feet. Her shoulder muscles stretched in protest.
She needed help. She needed Shane.
She flexed her toes, and her hands slid up in front of her calves toward her thighs. Thank goodness. She breathed out in relief, her shoulders relaxing. Tugging against the ropes, she frowned. Then she brought her bound hands to her mouth, ignoring whatever germs were probably on the old rope. Her teeth dug in, trying to loosen the hold.
Nothing.
She couldn’t free her hands with her teeth. The car bounced again and she yelped, flying up toward the metal to land with a thunk back on the sharp carpet. Bruises began to form in deep muscle and tissue.
Somehow she didn’t think many women were taken captive so frequently. Was she born under a bad sign, or what?
Scooting her shoulders toward the backseat, she bent at the knees and kicked toward where the taillight probably was. Her toes hit hard metal. Pain ricocheted up her leg.
Her head dug into the carpet, hair getting caught. She kicked again, only to bruise her feet further. Think. She needed to think. Fear slowed her thoughts to haziness. If she kicked out the backseat, assuming she could, Madge and Sam would be there with guns. If she waited until they opened the trunk, same problem.