done.”
“Just one thing first.” Without releasing her, he reached over the back of the seat into the rear compartment.
“What?” Jiggling with nervous impatience, Sam watched as he grabbed the jumper cables she always kept on a pair of hooks above the shelflike rear seat and hauled them into the front. Hisdamaged finger stayed stiffly erect while the rest of his hand curved around the cord. It was now the approximate girth of a hot dog in marked contrast to the rest of his long, tapering fingers, and just looking at it told her it had to hurt. Not my problem. “What do you want with those? According to you, we’re running out of time.”
“We are.”
“So?” She yanked at her wrist again, still without results.
“I’m not taking any chances.” He thrust the jumper cables at her. They were twenty feet long, maybe an inch in circumference, black, with the flexibility of a bungee cord and a pair of colorful clamps dangling from both ends. “Tie the cord around your waist.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
She understood then: he was afraid she was going to run away. Well, she was, first chance she got, but that didn’t stop her from feeling a rush of indignation.
“Now,” he ordered.
Her lips compressed. Arguing was a waste of time, she concluded. Taking the cable, wrapping one end around her waist, Sam cast him a fulminating look. “You can trust me to dump the BMW, you know.”
“Funny thing is, I actually believe that. But can I trust you after, is the question.”
When Sam didn’t reply—if he knew she was lying, what was the point?—he made a gesture with her gun at the cord she had looped around her waist.
“Tie it. In a knot.”
She did.
“Once more.” He indicated the knot. Sulkily, Sam made another loop. The knot wasn’t anything she couldn’t untie, but it would take a moment, and that would give him time to stop her. She knew it, and he knew it, which was why the look she gave him when she was done was venomous.
“Satisfied?”
“For now. Out my side.” Hanging onto the other end of the cable, he opened the passenger-side door—not without having to put some force into it, because it tended to stick, too—and slid to the ground. Since the truck had been modified to carry out its mission of carting off repossessed vehicles as unobtrusively as possible, the cab’s interior light had long since been disabled. Except for random night sounds, the empty lot stayed as dark and silent as a graveyard. Following him out, she was encouraged to see that he was bent almost double and leaning heavily against the side of the truck. She could hear the harsh rasp of his breathing. He was growing weaker, she thought hopefully. Maybe the prospect of him passing out wasn’t quite as much a case of wishful thinking as she had supposed.
“Cut the car loose,” he ordered as he saw her looking at him.
She didn’t need him to tell her. In this one matter they were in perfect accord. The idea that the bad guys might be homing in on the Beemer’s GPS and even at this moment might be closing in on them made her blood run cold.
The motor operating the winch had never sounded so loud. Sam winced as she switched it on and it roared to life, but therewas no help for it. There was no other way to put the car down. If anybody hunting them got within earshot, it was all over. The darkness, the deserted lot, the late hour, wouldn’t help one iota in the face of that nerve-jangling noise. Might as well beam a giant spotlight in the sky flashing “we’re here, we’re here, we’re here” and have done. By the time the Beemer’s front wheels touched the ground, Sam was so antsy she was ready to jump out of her skin. Her heart pounded like a piston in her chest. She was breathing way too fast. Casting anxious glances all around, she ran to disconnect the sling even as the car was still settling onto its tires.
“Come on. ” Like a dog coming up short on the end of a too-restrictive leash, she
“Just one thing first.” Without releasing her, he reached over the back of the seat into the rear compartment.
“What?” Jiggling with nervous impatience, Sam watched as he grabbed the jumper cables she always kept on a pair of hooks above the shelflike rear seat and hauled them into the front. Hisdamaged finger stayed stiffly erect while the rest of his hand curved around the cord. It was now the approximate girth of a hot dog in marked contrast to the rest of his long, tapering fingers, and just looking at it told her it had to hurt. Not my problem. “What do you want with those? According to you, we’re running out of time.”
“We are.”
“So?” She yanked at her wrist again, still without results.
“I’m not taking any chances.” He thrust the jumper cables at her. They were twenty feet long, maybe an inch in circumference, black, with the flexibility of a bungee cord and a pair of colorful clamps dangling from both ends. “Tie the cord around your waist.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
She understood then: he was afraid she was going to run away. Well, she was, first chance she got, but that didn’t stop her from feeling a rush of indignation.
“Now,” he ordered.
Her lips compressed. Arguing was a waste of time, she concluded. Taking the cable, wrapping one end around her waist, Sam cast him a fulminating look. “You can trust me to dump the BMW, you know.”
“Funny thing is, I actually believe that. But can I trust you after, is the question.”
When Sam didn’t reply—if he knew she was lying, what was the point?—he made a gesture with her gun at the cord she had looped around her waist.
“Tie it. In a knot.”
She did.
“Once more.” He indicated the knot. Sulkily, Sam made another loop. The knot wasn’t anything she couldn’t untie, but it would take a moment, and that would give him time to stop her. She knew it, and he knew it, which was why the look she gave him when she was done was venomous.
“Satisfied?”
“For now. Out my side.” Hanging onto the other end of the cable, he opened the passenger-side door—not without having to put some force into it, because it tended to stick, too—and slid to the ground. Since the truck had been modified to carry out its mission of carting off repossessed vehicles as unobtrusively as possible, the cab’s interior light had long since been disabled. Except for random night sounds, the empty lot stayed as dark and silent as a graveyard. Following him out, she was encouraged to see that he was bent almost double and leaning heavily against the side of the truck. She could hear the harsh rasp of his breathing. He was growing weaker, she thought hopefully. Maybe the prospect of him passing out wasn’t quite as much a case of wishful thinking as she had supposed.
“Cut the car loose,” he ordered as he saw her looking at him.
She didn’t need him to tell her. In this one matter they were in perfect accord. The idea that the bad guys might be homing in on the Beemer’s GPS and even at this moment might be closing in on them made her blood run cold.
The motor operating the winch had never sounded so loud. Sam winced as she switched it on and it roared to life, but therewas no help for it. There was no other way to put the car down. If anybody hunting them got within earshot, it was all over. The darkness, the deserted lot, the late hour, wouldn’t help one iota in the face of that nerve-jangling noise. Might as well beam a giant spotlight in the sky flashing “we’re here, we’re here, we’re here” and have done. By the time the Beemer’s front wheels touched the ground, Sam was so antsy she was ready to jump out of her skin. Her heart pounded like a piston in her chest. She was breathing way too fast. Casting anxious glances all around, she ran to disconnect the sling even as the car was still settling onto its tires.
“Come on. ” Like a dog coming up short on the end of a too-restrictive leash, she
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