Shiver

gun he had thrust into the waistband of his jeans. The butt protruded; he would be able to grab it easily. His wounded leg angled stiffly down into the foot well, so that he had to turn sideways in the seat to accommodate it. He wasn’t looking at her, but rather out through the passenger-side window. It was hard to be sure, but she thought his expression was grim. Sam followed his gaze, then stiffened, her attention riveted by the intermittent bursts of light that he, too, must be watching. The headlights of a car speeding down Story, just glimpsed between the buildings lining the street. Identifying the light bursts made her breath catch.
    The car was moving way too fast to be anything but bad news, and it was coming from the direction of the scrap yard. Of course, there were lots of reasons cars might be speeding through East St. Louis, and a number of places in that general direction that the car could have been coming from besides the scrap yard, but still she caught her lower lip between her teeth and wrenched the truck into gear.
    “Go left.” There was tension in his voice.
    Since left was away from Story, she was down with that. Even as she complied, Sam saw a second set of headlights racing behind the first.
    Her hands tightened on the wheel. It was tempting to floor it, but trying to speed away over the alley’s pitted asphalt would, she feared, make way too much noise. At the best of times the truck was an unpredictable collection of rattles and groans. At full speed, over rough terrain like the broken pavement of the alley, it could get loud enough to wake the dead. All it took was one person looking out one window to see what was up. Just in case no one from the tenements had noticed her truck preparing to tow away the Beemer earlier, she didn’t want to draw anyone’s attention to the name and number on the side of the truck now.
    “Do you think that’s them?” She glanced fearfully back over her shoulder as she spoke. The first vehicle was nearing the gas station. If it were following the Beemer’s GPS signal, it would turn into the alley in the next few seconds.
    “Don’t know.” He shifted so he could look out the rear window as she drove as fast as she dared toward the end of the alley.The truck trundled over the ruts, making way more noise than Sam would have liked even at the relatively sober speed she was keeping it to. With the window blown out, she could hear every clank and rattle. “But I’d rather not find out.”
    “Me neither.” Nearing the end of the alley, Sam braked just enough to make the turn safely. Remembering the brake lights, which were intact, she winced at the sudden mental picture she had of them glowing brilliant orange through the darkness. The alley was straight; anyone turning in would be able to see the twin red lights shining at its far end. As the truck slowed with its usual painful screech, she glanced fearfully into the rearview mirror. As far as she could see, there were no headlights turning into the alley, which didn’t mean that it couldn’t happen at any second.
    “Not that way.” He shook his head as she eased up on the brake and started to pull the wheel around so they were headed toward town. “Go north.”
    Her eyes widened. “There’s nothing that way.”
    “The expressway on-ramp is that way.”
    The expressway on-ramp. Where was he planning to make her drive him? Her already frayed nerves stretched tighter. She couldn’t just disappear.
    “Home’s the other way. I need to go home. Like I said, I have a little boy.” There was a note of genuine desperation in her voice.

CHAPTER SIX
     

     
    “Y ou really want to take this home with you?” Quasimodo must have read the instant negative in her face, because he gave a jerk of his head toward the north and once again said, “That way.”
    Sam’s lips tightened, but she turned the way he wanted. What choice did she have? Leading trouble right back to Tyler was the very last thing she wanted to do. He would be asleep right now in his bed in their duplex, with Mrs. Menifee stretched out on the couch, probably sleeping, too. Take me home safe to him. She wasn’t a praying person, because in her experience praying was pretty much a waste of time, but for Tyler’s sake she sent the plea winging skyward as she cast another glance at the rearview mirror: still nothing. But the truck had no sooner made the turn and started to chug away down the street than she caught a glimpse of