Shiver

headlights pulling into what she thought, from the headlights’ position, must be the other end of the alley the truck had just exited. She sucked in air. Her heart skipped a beat.
    “Look,” she breathed, but he was already looking. From hisexpression she knew he was harboring the same suspicion she was. “Do you think it’s them?”
    “No way to be sure.”
    But his tone told her that he thought it was likely.
    Her stomach tied itself into a knot. “That was quick.”
    “Yeah, well, they want me real bad.”
    Her chest tightened.
    “Why?” The question was almost a wail. It emerged of its own volition even as she glanced fearfully back at the lights.
    “Let’s just say I pissed some people off.”
    Sam’s lips tightened as she shot him a scathing glance, but she knew that was all the explanation she was going to get. She didn’t really want to know the answer anyway. Like he had said earlier, the less she knew, the safer she probably was. One thing she had learned in the course of growing up in East St. Louis was that too much curiosity could get you killed. Mind your own business, do your own thing, look the other way: those were words to live by. Anyway, she didn’t care what Quasimodo had done. All she wanted was to get away from him, grab her son, and run somewhere safe where she could hide until it was all clear and things got back to normal. To think that earlier she was pretty much hating her life. Would she ever complain about it again? Knowing herself, Sam gave a wry inner grimace. Probably, but only after this night was a distant memory. Because at least in her regular life she and Tyler were together, and she wasn’t afraid they were going to die. Panic dampened her palms and dried her throat as she thought of her son: whatever it took, she had to getback to him. Fighting off the urge to scream or launch herself on her captor or do something else totally unproductive, she looked toward the headlights again. Had the car stopped? She couldn’t tell for sure. It would have stopped if whoever was driving had been looking for the Beemer and found it.
    “You got any more bullets for this gun?” He had pulled the revolver out of his waistband and was checking the cylinder.
    The question rattled her. “No.” A building blocked her view of the alley. No way to tell what was up with the headlights now.
    “Too bad.” Snapping the cylinder back into place, he thrust it back into his waistband.
    Sam’s heart stuttered. “What, are you planning a shootout?”
    “I like to know where I stand.”
    Her eyes fastened on him. She realized that until now she must have been in some kind of shock that had dulled her responses. Fear suddenly felt as sharp and painful as a stomach full of glass shards. She was cold all over, and breathless.
    Her mouth was so dry she had to swallow before she could speak. “Let me go. Please.”
    He met her gaze. Her eyes blazed with intensity, she knew. For a moment, as their gazes met, she thought—maybe. Then he gave a single negative shake of his head.
    “Like I said, it’s too late for that.”
    “Bullshit.” Casting another scared glance toward the alley, she saw another building instead. It was one of a long row lining the block. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The look sheshot him was hunted. “You could absolutely let me go if you wanted to, and we both know it.”
    “We’ve been over this before: I can’t drive. Anyway, even if I could let you go, I wouldn’t. You’d just get yourself killed.”
    Try as she might, she could see nothing more of what was happening around the Beemer, so she ignored her pounding heart to concentrate on putting as much distance between them and it as she could. The street was largely deserted so late at night, but signs that people were near abounded. Cars were parked all along the curb. A man emerged from one of them and hurried inside a building even as the wrecker trundled past. A couple of lights in upstairs windows made Sam think that they were apartments in which people might be still awake. Knowing that potential help was so close was tantalizing, but she knew, too, that there was no way to take advantage of it. Closing her mind to the impossible, she stepped harder on the accelerator. Seeing what the headlights in the alley were up to was now impossible; escaping while the escaping was good was something she could still do.
    “Suppose you let me worry about me,” she said.
    “Suppose you keep your eyes on