Shiver

Calm the hell down!” Hands tried to pin her again, then as she sank her teeth into the nearest stuffed suit sleeve just as quickly let her go. “Ow! Damn it! She bit me!”
    “Let me go !”
    “Sam, stop!” It was a roar, uttered as arms once again locked around hers, clamping them to her body.
    “Tyler!” The man who was holding him pulled him back inside the window. Blinking furiously in an effort to clear her vision, struggling for all she was worth, she strained to get to him, to see if he’d been hurt.
    “Mom, I’m okay!” Her son was rubbing vigorously at his eyes with something—something white. A rag? “You let my mom go!” He directed a fierce frown at the men holding her.
    “We’re going to. Just as soon as—”
    “Get your hands off me!” Pinned but undaunted, Sam twisted and bucked ferociously in an effort to get loose, then, having freed a leg, slammed a knee into the nearest rib cage.
    “Ow! Damn it! Sam, stop fighting, it’s me!”
    “ Mom! You let her go!”
    Blurry as her vision still was, Sam saw that Tyler’s hair dripped liquid and his face was shiny wet, but otherwise he did indeed seem okay. The worst of her panic began to subside. Now sitting in the lap of the man who’d held him out the window, Tyler shook his head like a wet dog, splattering drops everywhere, including a few that felt cool and soothing as they hit her face. The good news was, he didn’t seem to be hurt or even particularly afraid. As Sam realized that, the terrified haze that had held her in thrall slowly started to dissipate. Calming down enough to realize that fighting was a waste of effort, because there was going to be no escaping the car even if she did get free of the men holding her, she felt her heart, which had been beating a thousand miles a minute, settle into mere pounding, and she managed to catch her breath. At the same time she began to take in her surroundings, and saw that the entire driver’s side of the car was dented inward and the guy holding Tyler looked vaguely familiar.
    “Sam, damn it, I’ve got you! Look at me.”
    That’s when she recognized the voice: Marco. Blinking wildly, she managed to clear her distorted vision enough to make sure. It was him, all right, wedged in the middle of the three men in the backseat. She had scrambled across him unknowing. Now, in her quest to reach Tyler, she was practically lying across his lap. His arms imprisoned hers, and he was holding her clamped against his chest. She realized that he was taking care to keep her elevated, and off his wounded leg. For the first time since she’d been thrown into the car she went completely still, blinking up at him.
    Marco frowned down at her. Their eyes met, and the fight went out of her like air escaping from a balloon. Going limp with relief, she sagged in his hold. Truth was, she didn’t think she had ever been so glad to see anyone in her life.
    She felt suddenly, ridiculously (because after all, what did she really know about Marco, or any of them, except what Marco had told her?) safe. But then, safe was probably a comparative thing. As in, compared to what she and Tyler had just escaped.
    And Mrs. Menifee hadn’t.
    The words practically tripped over each other as she rushed to get them out.
    “Our neighbor. She was baby-sitting Tyler. She’s back there in the house, with those men you warned me about. They were waiting for me when I got home. Mrs. Menifee’s hurt or . . .” Her voice trailed off. She did not want to complete the horrible thought while Tyler was within earshot. The thing was, she strongly suspected Mrs. Menifee might be dead. Even knowing what she knew for sure about what had been done to Mrs. Menifee made her heartsick.
    “I already told Trey about Mrs. Menifee. I told him I think they killed her.” Tyler sounded both sad and surprisingly matter-of-fact.
    “Trey?” Sam blinked hard at her son, trying to bring him into focus. Discovering that she was almost too spent to move, Sam moved anyway, saying, “Let me go” to Marco and the man still holding her legs, easing into a sitting position carefully, mindful of Marco’s wound. She was blinking away, resisting the urge to rub at her eyes only because she knew that rubbing them would just make them feel worse. There wasn’t any room, so she ended up perched on Marco’s good thigh, leaning back against the solid warmth of his chest with his arm heavy around her waist, squinting in an effort to see properly.