Chapter Twenty-Four

The back door crashes back on its hinges. “Police!”

His grip loosens enough for me to pull my arm free. I slam my hand at the button by the garage door. “Help! Please help!”

The door rumbles to life, inching its way off the floor. The mechanic spins me around and wraps his arm across my chest, locking me in front of his body. I fight until cold metal presses against the softness of my cheek. I don’t have to see the gun to recognize the icy hardness and rounded barrel. Was it tucked in the waistband of his jeans all this time? Or did he pick it up when I was hiding?

“Police! Put your hands on your head! Walk out, slow and steady!”

“Help! He’s got a—” The mechanic shifts the gun away from my cheek and clamps his other hand across my mouth. He squeezes so tight against my nose I can hardly breathe. I struggle against him, but his thumb pushes down, cutting off my air. The garage door slowly rumbles open, and all I can think about is breathing. I can’t fight his grip without air. I ache for one good breath, but all I get are tiny whiffs through my smashed lips and pinched nose.

The mechanic shoves me forward. “Shoot and she’s dead.” He yells the words right next to my ear. I stumble, my stocking feet trampling against his. He pulls my head back and up. His other arm pins me, the gun now pressing hard against my side. I can’t see anything but the black ceiling of the garage. He thrusts me forward until we’re under the dark gray of night.

“Drop the girl!”

Tears leak out of the corners of my eyes. Meg. Meg called the police. She’s safe, and even if I die right here in a blaze of bullets, someone will take care of her. And Mom—if she’s still alive, the police will find her.

The mechanic pulls me along. “Back away, all of you.” He states his orders in the same calm manner he described trafficking human lives. “One mistake and she’s dead.”

“And then you’re wanted for murder,” says a cop.

The mechanic tightens his grip on my mouth and shrugs his head to the right. “Over there. Guys behind the garage too.”

He’s still. Relaxed. His body is tight against mine, but there is no tension. No fear oozing through his skin. We wait. Boots scrape on pavement. Bodies shuffle away from us. Equipment creaks and groans, but the police are silent. I feel their movement, but can’t see any of it. I study the roof. The sky. Search for stars, knowing it’s too early to catch their bright twinkles of light.

“Turn your backs.” The mechanic’s breath brushes across the side of my face, but I’m numb to his nearness.

More shuffles and scrapes, creaks and groans.

“Face down on the pavement.”

“No way,” yells one of the cops.

“Down or she’s dead.” The mechanic doesn’t yell, just insists in that calm, vile tone. My life rests in the hands of this heartless man. One wrong turn—or a trigger-happy cop—and I am dead.

My head aches as I struggle to breathe. I listen to the last of the sounds before the night turns silent. No clank of equipment. No boots on pavement. Nothing but a deep, eerie stillness.

The mechanic backs away, dragging me with him. Slow. Steady. I should struggle, should fight him, but all my energy goes into pulling tiny wisps of air into my aching lungs.

The pavement changes to sidewalk under my toes. “No one moves or the girl dies,” he says again. This time, the words startle me, shocking me out of the fog that seeps through my aching head. Will he kill me anyway, even if the police do everything he asks?

The mechanic pulls me backward, farther and farther away from the garage. I concentrate on the cement under my stocking feet, feeling for every break in the concrete. Rooftops slide by, but my vision blurs. I struggle to stay alert.

The mechanic drops his hand from my nose and mouth. Surprised, I try to breathe, but my lungs don’t respond. Too late, I remember to struggle and yell, but my movements and voice are sluggish and slow. He shifts the arm across my chest. It’s the one with the gun. Do I fight or freeze? I take my chances and thrust my weight against his arm.

The mechanic throws me to the pavement, and my head hits with a crack. Bright flashes of light dance in front of my eyes. I can’t feel or see what is happening. All I can do is lay on my back, staring at the stars swirling in front of me. All I can do is suck air into my starving lungs.

I am alive. I am breathing.