Ann Aguirre - Shady Lady

Though it had been my turn for several hours, Kel didn’t pull over to let me get behind the wheel. The little car hurtled down I-37 as if he knew for a fact we had something chasing us. I didn’t ask if that was true, because I feared he’d tell me. Shannon had dozed off a few minutes before, her head lolling against the smoky glass. I didn’t blame her; according to the dashboard clock, it was pushing two a.m. At that point, he and I were both running on caffeine, sugar, and stubbornness.

“Feeling better?” he asked at length.

“Sure. A long-ass car trip with only minimal stops for food and hygiene could cheer anyone up.”

To my surprise, the corners of his mouth tugged, as if he fought the urge to smile. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it, either, and this time—reflected in the rearview mirror—I was sure. His face revealed only microexpressions, but they did exist. Before I could question him, a black SUV came roaring up from behind us.

Even before it passed and cut us off in front, I had a bad feeling. A second SUV practically attached itself to our rear bumper—if Kel didn’t keep the speed steady, we would find ourselves smashed between these two automotive beasts. I swallowed hard as a third zoomed up on the left and kept pace. Shit. They had us completely boxed in.

I slid over to the left side, directly behind Kel, and tried to get a look inside the other vehicle. So far they hadn’t made contact or tried to force us off the road. That seemed unlike Montoya. Unfortunately, the windows were tinted too dark to make out anything about those within.

My phone pinged. The message had nothing to do with our current situation, but I flipped it open and looked anyway. My stomach clenched.

I read the text aloud. “ ‘Pull off at the next rest area.’ ”

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice taut with tension.

“No. But I suspect they’ll force the issue if you don’t comply.” That was the point of boxing us in, and our car couldn’t take the damage three SUVs would inflict.

“Very well.”

They’d chosen their spot with care. Two miles up the road there was a rest area; no cars came up from behind to challenge their blocking trifecta. Kel slowed as they did and guided the vehicle into the nearly empty lot. As in most such places, there was a twenty-four-hour building that offered a foyer full of tourism pamphlets and, beyond that, restrooms. Along the front nestled a bay of vending machines. At this hour, I saw only semis in the far parking lot—not many, either.

Fear roiled in my stomach, making a mess out of the chips and chocolate. I curled my hands into fists and braced them on my knees. I didn’t know whether to get out boldly and ask what they wanted, or sit here waiting to be summoned.

“They want to talk,” he said quietly. “If they’d wanted you dead, one shot would’ve done it as we drove. Here, they have greater vulnerability.”

That was certainly true. Kel was no longer handicapped by managing an automobile, so he could fight. Maybe they didn’t know who—or what—he was. Another advantage they couldn’t factor.

Thus bolstered, I climbed out of the vehicle. Slamming the door jolted Shannon awake, and I saw alarm when she registered the three black SUVs, but he stilled her with a hand on her arm.

Thank you , I thought. Keep her safe for me.

Everything looked pale and wan beneath the lights. I heard bugs whirring around the building, distant sounds of cars on the highway. I played cool and leaned against my car door like I wasn’t expecting a shot through the forehead any second. Wait, no—they’d give me two to the back of the head, make it look like an execution to avoid questions.

For several long moments, nothing happened, and then a strange man—strange in the sense that I’d never seen him before—stepped out of the nearest SUV. They drove Denalis, I noted, less flashy than a fleet of Hummers. I was conscious of my wrinkled clothing, dark circles beneath my eyes, messy hair, and orange Cheetos dust on my chest, but I didn’t move. If we were going to have a stare-down before he spoke, so be it.

Henchman One paused, a hand on the open door. “Corine Solomon?”

“Who’s asking?”

In answer, he twirled two fingers in the air. Three more guys stepped out, grabbed me before I could do more than throw a wild punch, and chucked me headfirst into the Denali. My face skidded across fine gray leather and someone slammed the door behind me. In a squeal of tires, we were moving.

Oh, shit. I’d been kidnapped.

I lunged for the door, only to be brought up short by one of the thugs. He didn’t hurt me, but he effectively blocked me from flinging myself out of the moving SUV. The sister vehicles stayed in the rest area, and as we sped away, two shots rang out. I screamed and pounded on the glass.

No, no, no, no. Kel can fight incredible numbers. He’d done it before. I had seen it. The guardian could live through damn near anything—maybe even a bullet in the brain—but Shannon . . . No, not Shannon. A scream built in my throat.

Shortly, the other two SUVs flanked us, providing protection, I supposed. Four men accompanied me in this one, and they all wore black and impassive expressions. They were mixed nationalities, so I couldn’t be sure who’d taken me. Regardless, it meant nothing good. I tried again to get to the door, though we were on the highway and doing eighty. Dumb, sure, but no worse than believing gangsters wanted to talk.

“You’re going to be difficult,” a man said with faint exasperation. His accent was difficult to place, but it wasn’t Mexican. Not Canadian either, more like—

Before I could make up my mind, a needle prickled my skin and I fell into a dark hole.

I woke in a sumptuously appointed room, all white—impossible to keep clean without an army of maids attending to every smudge and spill. Judging by the pristine carpet, whoever had taken me possessed such an army. I fought down a sick certainty that, like Señor Alvarez, Shannon had died because of me. My head felt thick from whatever they’d drugged me with, and my tongue tasted funny.

A disembodied voice sounded on the intercom, different from the man in the SUV. “You will find clean clothing in the armoire. Please avail yourself of the facilities. In half an hour, someone will escort you to my study.”

Even if I had wanted to argue, I saw no button I could press to make my fear and fury known. I slid off the mattress and onto the thick, plush carpet, and then glanced down at myself. My jeans were stained; my shirt still carried orange smudges. God only knew what my hair was doing. It would serve this bastard right if I confronted him in all my stink, but I couldn’t stand myself another minute.

In the wardrobe, I found a small array of attire: a pair of jeans, designer slacks, a couple of blouses and sweaters. More unnerving, they were all my size. I closed the door on such creepiness and went into the bathroom. If possible, that was worse.

Oh, it was a dream of a room, all gilt and marble; there was a Jacuzzi and a separate glass stall for when you wanted to rinse off. Since I didn’t think it was right to lounge in a spa tub when my friends might be dead and I had been abducted, I glared at the offending opulence as I got in the shower. Even the toiletries bespoke an unnerving knowledge of me. The expensive shampoo and conditioner smelled of frangipani, my preferred scent.

Well beyond worried and now into creeped-the-fuck-out, I rushed as I would never ordinarily do. I only had thirty minutes anyway, if I didn’t want some goon dragging me out of the bathroom naked and wet. Clean clothes would armor me for what was to come.

I dried off and couldn’t resist the frangipani body cream. All this luxury had the effect of diffusing my fear, cutting it with anger instead. I could use the boost of looking more together than I felt. Worry gnawed at me underneath, mostly about Butch and Shannon. If they weren’t okay—