Her every nerve suddenly on edge, Lindsey Presley stared at the blond man confronting Deputy Jeff Gage.
Reaching behind her, Lindsey double-checked the lock on the front door of her restaurant, then hugged the night-deposit bag more tightly. She prayed she was wrong about the stranger. After all, he didn’t look all that different from other young people in the area. Clean-shaven, short hair, T-shirt, jeans. Barely more than a kid. Average.
Except for that vintage orange 1968 Pontiac GTO that waited behind him, blocking Jeff’s patrol cruiser. The GTO’s front door stood open, waiting. Its motor idled with the distinctive rumble of a pampered muscle car.
The top step of the Cape Cod–style building gave Lindsey a view of the entire parking lot. Empty, except for the three of them and the two cars. She blinked hard, distracted as the kid shook his left hand out to one side, as if trying to fling a bug from it. His right hand remained hidden behind his hip.
Go back inside. This isn’t right. A streetwise instinct honed in her childhood urged Lindsey to flee behind closed doors. There a kitchen bristled with knives she could use for defense. But that instinct fought with her reluctance to leave the sheriff’s deputy who stood between her and the young man. Jeff had promised to protect her on the nightly deposit runs to the bank and had done just that since she’d opened the diner six months ago. During those short rides to the bank, they’d become close friends. She didn’t want to abandon him. She wouldn’t.
Friends don’t do that. And the guy still hasn’t done anything wrong. Logic told her to wait. Friendship begged her to stay. Her gut told her to run.
Jeff, who had been waiting for her at the foot of the front steps at eight o’clock, also seemed to sense something odd about the way the young man had slid the GTO into the parking lot after closing time. He stood with his back stiff, feet apart and firmly planted, his hand on his gun. On guard and wary.
The man’s left hand shook harder, and Lindsey’s muscles tensed. Now, she thought. It’s going to happen now. What do I do?
Trip the alarm. The thought startled her, but she immediately knew it was a good idea. Turning, she thrust her key in the lock, twisted it and cracked open the door. If she didn’t close it or enter the code inside within thirty seconds, the alarm would sound.
“Sir, you need to leave.” Jeff’s firm command echoed over the empty parking lot. “The restaurant is closed.”
Lindsey pivoted back toward the parking lot, eyes fixed on the two men. The younger man shook his head, now holding his left hand high and smiling broadly. “I understand. I understand. I just need directions. I drove all the way from...from Chicago. Trying to find a girl I met online. Just a girl.” He stepped forward, as if to go around Jeff.
Jeff blocked his path. He glanced warily up at the kid’s left hand. “Where are you going?”
The blond never responded. Instead, he swung his right arm around from behind his back. He ground a stun gun into Jeff’s chest. With a stark cry of pain, Jeff dropped to the asphalt, his body twisting in spastic seizures.
“No!” Lindsey screamed. She dashed down the steps toward them, throwing the money bag at the man. “Take it!” She lunged toward Jeff.
She never reached him. Fire shot through her skull as the man grabbed her by the hair, yanking her backward. He punched her in the solar plexus. Lindsey’s breath stopped and spots danced in front of her eyes as she collapsed. Her assailant grabbed her arm and slung her over the hood of the GTO.
The restaurant alarm blared through the night, the sirens radiating off every wall in the neighborhood. The man cursed and pressed his arm on the back of her neck. “Stupid woman!”
Lindsey fought for air as he yanked her arms behind her. Plastic ties cut deep into her skin as he secured her wrists. Finally drawing a raspy gasp, Lindsey tried to scream again, but a sharp blow to her ribs cut it off as she curled up in agony. He snapped her ankles together, wrapping the ties around them. He tossed her over one shoulder, her small frame no burden at all to him.
He bent to scoop up the money, then kicked Jeff twice as he passed the struggling deputy—once in the side, once on the back of Jeff’s skull. Jeff went limp.
Lindsey found more breath. “No!” She bucked against the man, but he ignored her, shoving her unceremoniously into the backseat of the GTO. “Scream away, darlin’. No one will hear you over this baby.”
The guy got in and gunned the engine. The fine-tuned rumble exploded into a roar that split the night air. The orange car spit loose gravel, and smoke bellowed from beneath its tires as it spun out of the parking lot less than five minutes after it had pulled in.
Lindsey pushed herself around, still fighting to breathe normally, regularly. Not an easy task with the pain throbbing through her ribs and head. She struggled against her bonds without success. Sweat coated her back and legs where they pressed against the vinyl backseat of the car. The fury and adrenaline that seared through her made Lindsey’s mind spin. Her muscles trembled, but terror and pain kept her sane and focused as the past few minutes played over and over in her head.
God, how do I get out of this? Help me.
Lindsey twisted until she could see her attacker over the low, split front seat of the GTO. His pasty face glowed in the glare of oncoming headlights, and rivulets of water dripped out of the man’s hair and trailed down his cheeks and neck.
He’s sweating! Despite the open front windows and light chill of the early fall night, the man’s hair remained plastered to his scalp. He fidgeted, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and squirming in his seat. He pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket to check it, mumbling directions to himself. Over the roar of the engine, Lindsey barely caught the words, “Go slow. Careful. Left after three miles.” He shoved the paper back in his pocket. He let up on the gas, and the car slowed.
He’s going to turn. Leave the main road. Lindsey knew the road he planned to take. It ran deep into an almost impenetrable Tennessee woodland. In that second’s realization, Lindsey knew she was about to die. No! Her mind screamed the word, and in pure desperation, a rough idea formed in her mind. An insane idea. He’ll be focused on the turn, the other cars...
As Lindsey slowly shifted her body into position, her assailant’s words repeated over and over.
Turn, three miles. Turn, three miles.
Lindsey frowned, then blinked the words away. She must get ready, no matter how crazy her plan seemed. You can do this. You can do this! Pushing over on her back, she ignored the agony in her hands as she braced her shoulders against the middle of the seat and cautiously drew her knees up to her chest. Her short, petite frame let her curl into a tight ball, and Lindsey had never felt so grateful for being so short—or for taking that Pilates class her sisters had insisted on.
Still mumbling, the man braked the car suddenly, shouting at an oncoming vehicle to get out of the way. As he stomped on the accelerator again, heading the car into the left turn, Lindsey shrieked with all her might. Startled, the man’s head snapped around to glare at her, just as she kicked both legs with as much strength as she had, thrusting her thick-soled, restaurant-durable shoes directly at his face.
His scream matched hers as blood shot from his crushed nose. He jerked, twisting the wheel to the right, veering the car out of the turn and straight toward the corner where the two roads met. He never
