eye over their charges. Not watching her, of course. Scads of people, but none who could help because at the moment, she had a gun in her back.
Farin said, “Just please don’t hurt my bab—”
“You shut up! You say one more word, you are dead!” The voice was male. “Look straight ahead!”
Farin obeyed.
The disembodied voice went on. “You turn around, you are dead. You do not look at me. Understand?”
Farin nodded yes, keeping her eyes down. His voice was in the medium to high range. Slightly clipped, perhaps accented.
Immediately, Tara started crying. With shaking hands, Farin clutched her daughter to her chest, and cooed into her seashell ear. Instinctively, she brought her purse over Tara’s back, drawing her coat over handbag and child. Farin hoped that if the man did shoot, she and the purse would be the protective bread in the Tara sandwich, the bullet having to penetrate another surface before it could—
The gun’s nozzle dug into her backbone. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out.
“Drop your purse!” the voice commanded.
Immediately, Farin did as ordered. She heard him rooting through her handbag, doing this single-handedly because the gun was still pressing into her kidneys.
Please let this be a simple purse snatching! She heard a jangle of metal. Her keys? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the passenger door to her station wagon had been opened. Again, she felt the press of the gun.
“Go in. From passenger’s side! You do it or I shoot your baby!”
At the mention of her baby, Farin lost all resolve. Tears poured down from her eyes. Hugging her child, she walked around the front of the car, thoughts of escape cut short by the metal at her tailbone. She paused at the sight of the open door.
“Go on!” he barked. “Do it now!”
With Tara at her bosom, she bent down until she found her footing. Then she slid into her passenger’s seat.
“Move across!” he snapped.
Farin tried to figure out how to do this. The car had bucket seats and there was a console between them. With clumsy, halted motions, and still holding Tara, she lifted her butt over the leather-cushioned wall, and into the driver’s seat, both now scrunched behind the wheel. Again, Tara started to cry.
“You shut her up!” he barked.
She’s a baby! Farin wanted to shout. She’s scared! Instead, she began to rock her, singing softly into her ear. He was right beside her, the gun now in her rib cage.
Don’t look at him, Farin reminded herself. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look!
Staring straight ahead. But she could tell that the gun had shifted to Tara’s head.
Think, Farin! Think!
But nothing came into her hapless brain, not a thought, not a clue. Fear had penetrated every pore of her being as her heart banged hard against her breastbone. Her chest was tight; her breathing was labored. Within seconds, Farin felt her head go light, along with that ominous darkening of her vision. Sparkles popped through her brain … that awful sensation of floating to nothingness.
No, she hadn’t been shot. She was going to pass out!
Don’t pass out, you fool. You can’t afford—
His voice brought her back to reality.
“You give me the girl! Then you drive!”
Tara was still on her lap, little hands grabbing Farin’s blouse. Once Tara was out of her grip, Farin knew they both were helpless unless she did something.
Farin knew she had to move. Without warning, she pivoted around, using the solid weight of her shoulder bone to slam it against his gun-toting hand. Although the sudden move didn’t dislodge the gun from his grip, it did push his hand away, giving Farin about a second to spring into action.
This time, the console was her friend. Because now he had to get over it to do something to her. She jerked down on the door handle, then kicked open the metal barrier to the max. Still holding Tara, Farin bolted from her seat, and attempted to run away.
But her shoe caught and she tripped, falling toward the pebbly road.
What a klutz!
Thinking as she plunged downward: Break the fall with your hip, cover Tara, then kick …
She contorted, managing to land on her hip and shoulder, scraping her right cheek on the unforgiving, rocky asphalt. Immediately, she rolled on top of Tara. Finding her vocal cords, she let out a scream worthy of the best B horror movies.
A deep male voice shouting, “What’s going on over there?”
Even from her poor vantage point, Farin thought that the shout might belong to the man with the brown pit bull.
Several popping sounds.
Oh God, she thought, he’s shooting at me!
Farin prepared for the worst—the sting, the pain, the writhing and horror, or whatever was to come … because she’d never been shot.
But nothing penetrated her body.
Instead, the popping turned out to be her car’s engine. Within moments, the Volvo’s tires screeched as they peeled rubber. One of the back radials smashed over her left foot and ankle as the car blasted from its launch pad.
Now came the pain! It burst into her head and made her sob. Loud, but it didn’t drown out Tara’s piercing cries.
Oh God! My baby is hurt! She called out, “Somebody help me!” Her foot and ankle were pulverized, but agony also stabbed her entire lower body—specifically legs and hips. Her stomach was a bucking storm, her face felt as if attacked by a raging hive of bees. She could hardly breathe. She felt as if she were having a heart attack. At least, she could wiggle the toes on her right foot so she knew she wasn’t paralyzed.
While moaning back excruciating sobs of anguish, she could see the man with the brown pit bull running toward her. He was yelling for help, that Farin could tell. The pit bull was barking wildly … menacingly. It was pulling against the restraints. Suddenly, the dog broke loose from its owner, galloping toward them at full speed!
Lunging toward them!
A huge leap into the air!
The final touch! She was going to be eaten alive!
The dog was within inches of her face.
She passed out just as the pit bull started to lick her tearstained cheek.
The husband was pissed, trying to make Decker go away by throwing him dirty looks. Not that Decker blamed the guy. Nor did Decker, or his twenty-five years of experience, take it personally. Part
