turned, already taking the first step in retracing her journey, when her blood froze. Lined up between her and the elevator doors were three men. Or rather three teenagers, she amended, as her eyes skated back and forth between them.
Their youth wasn’t comforting. Not given their dress and demeanor. Actually, the latter was distinctly menacing.
As if in response to some unseen signal, they began to walk toward her. All the survival reflexes kicked in, sending a rush of adrenaline through her system.
Fight or flight. A hell of a choice, given that the three of them were blocking the only viable exit.
Maybe she was wrong about what she’d seen behind her car, she thought. Maybe it had been a rat. Something other than a cohort of the teens who were now advancing on her.
She slipped the strap of her evening bag off her wrist and fumbled her car keys out of it. Then she threw the purse underhanded toward the trio. It skidded to a stop about ten feet in front of them.
If their intent were to rob her, she’d make it easy for them. Maybe the purse would give them something to occupy themselves with while she made a run up the ramp to the car.
And if another one were waiting for her there, she’d deal with that when she arrived. Those odds were still better than trying to go through these three to get to the elevator.
She thought briefly again about taking off her shoes, but the boys were advancing more quickly now. The bag she’d thrown lay halfway between them and her position.
She had no idea whether they would be sufficiently distracted by it to allow her to escape. That would probably depend on what they wanted. If she tried to run before they had gotten to it, however, they might very well ignore the purse in order to come after her.
Almost before the thought had time to form, the boy in the middle reached the evening bag. He stooped to pick it up, his eyes never leaving hers.
As she watched, he took her wallet out and opened it. He made a show of running his thumb across the money in the bill compartment. She couldn’t remember how much was there. She never carried much cash, so it couldn’t be a great deal.
Please, God, let it be enough.
Then, without bothering to remove the money, he threw both the purse and billfold to the side and took another step toward her. As soon as he did, she rounded the railing, sprinting up the ramp toward her brother’s Jag.
The sound of their boots, amplified by the low overhang, pounded against the concrete behind her. She could tell that they were gaining on her. She released the stole she had unthinkingly hung on to and used both hands to pick up the long skirt of the red dress, freeing her legs from its constraints.
As she neared her car, a figure stepped from the shadows behind it. She dodged as it appeared in her peripheral vision, heading for the far side of the ramp instead of toward the car.
She was running full-out now, but still she couldn’t avoid him. He leaped across the expanse that separated them and grabbed her upper arm, long fingernails digging into her flesh.
He jerked so hard that she stumbled against him. Unconsciously she put her hand on his chest in an attempt to regain her balance.
She was close enough now that she could smell him. Stale sweat and cigarette smoke. He put his other hand on her bare shoulder, dragging her to him so that her breasts brushed the stained T-shirt he wore.
As they did, she finally realized why they hadn’t been tempted by the purse she’d thrown them. Apparently money had nothing to do with what they were after.
Chapter Two
Driven by panic and fury, Kelly ground the high heel of her sandal down on her assailant’s toes. Luckily, he was shod in sneakers rather than the boots the others favored.
Hissing a profanity, he loosened his grip long enough to allow her to pull free. She started up the ramp again, intending to run to the next level, which she hoped would not be as deserted as this one.
Before she’d taken two steps, she heard the sound of a car. She looked up in time to see headlights appear at the top of the ramp. She ran toward them, waving her arms to attract the driver’s attention. Surely he would take in the situation and stop to help her.
And what if he did? Always assuming it was a “he.” It would still be four to one.
Four to two, she amended, feeling a ridiculous sense of triumph in the victory she’d achieved with her high heel.
Realistically she knew that the smart thing for whoever was in that car to do would be to drive past her. Just get the hell out of the parking deck. If she were lucky, he might stop somewhere and call the police. If the driver were another woman, that was almost certainly what would happen.
If it were a man, maybe he would slow enough to let her jump into the car as he went by. That would probably depend on whether or not she could put enough distance between herself and the boy who’d grabbed her to make that maneuver safe for the driver. Right now that was doubtful.
Even as she acknowledged the difficulty, the hand of the teen who had been hiding behind her car closed around the fabric of her skirt. She staggered forward, feeling the sheer material rip free from where it was attached to the bodice.
Desperation lent her strength. Somehow she managed to pull away from him. Once she had, she looked up again, trying to gauge how far she was from the approaching car.
She’d made almost no progress at all, she thought in despair. Then she realized the vehicle had stopped, its headlights shining down on the scene playing out below.
Her heart sank. Either this was a confederate arriving with the getaway car or the driver was rethinking his route.
Don’t leave, she pled silently as she ran. Please don’t leave me alone with them.
The sound of a car door slamming at the top of the ramp put an end to any hope of rescue. No one in his right mind, if he were an innocent bystander, would get out of that car. He might drive by at full speed. He might even back up to a higher level and park somewhere in the darkness, hoping the boys wouldn’t come looking for him.
Those were options a normal person might take. Getting out of the car wasn’t. Not in this situation.
As she ran toward the top, she could hear the sound of the driver’s footsteps coming down the ramp. Slow, almost measured, they were suddenly the only noise on this level of the parking deck.
She turned from the blinding glare of the headlights to glance behind her. The four attackers had stopped their pursuit. Just as she was, they were listening to the approaching footsteps with a wary intensity.
Not a confederate then. This was something—someone—totally unexpected.
She picked up speed as she ran toward the driver, hope reviving her flagging strength. She didn’t have breath enough to scream for help. She had to trust that he’d assessed the situation and figured out what was about to happen.
“What’s going on here?”
The voice was deep and unbelievably calm. Too calm. Maybe he hadn’t understood. Maybe he’d
