Galen whips around. Sure enough, Emma is in the passenger seat of a car stopped at the only stoplight in town. And Tyrden is driving.

41

I WANT to scream at the people around me. To beat on the window and yell for help. But Tyrden is pointing the gun at my stomach, and I know he’ll shoot before anyone can come to my aid. Before anyone will realize what happened.

So my choice is getting shot now or later. It’s just that I think I have a better chance for escape later. Now, if I even move, I’m dead. Later, when we stop wherever we’re going, he’ll have to get out of the car at some point. There will be that brief second when the gun isn’t pointed at me. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. That’s when I’ll make my move.

Rachel taught me that when someone has a gun, the best chance you’ve got is to run away in a zigzag pattern, that it’s harder to hit a moving target. She says that way, even if they do shoot and hit, it lowers the odds of them striking a vital organ—and increases your chances of getting away.

I’m startled from my thoughts when one of the pedestrians knocks on my window. I’m too terrified to look up at whoever it is. “What should I do?” I ask Tyrden quietly.

“See what he wants,” he says. “And remember what I’ve got in my hand.” Tyrden lowers the gun to rest it on the seat between us, hiding it in a shadow cast by a streetlamp.

I roll down the window. And come face to face with Toraf. My eyes feel like they’ve doubled in size. Toraf is here. Toraf is here. Toraf is here.

“Hi,” he says, poking his head in. I want to push him out, to tell him to run, to tell him to help me, to tell him there’s a gun. My mouth is hung on the hinges, unwilling to make the words. “Can I get a ride to city hall?” he says.

There’s no way Toraf doesn’t see the gun. What is he doing?

“Sorry, we’re not going that way,” Tyrden says, his voice all friendly and cheerful. He presses the gun into my hip. “And we’re late getting to where we’re going.”

“Oh, sorry. Could you just give me some quick directions then?”

“Sure.” A bit of his impatience shines through. “Turn right at this light and—”

The sound of shattering glass hits me from the driver’s side before the actual shards do. Toraf flings the passenger door open, and I spill out of the car on top of him as I hear the gun go off behind me. It makes contact with the door panel inches from my head.

“Get up, get up,” Toraf says, pulling me to my feet. He wraps his arm around my waist and hauls me to the curb.

There are screams all around us. The car bounces up and down, squeaking the suspension, which is made more horrifying by a succession of male grunts resounding from the front seat. After a few seconds, another shot rings out and with a clink, the gun falls onto the pavement beside the car.

“I’ll be right back,” Toraf says, kicking it away. Then he all but dives into the passenger seat.

In a matter of milliseconds, Galen appears from the driver’s side, and my stomach does cartwheels. He drags an unconscious Tyrden out of the car by his armpits and unceremoniously throws him in the backseat. He seems oblivious to the crowd that has gathered around him. He spots me on the sidewalk, doing nothing at all to save myself or him. Galen appears relieved that I’m not being useful.

“Emma!” he yells. “Get in the car.”

Robotically, I scramble back to the passenger side just as Toraf’s feet fly over the bench seat and he takes his place next to Tyrden’s limp body in the back. “Go go go,” Toraf says, and Galen stomps on the gas, parting the crowd.

The advantage of being in a small town is that you can get out of it quickly. Two minutes, and we’re speeding down the highway. I’m clutching the door panel, trying not to think about the bullet hole in it. Also, trying to absorb what just freaking happened.

“Angelfish,” Galen says beside me. He puts a gentle hand on my leg, and I instinctively cover it with mine. “Are you okay?”

I nod, eyes wide. “You?” It’s a valid question. He’s got bruises all over his face, a puffy eye, and both his top and bottom lips are split. Some of the bruises are yellowing already, which means they’re older than the recent scuffle with Tyrden in this car. I’ve never seen him look so rough.

“I’m going to be,” he says with confidence. “Once I get you safe.”

“What should I do if he wakes up?” Toraf says behind us. I glance back at Tyrden, who is folded up into an almost ball in the seat. He looks like he’s been packed in a suitcase in a hurry.

Galen looks in the rearview. “Keep your boot in his face and get ready to use it.”

“Will do.”

“Galen?” I say softly. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, but whichever I choose is going to be done in a state of hysteria.

“Hmm?”

“Where have you been?”

He takes a deep breath and squeezes my knee. “You’re not going to believe everything that has happened.”

I take in Galen’s face, the bullet holes in the car, the man we’ve kidnapped in the backseat, and the fact that he was holding me hostage not ten minutes before. “Try me.”

42

GALEN DUMPS Tyrden in the back of the SUV Nalia rented from the airport. With concentrated movements, he starts wrapping him in layer after layer of rope she’d gotten from a hardware store a few towns down. She really was prepared to take a hostage. With his teeth, he tears off a piece of duct tape and places it carefully over Tyrden’s mouth.