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“We should call the police. Mark is a policeman. They’ll help him, and you won’t be in danger—”
“We don’t have time, Evie. Please. Mark could be hurt.”
“I don’t want any of you being hurt!”
Armand steps to her, putting his hand on her waist and leaning into her ear. I watch as her panicked blue eyes blink down, and she nods slowly.
He kisses her cheek and turns to us. “Let’s go,” he says, leading the way.
“I still don’t like it!” Evie calls as the three of us rush out the door.
Armand’s black Audi is parked on the street, and once we’re in, he whips it around heading north in the direction of the interstate.
“I’ll go to the door,” he tells Roland, never taking his eyes from the road. “You go around to the back and see if you can get inside through a window or an unlocked door—”
“What do I do?” I’m on edge in the back, gripping the tops of both front seats.
“You’ll stay in this fucking car,” Roland snaps.
“I will not!”
Armand interrupts. “Can you drive?”
My chin drops, and I shake my head. “No.”
“Shit,” he hisses.
Roland cuts his eyes to me. “I knew there was something I should’ve taught you to do.”
“I never needed to know.” My voice is panicky. “It’s not like I had a car…”
We’re crossing the river, and streetlights flicker fast across Armand’s face. His dark hair is short, and he’s clean-shaven. The muscle in his jaw move back and forth as he thinks.
“Do you know anything about driving? It would be helpful in case we need to leave fast.”
“Roland can do it. I can go around back and check for open windows or doors.”
“That is not going to happen,” Roland says under his breath.
I’m furious, ready to shout at both of them. I don’t know why this car won’t go any faster. I’m sure I’ll scream when the blinker goes on, and Armand exits the interstate.
“We’ll figure it out when we see what we’re dealing with.” The ominous tone in his voice draws more heat to my eyes.
Oh, God, not again…
Not Mark…
This side of the river is dark and feels very remote. The houses are small and grouped in little clusters with open spaces of flat grassland between them. The levee rises high on the opposite side of the road like a wall.
Armand cuts his speed and switches the headlights to dim. My throat is so tight, I can barely breathe. The two-lane street is narrow, and we’re app
roaching a tall wooden structure painted white. A metal sign hangs on the corner.
“Is that my car?” Roland leans forward, and I strain my eyes in the darkness.
Only one streetlight is up ahead on the corner, and Roland’s black Fiat is on the shoulder in an alley. It’s partially hidden, and Armand guides his car to a stop behind it.
“Be careful,” he says, but I’m out the back door before he finishes speaking.
