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No more time for thinking. I put my seat belt on.
I pulled as far forward as I could and floored it in reverse.
Took three times, but I finally busted through the old wooden garage door.
I laughed like a maniac as I drove in reverse out of the driveway and onto a dirt country road with a bashed back end. I put the car in drive and stomped on the gas.
I needed medical care. I needed a blood test to see how much carbon monoxide had gotten into my system, my ankle probably needed an X-ray, and my hands and forearms needed to be patched up.
And I needed oxygen. I was light-headed and dizzy, my vision was blurred, with objects coming in and out of focus. But I had no choice. I had to drive out of there.
I had no idea where I was. I glanced at the dash. A half tank of gas. I had no money and no ID, so this half tank had better get me somewhere.
I regarded the vast prairie as I drove down the road, a drum still pounding in my head.
And I laughed like a maniac again.
* * *
I’d been driving almost an hour, my mind still foggy, when I finally saw a sign. Delta, ten miles. Delta was a tiny municipality about forty miles away from Grand Junction. If I could get to Delta, I could get home. All I needed was for the gas to hold out, and it probably would.
I drove with all the windows open—not that I had a choice on the driver’s side. I wanted only fresh air. I never wanted to inhale car fumes again. I was driving with a lead foot, and I reached Delta in less than ten minutes. Night had fallen, and Delta was a small town. Would their police station be open? Most likely, but I had no idea where it was, and I didn’t want to waste the gas looking around.
So I hopped on US 50 to Grand Junction. I knew how to get to the police there, but that wasn’t where I was going.
* * *
I had almost reached Grand Junction when a siren started blaring behind me.
Fine. I needed to talk to the police anyway.
I stopped the car, coughing. Out of habit, I reached for the glove compartment for my registration and insurance card, even though I didn’t have any. I opened the glove compartment anyway. Maybe Gina still had her registration in there—if this was indeed her car, as the masked man had insinuated. That way I could show the officer something. But no dice. Nothing in there.
I shut the glove compartment and turned—
“Oh!” I coughed again.
The barrel of a pistol pointed at me.
My leg muscles tightened, and my clammy hands clenched around the steering wheel. Jonah. I want Jonah. God, would I never get back to him?
“Step out of the car, ma’am.”
“Please, you don’t need your gun.” I opened the door and stepped slowly out, still feeling slightly dizzy, landing on my sore ankle. “As you can see, I’m in need of medical attention.”
“Are you aware that this vehicle has been reported as stolen?” the police officer said.
“That doesn’t surprise me. I’m Dr. Melanie Carmichael—”
“Hands on your head, ma’am.”
I complied, wincing at the pain in my arms. “You don’t understand. I’m Dr. Melanie Carmichael. I was abducted… I don’t know when I was abducted. What day is it today anyway?”
“I’ll do the talking, ma’am. I need to see some ID.”
“I don’t have any. Aren’t you listening to me? I was kidnapped, knocked out, and then tied up and left in a garage with a running car.”
“Sure you were.”
