Lethal Ransom. Laurie Alice Eakes

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      “Who’s driving here?” Kristen tried to laugh to lighten the question.

      “Just listen to me for once.”

      Kristen glanced at her mother and read tension in the tightening of the skin around her blue eyes.

      “You know,” Kristen murmured.

      “That we’re being followed? Yes. Now change lanes.”

      Hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough for her knuckles to whiten, Kristen managed to slide into the slower lane.

      And the dark SUV wedged in right behind her. Mere inches from her bumper. Just as her foot pressed harder on the gas to create more distance between her Camry and the SUV, a pickup roared into the gap between Kristen and the car ahead of her.

      “What are they doing?” Kristen cried.

      Mom didn’t answer. She held her phone to her ear. “I think we are about to be carjacked.”

      “Mom, who are you talking to?” Kristen’s voice had gone squeaky again as she sought for breath—breath and the Harlem Avenue exit. She passed it every day, and she couldn’t remember if it was on the left or the right. She couldn’t remember if Austin or Harlem was first.

      Her sweating palms slipped on the steering wheel, and the car swerved. “I need to get off the expressway.”

      “We’re easier to find if we stay on the Eisenhower.” Mom’s tone remained quiet, calm. “If we get off in Oak Park, there’s too many quiet side streets we could end up on.”

      And the exit loomed too close. Moving over for a left-hand exit was impossible at the moment. The pickup was slowing. The SUV was not. The faster lane flowed with an unbroken line of cars and trucks. At the moment, a semi roared alongside them, flinging water from beneath its enormous tires, sending diesel fumes into the intake vents for the air-conditioning.

      Kristen’s stomach rolled with the anticipation of what was about to happen and the knowledge she might fail at the drastic measure she must take in an attempt to stop it.

      “Mom?” Kristen kept her tone as calm as she could manage. “Hold on.”

      She spun the wheel to the right.

      “Don’t do it,” Mom cried.

      Too late. The Camry’s tires rumbled on the edge of the pavement. The car hit the shoulder, water and rocks spraying, pinging against the fenders. Kristen’s foot pressed harder on the gas. Fifty-five. Sixty. Sixty-five.

      “Kristen!” Mom shouted.

      She saw it looming in her rearview mirror—the SUV riding her bumper. Ahead, a disabled vehicle stood on the side of the highway, flashers blazing into the rain-created twilight. To her left, the pickup kept pace, blocking her ability to swing back into the flow of traffic.

      Trapped, she eased up on the gas, praying the SUV wouldn’t crash into them, and moved her foot to the brake. Slow and steady. Water flooded over the road. She could hydroplane and cause a pileup if she slammed on the brakes and lost control. If she didn’t stop fast enough, she would plow into the aged Buick ahead of her.

      She was losing momentum too quickly. The back of the Camry fishtailed. The SUV blasted its horn, and Kristen jumped.

      “Just past the Harlem exit,” Mom was saying into her phone.

      “Put the phone down.” Kristen barked out the order. “If we crash, it could break your face.”

      If they crashed? When they crashed.

      Or something crashed into them.

      The thud came from the left, a tap against the bumper. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the SUV looming dark and menacing in her side mirror. Roaring up closer, crowding her to the right where she could go over no farther. Threatening the back of the pickup.

      Bang.

      The SUV hit the left-hand back door. Kristen’s foot slammed on the brake in a convulsive effort to maintain control. Water blasted against the undercarriage.

      And control was only a dream.

      The Camry spun perpendicular to the lane, missed the pickup by a hair, then smashed its front bumper into the side of the SUV.

      The air bags exploded, slamming Kristen against her seat, driving wind from her lungs. Mom emitted a soft gasp, then began to cough from the dust.

      Kristen couldn’t breathe at all. Her vision blurred. Her chest tightened, squeezing, squeezing...

      Between the air bag and seat belt, she couldn’t move. Cocooned. Strangled. The air bag was already deflating. A click and the seat belt would be off. This was mere seconds.

      It felt like a lifetime.

      A scream reverberated through her head, couldn’t reach her lips, choked her.

      “No panic attacks now.” Mom never raised her voice, but it was sharp nonetheless. “No weakness.”

      Weakness. Mom considered panic attacks weakness. Must not show weakness.

      Nausea clawed at Kristen’s middle. She swallowed, reached for the seat belt lock with one hand and the door handle with the other.

      The door popped open without her aid. It should have been locked, but a man stood in the opening on her side and another on Mom’s side.

      “Get out,” the man on the right commanded.

      “Stupid move there, lady,” the man on Kristen’s side said. “Who taught you to drive?”

      “I will wait for the police here in the vehicle.” Mom made the declaration and folded her hands against her waist.

      “You’re going to get out now.” The man on her side grabbed her arm and reached across to release her seat belt.

      Mom moved her hands to the dashboard. “I do not wish to go into the rain.”

      “Even if your car explodes?” The man on Kristen’s side grabbed her arm and began to haul her from the car.

      She slammed her fist against his wrist. The move failed on a full-grown man. He continued to hold. She grabbed for the steering wheel, curled her fingers around the grip.

      With a squeeze of the man’s hand on her wrist, her fingers opened against her will, freeing her hold on the wheel. And then he was dragging her into the rain, icy for June, painful for rain. Hail. Tiny hammer blows against her face. She ducked her head, saw her feet in their sensible pumps scraping along the pavement as though they belonged to someone else.

      They may as well belong to someone else. She possessed no power to stop herself from being forced from her car.

      Carjacking was all too common. People stole cars to commit a crime, but they didn’t usually hurt the vehicle owners. They left them beside the road. It was unpleasant but not life threatening if they didn’t fight back.

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