Page 66 of Rami

Jesus, it couldn’t have vanished.

But it had.

***

Ivy sat with her back against the wall of the cube van fighting nausea. The heavy scents of coffee and cigarette smoke hung in the air. Bile touched the back of her throat, but she forced it down. Puking wouldn’t help the situation.

She focused on her breathing as she stared at the man who’d dragged her from the bathroom. He’d yanked his face mask off the minute they were in the van and his short, disheveled hair stuck up in various directions, damp from sweat.

He spoke in Spanish with the driver, only glancing her way to make sure she hadn’t budged. Not that she could go far. He was right between her and the side door.

The image of Rami chasing her in the parking lot, his face red with fury, filled her mind’s eye. Tears swelled the tissue around her eyes and made her utter a tiny sniffle. If she didn’t calm herself, she’d surely die in whatever heinous way these criminals had in mind.

Breathe in... breathe out...

Rami might not find her. A glance out the back window showed a stretch of narrow dirt road in their wake. The long, prickly arms of pine trees stretched overhead, closing her off from freedom.

The back door was another avenue of escape. They weren’t traveling very fast because of the uneven terrain, so if she could cause a diversion, she might be able to jump from the back and hide in the forest.

As far as plans went, it wasn’t solid. But if they wanted her dead immediately, they’d have killed her on the spot. She was only breathing because they wanted something from her. A shudder took hold of her shoulders.

The men continued to exchange words—a plan maybe? Damn her for not taking a second language in college like her parents had suggested. She noted that they said “Fernando” several times.

Tucking the name in her memory bank, she curled her knees in tight to her chest and scanned the dimly lit floor.

Cans of paint and what looked like a toolbox were pushed to the far side of the van—probably a stolen vehicle. A shovel, a roll of tape, and a robe lay near the back door.

Her mouth went stale as all the oxygen evacuated her lungs. Her chest spasmed with the need for air, but the dank walls closed in around her.

Oh, god. Oh, god.

The shovel’s for my body.

The driver’s voice took on a loud, irritated tone, and the man sitting a couple of feet from her started to yell in disagreement, again about Fernando.

She wet her lips. Think, goddammit.

Bringing her gaze back to the shovel, she swallowed. If she took out the guy who’d grabbed her, the driver would have to stop and she might be able to escape.

If she didn’t try something, she’d die.

Would rather go down fighting and all that.

The tremble in her shoulders traveled down her spine and spread to her fingers and toes. The man next to her leaned between the two seats up front, gesturing angrily at the driver. Summoning all her courage and strength, she snagged the handle of the shovel and swung the metal piece at the back of his head.

A sickening crunch filled the confined space. The man slumped forward, slipping further between the seats.

Ivy dropped the shovel and darted for the back. She shoved open the door.

“Hey!” the driver yelled. He stomped on the brake, and the action made her careen backward to land on her ass.

She struggled forward and leapt from the van. Her feet connected with the dirt road, and her equilibrium shook as she took flight, terror sinking its jaws into the back of her neck.

The slam of the van door reached her ears. Her sharp breaths blared like a siren inside her head. She dove into the shroud of branches. Their sharp fingers grabbed handfuls of her hair and clawed her cheeks. She didn’t slow. Her sharp breaths turned into gasps as she swatted away branches and leapt over the bumpy terrain.

“Get back here!” the driver yelled, murder dripping from his words.

Never.

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