Page 122 of Gifts

I don’t have long to contemplate this because with a sudden jerk, we’re thrown into the backseat from the force of my SUV coming to a stop. When Brett gets out and slams his door, I hold my breath thinking he’s going to come for us, but nothing happens.

After waiting a few moments, I push up to an elbow to look down at Tom and whisper, “How are you doing?”

Tom gives me a little nod and I unbutton his bloody shirt to find a bullet wound under his shoulder but above his chest. I have no idea how critical he is, but I’d think any bullet wound that isn’t a graze is pretty damn critical. He’s already lost a lot of blood. “I’m going to crawl up to the front of the car and see where he went. Maybe I can get us out of here if I hurry. Don’t move.”

I kick off my heels and heft myself up and over the rear bench seat. We’re in the middle of a field on a narrow lane that’s overgrown with brush and weeds. When I look out the front windshield, Brett is standing off in the distance near a small shack. I have to squint to make sure I’m seeing things correctly, but I think he’s talking to Raymond Wallace. Only he’s not just talking—Brett’s up in his face, poking his chest, and yelling.

I stay low as I crawl to the front seat. My purse is still laying on the floor. We got here, which means my fob is still in the car. For the first time in my life, I’m thankful for my small, short stature as I slip into the driver’s seat. Moving the seat up so I can reach when I press the ignition, I pray they argue a little longer. I’m going to have to act fast to get out of here and I don’t know where I’m going. There are two other cars parked off to the side, so they could easily follow.

Just when I’m about to press my foot on the brake with my finger on the ignition while saying a prayer the car starts—the door of the shack bangs open. Two other men exit, one on each side of poor Maggie Stockton, hefting her up under her arms. She’s unconscious and her feet are dragging behind her with her head lolling to the side.

I stop and peek over the dashboard and see one of the men hand an envelope to my principal. Brett opens it and Raymond Wallace steps away while staring at Maggie’s limp body.

I can’t even try to process what’s going on behind the scenes right now—it’s all too much. But if I tear out of here like a crazy woman, we might never see Maggie again and we’ve already lost Brandon and Kyler to this nightmare. I couldn’t live with myself if I left her.

Everyone seems to be happy with whatever trade they’ve agreed to, because the two men continue to drag Maggie off the porch.

Oh shit.

I press my foot to the brake and push the ignition button at the same time, my prayer being answered with the quiet hum of my luxury SUV. The moment my fancy car springs to life, all heads but Maggie’s turn to me. Brett’s eyes narrow and he starts to move. The moment I throw it into drive, my safety mechanisms switch into gear, locking all the doors. Sitting up straight since at this point it’s all for naught, I grasp the steering wheel with one hand and reach up to my rearview mirror to press the emergency button Asa showed me when he walked me through all the gadgets and gizmos.

Then I take my foot off the brake and hit the gas.

Hard.

A voice comes out over my sound system. “Ms. Lockhart? This is Infiniti Immediate Response. I need your password please.”

How I remember it, I have no idea, but yell loud and clear, “Jasmine!”

“Your vehicle was reported stolen and we have a location on you.”

I aim my SUV right for Brett White and all I have the mind space for right now is to plead, “Send help. Fast!”

Thank goodness Asa doesn’t skimp on anything. My huge engine doesn’t fail me, even through the rocks and brush. I go from zero to fast enough to kill someone in I don’t know how many fractions of a second. Brett realizes what’s coming and jumps to the side.

“Are you safe? Your vehicle location is currently being monitored. We’re tracking you and have local authorities en route.”

I jerk the steering wheel and when I make contact, my left front bumper slams into my principal. He might have ended up a grade-A asshole—and from the sounds of it a murderer—but he’s no match for my Infiniti.

He disappears from my sight. I back up and see the two men dragging Maggie and Raymond all running for their cars.

“Please hurry!” I beg over the hands-free system. “They have the young girl who was kidnapped and I don’t know what to do. I’m not getting out of this car.”

“Are you able to drive? Head for a safe location and I can direct the police to you,” the woman commands.

“I can’t leave Maggie.” I panic and crank the wheel all the way to the right. Bracing, I wonder how hard I have to hit for the airbags to deploy, and ram into the front of the car Raymond Wallace was driving the day I met him on Maggie’s front porch.

Letting out a breath of relief that I wasn’t slapped in the face by an explosion from my steering wheel, I reverse quickly, bumping all the way. I did enough damage to Raymond’s car—the front wheel is askew. Maybe it won’t be drivable. I hear Tom groan from the back.

“Are they close?” I ask the operator, desperately. “Tom’s been shot and needs help.”

“They’re coming upon your location. Maybe five minutes.”

Five minutes? Holy shit, we could be dead in less than one.

The two men are dragging Maggie through the brush to the other car. I grip the steering wheel and head that way. Right when I make contact with the second car, I scream from the sudden crash against my door and window.

When I look over, he’s not the same man I’ve come to know over the past two years. Brett White is bleeding from cuts and scratches down one side of his face and his suit jacket is torn, hanging off one shoulder. But it’s his eyes and expression that are laced with an evil I’ve never seen in him. He’s a different person—desperate and angry as he tries to get my door open while banging on my car trying to get in.

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