Page 15 of Guarded from Sabotage

No. It’s going to be fine. Dante said. So did Hanna.

Remember the positive things and don’t focus on the negative.

I have loving parents. A best friend. A home I’m gradually making my own. A job I love. I’m healthy. And I have Dante and his team helping me.

When I look at it that way, I’m actually pretty lucky.

I manage to keep my renewed attitude going for the next two hours, while I finish updating my files and scarf down an only slightly-stale package of crackers I found in my desk. Hanna sends me some cute photos of her dog, Ansel, dressed up in an adorable sweater and romping through a fresh layer of snow. My parents send a selfie of them on the beach, looking relaxed andtanned and happy. And Dante even sends a quick text asking how I’m doing and reminding me to call if I need anything.

So by the time I leave the office, there’s a lightness to my step, and my mind is full of hopeful thoughts for the future. When this is all worked out, and I have my money back—or at least some of it—I can go out to visit Hanna in New York. I can buy my dad that fancy grill he’s been eyeing. And maybe I can invite Dante over for dinner.

Just as a way to thank him, of course. And I’ll make plenty of extra for him to take back to his teammates.

As I get to the parking lot, I whip out my trusty flashlight and get my keychain in position, with one key poking between my fingers, just like I learned from that self-defense class I took back in college. My phone goes in my pocket instead of my purse, which is something I actually learned from Finn. I was visiting Hanna and somehow the topic came up, and he explained, “It takes too long to get your phone out of your purse if you’re in trouble. This way, it’s quicker to get to and less chance of it being stolen.”

Normally, I wouldn’t bother with these precautions just heading to my car, but I’m usually leaving work when everyone else does and not two hours later. The parking lot is fairly well lit, but there are still patches of shadows and as a woman walking alone… there’s no such thing as being too careful.

There are only a few cars out here—the night custodians, I assume—and I set off at a brisk pace across the asphalt, my footsteps unnaturally loud in the evening stillness.

In the dark, everything seems different. Foreign. The colors of the cars are muted. My little Honda isn’t where I thought I left it, but several rows away.

Weird. But not crazy. Sometimes that happens after a long day, or when I’m in a crowded parking lot and end up passing my car and have to backtrack to find it. I even remember onetime when Hanna and I went shopping at Crossgates Mall at Christmas, and we ended up wandering through the parking lot for fifteen minutes before we finally found her car.

But weird turns to crazy when I get to the car I thought was mine only to discover it isn’t.

It’s not a Honda, but a similar-looking Hyundai hatchback. And there’s no other car in the parking lot that bears any resemblance to mine. As I scan my surroundings, I spot a mid-size SUV, a boxy sedan, a pickup truck, and the van over by the entrance that we use to transport our clients sometimes.

How?

I hit the unlock button on my keys, hoping to hear the reassuring beep of my car, to see the flash of headlights blinking—my car revealing itself like magic even though I can’t see it anywhere.

There’s nothing. Just a quiet parking lot illuminated by a few halogen lamps and the narrow beam of my little flashlight. No sounds other than the occasional car passing by in the distance and the faint hum of the building’s air conditioning kicking on.

Dread pools in my belly, and a cold sensation sweeps over me.

Where is my car?

This isn’t the best part of town, but it’s definitely not the worst. Not an area where car thefts run rampant. And why would someone stealmycar? Five-years old, with a handful of small dings and scratches; I can’t imagine why anyone would want to steal it. But I can’t think of any other reason why my car is just… missing.

A prank? But who would do something like that? No one I know, at least.

Crap. I need to call the police. And given my luck lately, they’ll probably accuse me of stealing it.

As I trudge back towards the building—so much for the hopeful optimism I had just a few minutes ago—the walls feel like they’re closing in again.

How am I going to get to work until my car is found? Can I afford a rental? What if they find my car and it’s ruined? Will my insurance cover a replacement? Is my credit too screwed up to buy a new one?

Questions keep spinning around in my head. Should I call Dante? He said to call for anything, but if my car is stolen? What is he supposed to do about that?

Halfway back to the building, a small sound comes from behind me.

My heart leaps into my throat, accelerating madly.

As I spin around—crap, I’m not holding my keys the right way, I got distracted—a blur of movement comes at me.

No!

I try to run, but there’s no time.

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