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Military tracked. Whoever had taken shots at Nisha and her friends was clearly skilled with a rifle.

“You’re going to drive. Slowly. Cautiously. If you try anything stupid, I will kill you.” The heavily accented voice instructed. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Ten noticed the parking lot kid staring. The kid took a step toward his SUV, and Ten mouthed the word NO while reaching for his seatbelt. “Where am I going?”

“Take a right onto the street. Three blocks. A left.”

Ten watched the kid carefully walk away toward his uncle. Hoping the man behind him hadn’t seen, Ten asked, “And then?”

“Drive.”

“Yeah.” Ten gripped the steering wheel and worked through his options. He could try to bail—but he would get shot or stabbed before he made it out the door. He could purposely wreck, but the outcome would likely be the same.

“I don’t intend to kill you or Nisha.”

“Then why did you try to shoot her?”

“I didn’t.”

“So you’re just a really bad shot? You put two innocent women in the hospital. One of them is a mother—.”

“To a monster’s child,” he snapped.

“Fucking watch it,” Ten warned. There were a lot of things he could abide but digs at Callie weren’t among them.

“I didn’t shoot them.” The man pressed the knife point deeper into Ten’s skin, and he could feel blood trickling down his neck. “Keep driving.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’re taking me to Nisha.”

“The fuck I am!”

“I need her.”

“Why?”

“She’s the only way I can lure that piece of shit out of hiding.”

“If you think I’m going to let you use Nisha as bait—.”

“She’s already suggested it herself.”

“What?” His stomach dropped. He wanted to argue that she would never do anything so reckless, but she would do anything to stop Kiki. “When?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m worrying about all of it.”

“You should be worrying about what happens when the truth comes out,” the carjacker warned.

“The truth about what?”

“About why you lied about being the one who killed Tony Guerrero…”

Chapter Eighteen

Crouchedlow,Kostyadraggedhis fingertips through the soot and water pooling on the scorched floor of Holly’s salon. The stink of accelerant and burned plastic irritated his nose. From his position, he painted a mental image of how the fire had started and spread.

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