The woman still points at the Blazer.

“She needs a hospital,” Jan says.

Emily thinks of the way Natasha described it, like it was a disease, just thinking about the woman, how it spreads, girl to girl, baller to baller, Samhattanite to Samhattanite.

“Go around her,” Emily says. She looks out the back window again. “Hurry, Mom.”

“I can’t.”

But maybe there’s room. Just maybe. So she starts driving, slowly, toward the right of the woman.

“See?” Jan says. Then, “Hey, move please!”

The Blazer is almost level with the woman, the woman who isn’t moving, as Emily looks out the passenger window and sees someone on the sidewalk, less than a foot from the car. Someone so tall she can’t see their face.

“Mom,” she says, meekly, more to herself, unable to muster the courage to speak any louder.

But Jan is talking out the open window to the woman, telling her it’s dangerous to be in the middle of the street at night, asking her to move so they can get by, calling her names.

“Mom…”

The figure on the sidewalk reaches into the car and grips Emily Holt by the shoulder.

Strong hands.

Smells of smoke and booze.

“MOM!”

This time with volume.

Jan turns to see her daughter yanked hard to the side of the car. She steps on the gas. It’s the first thing she thinks to do. The Blazer is passing the woman, the woman who looks to the passenger door, to something outside it, against it. Jan doesn’t think to hit the brakes. She grabs Emily by the arm and pulls.

“Emily! What’s going on?”

Because nobody’s there. Nobody she can see.

“MOM!”

But Emily can see. And smell. And feel. She hears, too, the jean jacket rippling with the motion, the breathing that sounds more like exhaust pumped into a closed garage.

Emily is yanked hard against the passenger door.

Jan floors it. But Emily is already half out of the window.

One hand on the wheel, Jan tries to pull her back in. Her mind is reeling: the barefoot woman in the street, the Blazer in motion, Emily fighting something Jan can’t see.

“Emily…”

There’s a killer in Samhattan. The girls from Emily’s team are being targeted. It’s night. The woman in the street saw someone. Emily is struggling with someone.

Jan slams on the brakes but Emily doesn’t fly toward the dashboard. She’s pulled further out of the car.

Both hands free now, Jan pulls her daughter back with all she’s got. Trucks move on the overpass.

They’re so close.

“Dammit, Emily! Sit still!”

Because there’s nobody else here. And for a moment, it seems her daughter does sit still. She’s back in her seat. Eyes ahead.

But the look in those eyes tells Jan that whatever’s happening, it’s not over.

“Mom…”

When she was half out the window, Emily saw her face. Saw the makeup Natasha spoke of, Natasha who knows nothing about this woman because if she did she never would have told her story.