Over the course of the next few minutes, six different women walked to the van one at a time, slid the back passenger door open, and got in. Throughout it all, Gabe leaned against the driver’s door, still talking to Ben.

The problem was, Ben didn’t get out.

I sat in my car, uncertain what to do. The back of my shirt was damp against my skin. I wrapped my arms tightly around my chest, shivering with nerves.

What were they waiting for?

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I texted Gabe.

Is Ben in the van?

I watched as Gabe pulled his phone out of his back pocket and read my message. He said a few words to Ben before moving away from the truck and texting me back.

Yes. Waiting for one more girl.

I pushed my car door open, but just as I stepped out, a shiny black truck with chrome wheels skidded to a stop next to them. I gasped. It was the same truck that had been parked outside my house on Monday.

I slid back into my car and hunched behind the steering wheel, heart thudding. Two men got out of the truck and approached Gabe where he was now standing next to his motorcycle flicking through his phone.

Both were meaty-looking, with angry eyes and swarthy skin covered in tattoos. One had oily black hair tied into a ponytail. The other was mostly bald, with a thin mustache and a tattoo of something on one side of his face. A dragon? A lizard? It was hard to tell.

Ponytail said something to Gabe, who replied angrily and moved a step closer, but Ponytail unzipped his coat and flipped it open, revealing something strapped to his waist.

My heart stopped. Gun.

He had a gun.

I fumbled for my phone, about to call the police. A sharp rap on my window made me jump.

I peered out the window, sweat pooling at the base of my spine. It took me a second to recognize the woman grinning at me. Jessica something-or-other, one of the moms from Josh’s school. She blinked gold-flecked brown eyes at me. When she motioned for me to roll down my window, her glossy hair, streaked with honey highlights, swung around her shoulders.

God, I really hated living in a small town.

“Hi, Emma, how are you?” she exclaimed, her voice loud and high-pitched. Jessica was the president of the PTA, with the overly enthusiastic, imperious attitude to match, always pretending to be so busy, so important. “Do you want to do our shopping together?”

“Uhh…” I peered past her at Gabe. The guy with the gun was now laughing, although Gabe looked pissed off. “I’m actually getting caught up on a bit of work on my lunch break.”

Just over her shoulder, I saw Ben get out of the truck.