Though she suspected adrenaline was blocking her pain—no one walked out of an accident this serious without at least minor injuries—her limbs seemed to be intact and usable. Her fingers were slippery with sweat. She wiped them on her sweater and grabbed for the seat belt release. The button was jammed. A broken piece of rearview mirror on the seat nicked her finger.

Calm down.

But even if she unfastened their seat belts, how would she get Brody out? She couldn’t carry him.

They needed help. Her phone. Where was her phone? She couldn’t think straight.

“Hurry up,” a voice said from outside the car.

Hannah reached for her weapon. Before she could clear the gun from its holster, the door opened.

“Ah, ah, ah.” The muzzle of a gun was in her face. Behind it, Mick Arnette was looking into the car. She almost didn’t recognize him. He was dressed like a Best Buy clerk, and his head was shaved bald. But the evil glint in his eyes was unmistakable. “Put your hand where I can see it or my brother shoots your boyfriend in the head.”

The driver’s door opened. Another man stood on Brody’s side of the vehicle pointing a gun at his temple. She squinted. In the dashboard light, his features were just visible enough that Hannah could recognize Sam Arnette.

“Get out of the car.” He made a small motion with the muzzle of the gun. “Take it slow.”

Hannah reached for the seat belt release but it still wouldn’t give. Mick pulled a knife from his pocket. “Don’t try anything. My brother would like nothing more than to kill the cop.”

He took her gun, leaned across her body, and cut her seat belt, then slashed the strap across Brody’s chest and took his handgun as well.

Mick backed up. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”

Hannah swung her feet out of the car. Her fingers closed around the mirror shard. She tucked it up the sleeve of her sweater. Her knees buckled, and her head swam as she tried to stand. Her muscles felt weak and shaky. Her heart pumped triple time.

Mick swirled a finger in the air. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

She pivoted, curling her fingers into fists. He bound her wrists with a plastic zip tie. Then he patted her pockets, his hand lingering on her butt. “This ass is mine.” He slid his hand between her legs and squeezed hard. Tears poured down Hannah’s cheeks.

How would she and Brody get out of this?

Mick’s brother hauled Brody out of the car and pulled him over his shoulder fireman style.

“How come I get to carry the man?” the brother complained. “And why can’t I just kill him?”

“You’re stronger than me,” Mick said. “And I want to hold on to him in case we run into trouble and need more leverage.”