Glancing up at the wire screen, I scoot carefully across the metal floor, trying to bring our bodies into contact. As I do, something jabs my behind. I try to raise my butt over it, but the hard object keeps jabbing me. Lowering myself again, I rock softly from side to side, trying to tell what’s beneath me. When I finally understand, my heart begins to pound.

“What is it?” Caitlin hisses. “What’s the matter?”

“Pithy’s straight razor is in my back pocket. They missed it when they patted me down. It’s lying along the bottom seam of my jeans.”

Her eyes widen. “Can you get it out?”

“Not with my hands taped in front. But you can.”

She nods quickly.

As quietly as possible, I flex my body until I’ve turned my back to her. Twenty seconds later, I feel her fingers fishing in my pocket. Almost before I’m aware of it, the razor is gone.

Her lips touch the shell of my ear. “I think I should try to cut the tape on your wrists. You’ve got the best chance of fighting them. You can free mine after you cut your feet loose.”

“Get some while you can, bro!” shouts one of the men up front, laughing wildly. “We’re almost there!”

Tilting back my head, I see a dark oval staring down through the mesh screen. It’s Crew Cut. “If you get turned right,” he says, “maybe she can unzip you. I’d give it a go, man, considering the circumstances.”

“Why don’t you blow your partner while he drives?” Caitlin snaps. “We could use some privacy.”

I guess she figured sarcasm might make him lose interest, but instead of facing forward again, Crew Cut starts telling her what she can expect when we get where we’re going. The gist is that a quick bullet would be infinitely better than what awaits us, but we won’t be lucky enough to get one.

“You’re pretty damn hot, girl,” says the shadow face. “But you’re about to get a whole lot hotter, where you’re going.”

As he sniggers, the invisible driver busts out laughing. Crew Cut is still talking when his partner hits the brakes, makes a right turn, then cruises slowly for a couple of hundred yards. “Showtime, boys and girls,” he says, cackling softly through the mesh.

When the engine dies, I press my forehead against Caitlin’s. “Listen to me. That razor—”

“Turn over!” she hisses. “Hurry! Let me cut your hands loose!”

“There’s no time. Listen, Caitlin, that razor is useless against guns.”

“What?” Her eyes are frantic. “You want me to leave it here?”

“No. Hide it if you can.”

The sound of slamming doors reverberates through a closed space.

“Hide it for what? When do I use it?”