They left the park at nine-thirty. Kevin and Elsie instantly fell asleep in the backseat, and Daisy sat in the front with her hands locked in her lap, trying to maintain some control over herself. She wasn’t sure what the hands would do if left to their own devices. She was afraid they’d do something silly and corny, like reach for a star. And she knew for certain that they’d eventually gravitate to something a lot closer and much more substantial.

“I’m glad we went on that roller coaster just before leaving,” she said. “It was great.”

“You’re made of stern stuff.”

“Don’t ever forget it.”

He looked in the rearview mirror to make sure Schmidt’s headlights were still steady behind him. “You’re made of sterner stuff than Schmidt.”

“I really felt sorry for him when he got sick on his shoe. Do you think he gets a bonus for that sort of thing? You know, hazardous duty?”

“It was his own fault. He ate nine hot dogs today.”

“It’s hard to believe we’re going back to a house that’s been firebombed. It seems like it happened years ago.”

Steve reached over for her hand. “You have to be careful for a while.”

Good advice, she decided. She had to be careful about lots of things. Steve Crow was at the head of the list. He was a hard man to resist, especially when she didn’t want to resist in the first place. The truth is, she’d like nothing better than to go home and crawl into his bed for the night. Unfortunately, her little brother was underfoot. He was at an impressionable age, and she had no intention of setting a bad example for him. Her parents were due home at the end of the week, and she was almost done with her thesis. If she could just hang on a little bit longer…

If she hadn’t been so lost in thought, she might have seen the car pull alongside. As it was, the first collision came as a shock. She felt herself jerked against the seat belt, heard the impact against the passenger-side door. Her hands reached out to the dash. Her mouth opened to scream.

Beside her Steve swore and fought to keep the car from veering into the median guardrail. They were on Interstate 95, outside of Woodbridge, and traffic was moderate—enough cars that a driver had to be aware, not so many cars that it was impossible to get run off the road. The car came at them again, and Daisy could hear the throaty roar of the V-8 as it pulled alongside. It was an old Cadillac, bigger and heavier than the SUV, and she realized the driver was jockeying for another hit.