Olivia looked back to see Savich jogging through Macy’s front doors to find his supposedly forgotten scarf. She waited a moment, took a big breath, kept her head down even though she’d spotted them when she and Dillon had come out of the store, waiting, waiting. Of course they were watching him, too. Come on, boys, he’s out of the way, let’s get this show on the road. Her hand closed on the Honda door handle. In a matter of seconds, the van started up, reversed, and screeched to a halt behind the Honda. A man jumped out, pinned her arms to her sides, threw her into the back of the van, one fast practiced series of moves. He slammed the door shut. Olivia kicked up at him, heard a hiss of pain, but the driver grabbed her by the neck, jerked her head back, and pulled a pillowcase over her head. Still she lashed out with her feet. A fist slammed against her head and she saw white and fell back, stunned. She heard him yell, “Allez!” It was the Frenchman. He threw Olivia on her stomach against the rough carpet, came back over to her, and dug his knee into the small of her back. The van hurtled through the parking lot, tires shrieking, people yelling after them.

He shouted to the driver, “Slow down, you fool! The flics will come!”

The van slowed. Was the driver the man who’d shot at her at her Monday night?

Olivia tried to push herself up, but he pressed the muzzle of his gun into her back. “You do not want to ever walk again? Answer me!”

“I want to walk again.”

“Smart girl.” The pressure from the gun eased. He called to the driver, “Go carefully, turn left out of the mall, then straight ahead.” She felt his attention on her again. “You think the agent will follow us? Non, I broke the car. I see le bouffon—he yells on his mobile, calling for help. But it will not matter, we will be long away. And the license plate it has la boue—the mud on it. And this Chrysler van, it is everywhere.” He looked back down at her. “Now I take your guns. Non, you will not fight me again.” He drew her Glock from its clip at her waist, reached down and pulled out her ankle pistol. He patted her down, found the knife strapped at her waist, and pulled her cell from her jeans pocket. Olivia felt a gust of frigid air when he opened a window. She heard her cell phone clatter to the pavement.

She had to keep her wits, but it was hard to even breathe. “Please, take off the pillowcase, I can’t breathe.”

“You will be a good girl, oui?”

“Yes.”