There were now five guys crowding around. No women.
Emma called Triple A, giving the dispatcher the cross streets. “How long?” she asked.
“I’m guessing they’ll be there pretty quick. Half hour at the most.”
“A half hour?” Emma knew she sounded panicky.
“That’s right,” the dispatcher said. “Hang tight.”
“Turn it over,” the big guy outside her window said.
Emma looked at him, unsure what he meant.
“The car key, or the button. Whatever you got in there to make it go.”
Emma pushed the ignition switch. Dead.
“Let me try it,” the guy said. “Open the door.”
Push was coming to shove. Sometimes you just have to put your faith in people. Which felt like the thinnest of reeds. She unlocked the door.
“Now get your skinny ass out of there and let me check it out.”
My butt or the car?
The car, apparently. He exchanged positions with Emma with nary a glance.
“The key?” he asked.
“They’re in my bag.” Which was on the passenger seat next to him, home to her wallet, credit cards, ID, money. “It’ll start with it over there.” She didn’t want him to touch her bag.
He grabbed it anyway and put it on his lap, trying the ignition button again. Still nothing.
“You seeing anything up there?” he asked his friend, who was still under the hood.
“Nothing. Everything looks cool.”
“I’m seeing something,” one of the hangers-on said. He had his eyes all over Emma. “You wanna party with us? Come on.” He grabbed her arm.
“Hey, Beast, leave her be,” the guy in the car said.
“Why? You think you got reservations? You don’t have shit, man.” His grip tightened on Emma.
“I’d suggest you let her go right now.”
A woman had walked up behind them. Tall as Em’s mom.
“Go fuck yourself, bitch. You don’t come into my hood and tell me shit.”
The woman nodded. Maybe agreeably. Emma hoped not. She wanted this guy to let her go. His fingers felt like steel cables.
“Fuck it, you’re coming, too,” the guy holding Emma said to the woman. “We’ll make it a big fucking party.”
“Beast, cut that shit out.” The big guy climbed out of the car.
“Stay right where you are,” the woman said. She had straight dark hair and blue eyes like Emma’s. Wearing jeans, sweater, heavy boots.
Combat boots. Em’s mom had a pair. Dust colored. Didn’t fit the woman’s outfit at all.
“Now that was your mistake,” the big guy said. “’Cause I’m on her side, but you’re pissing me off.”
He stepped toward her. The woman drew a semi-automatic from the back of her jeans, racking and raising it in a blink. Aimed it at his face.
“Freeze. And you,” she eyed the guy holding Emma, “let her go or I will blow your balls off.”
The shorter guy slammed the hood down. “You people are shit. I was trying to help her.”
“He,” the woman nodded at Beast, “put his hands on her. Game over.”
“Beast, you’re a motherfucker,” said the big guy. “Let her go.”
Emma stepped away, rubbing her arm.
Then the big guy tossed Em her bag. “Don’t be leaving that here.”
“Lock it,” the woman told Em, who complied without question, using the key fob. “Now we’re leaving,” she said to the seven men. “Nobody gets hurt if nobody moves.”
The woman kept her gun on the young men as she and Emma retreated to a utility van about fifty feet away. The front passenger door was unlocked. Emma climbed in, finding an open laptop resting on a metal stand next to the driver’s seat, like the ones she’d seen in some delivery trucks.
The woman backed up, executed a crisp three-point turn, then sped off within seconds.
“Thank you so much,” Emma said. “I didn’t know what was going to happen.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
“I’m Emma.”
“Emma Elkins. I know who you are.”
Emma figured she was one of her mother’s friends in some super-secret intelligence service who’d been ordered to track her down. “Who are you?”
The woman smiled, then hit the childproof locks. She still hadn’t put aside her gun. “I’m your guardian angel. But some people call me Golden Voice.”
Chapter 28
Lana left Cairo in the Charger and hobbled as fast as she could into Planned Parenthood, but her best efforts got her nowhere. The youthful receptionist wouldn’t even acknowledge that Emma had been in the clinic.
“That is confidential information between a woman and her doctor. And we’re closing for the day,” she added crisply.
“Look, I don’t have a problem with your confidentiality. I respect it. But my daughter called and told me she’d been here.” Lana leaned forward. “Her life is in danger. My house was bombed this morning.” She indicated the crutches supporting her. “It’s been all over the news.” Lana glanced over her shoulder where the waiting room television was tuned to CNN.
“You’re—”
“That’s right,” Lana said.
“Let me check with someone,” the receptionist said. But as she reached for the phone, a bearded man in a white coat walked toward them from the back of the clinic.
“Carly, let me talk to Ms. Elkins.” He turned to Lana. “Come on back here,” he said, holding open a gate for her. “I’m Dr. Abbas.”
He led her to his office, Lana crutching noisily down the hall behind him.
“Have a seat,” he said, although he remained standing, leaning against a cabinet with his clipboard held to his chest. “You say your daughter called you? Did I hear that correctly?”
“Yes, she did.”
“What did she say?”
“That she wanted to see me,” Lana lied. “She knows she can call me any- time, any place, for any reason, no questions asked and no recriminations.”
“We ought to have that painted on the bedroom of every parent we deal with,” he replied with a smile. “We helped her find a place to stay. Did she tell you about that?”
“No,” Lana replied, glad that Emma had found a place for the night. “Can you tell me?”
“Why don’t you call her?”
“To be honest, I’ve tried, but her phone must be out of service.” Lana rued saying “to be honest.” A bad habit; even when she wasn’t lying it made her sound as though she were.
Dr. Abbas raised an eyebrow.
“There are service problems across the country,” Lana insisted, trying to make her story plausible. Emma simply hadn’t returned her calls or texts.
“I asked her to call you.” The doctor looked straight into Lana’s eyes, then put his clipboard down and wrote on a prescription pad. “I’ve never violated a woman’s confidentiality, but I’ve also never faced these circumstances. I saw the video of your home. I also know who you are, and I can understand your concern for your daughter’s safety.” He handed her the paper. “Your daughter should be at this address. A friend of the clinic rents rooms or provides them for nothing, if someone doesn’t have money. Her name’s Anna Hendrix. She’s a good person. She’s handled all types of situations. Abusive boyfriends, batterers, that kind of thing. Emma will be safe there. Anna knows there could be trouble.”
“Is Anna armed?”
Dr. Abbas paused. “She… ah… finds that advisable. I can’t disagree. Our opponents can be brutal.”
Lana thanked him and was out the door as fast as she could manage. She read the address into her phone and followed the directions. They led her to the Fusion, which was getting loaded onto a flatbed tow truck.