Page 25 of Princess of Thieves

I twist the wires together, trying not to think about what happens if Idon’tget it running.

If I can’t get it running, I’m stranded.

And if I’m stranded, I’m caught.

And if I’m caught, I’m...

I swallow hard against the thick, hot air, and force myself to focus.

I feel for the starter wire, glancing over my shoulder at the field around me.

Nothing yet.

I scrape the edge with my thumbnail to make sure it’s properly exposed, then hook it into my pinky so I can twist the main wires tight. Transferring the main circuit to my left hand, I roll the start wire between my thumb and forefinger, holding it just shy of touching the bundle.

Thishasto work.

I grit my teeth and press the wire against the others. Sparks jump, the engine coughs, and I freeze.

“Come on,” I whisper, twisting the main wires tighter.

My pulse is pounding in my ears, drowning out everything else. I press the wire again, harder this time. The engine coughs a second time, then roars to life with a deep, guttural sound that almost feels like a sigh of relief. Almost.

I scramble up to the driver’s seat, shoving more loose hair behind my ears, and grab for the steering wheel. I can’t remember if Darts have a steering lock or not, so I’m prepared to muscle my way out of here if I have to. I fling a glance over my shoulder to back up and—

“Miss?”

My heart plummets.

It’s the deputy from before. The one who waved us in. And he’s standing directly behind my bumper.

“I...” My voice croaks out of my throat in a near sob.

Goddammit, I think.Goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.

What am I going to do? I could floor it and try to run him over, but then what? Best case, he’s alive with both legs broken, and worst...I’m wanted for vehicular manslaughter. I could jumpout of the car and run, but I won’t get far in these stupid fucking shoes.

And in either case, I still don’t have my birth certificate.

I was so close to freedom. So, so close.

I put my forehead on the steering wheel and try not to wail.

“Miss.”

I jerk up to sitting. He’s closer to me now, at the driver’s side door. I panic, jolting away from him even as I’m still seated, but he holds up a broad hand.

“Please, don’t worry,” he goes on. This close, I can see his name tag: DPTY RASHAD. He pushes up the brim of his hat. “You’re lucky I’m the one that caught you.”

“Am I?” I can’t keep the hint of sarcasm out of my voice even when I’m panicking. Look, if I’m going down, I’m going down on my own terms.

“Yes,” he—Deputy Rashad, I guess—goes on. “Because I know what a woman who needs to get away from a man looks like.”

I blink, processing his words. Does he mean—

“And law or no, I’m not gonna stop you.”

He takes a step back from the car. Looks to his left, light gleaming off his sunglasses.

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