Page 165 of Saving Her

I have no phone. And the arduous jostle from the back of the vehicle is getting worse.

If I pull over the shooter could find me. If I don’t stop I have no clue what will happen to the car.

A siren squeals behind me. Blue and red illuminate the interior.The police.

For a second, there’s relief. Sweet, overwhelming relief.

Then reality hits like a nightmare.

I don’t have a license or identification. As far as the authorities are concerned, I’m dead. A ghost. And I want to stay that way.

“Oh, my goddamn shit, please help me get out of this.” My pulse pounds everywhere—throat, wrists, temples. I break out in a cold sweat, my fear of yet another imprisonment making it impossible to breathe.

I don’t want to go back to a cage. I can’t attempt a high-speed escape, either. Not on three functioning tires. I wouldn’t even know how with four solid treads and a record-breaking sports car.

I reluctantly pull over, the police car mimicking my movements, a male officer lazily climbing from his vehicle.

I can imagine what he’s seeing—the flat tire, the dents left from bullets.

“Evenin’, ma’am.” He stops next to my window, one hand calmly resting at his side, the other placed on his holster. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

I squint against the brightness of his flashlight, unable to speak.

“Ma’am, did you hear me? I asked if you knew why I pulled you over.”

I swipe at my nose to dislodge the building tingle and shake my head. “No, sir.”

“Do you realize you only have three tires?” He leans forward to glance inside the car, his gaze trekking over the passenger seat to the floor.

“I-I-I—” I shake my head frantically and puff out an exhale. “I-I’m sorry. I knew I had a problem. I just thought I could make it to a gas station.”

“Driving on the rim is going to cause some pretty major damage. You know that, right?”

I keep shaking my head. “I’m not good with cars.”

“I gathered.” He raises his hand from the holstered gun, holding his palm out to me. “License and registration please.”

Bile creeps up my throat, the burning acid bringing tears to my eyes. “That’s a funny story.” I chuckle, the sound far from humorous. “I had an argument with the person I was staying with and took off without grabbing my purse. I-I don’t even have my cell.”

I try to think. To come up with a story capable of getting me out of this.

“Do you know Cole Torian?” I ask.

The question is risky. It announces a link to crime and gives this officer more ammunition to interrogate me. But Luther had all the Greek police in his pocket. If Cole works like his father, maybe this man can help me. Then I can finally get back to Luca.

“He’s, umm…” I swallow at his narrowing eyes. “A well-known businessman. I just thought if you knew him, you could call him for me.”

His hand falls back to his holstered gun. “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to climb out of the vehicle.”

“No,please,no.”

Think. Think. Think.

“Officer, I’m not safe here.” I scramble, mentally clawing at the walls of my mind for a way out, each ticking second making his fingers grip tighter on his weapon. “A man was shooting at me.” I lean toward my window and poke my head outside to find the fresh dents in the side of the car. “Can you see those marks? Those weren’t there fifteen minutes ago. They’re from bullets. The damaged tire is, too.”

He’s not convinced, his steps creeping farther and farther away. “You’re telling me this car is bulletproof?”

I don’t know. I don’t know.God,I don’t know.

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