Jeannie dove between two parked cars, the Mercedes just missing her. Keeping low to the ground, she clambered all the way up the line between front bumpers and ducked across to another row, tires squealing in all directions. While it looked like the same car as the afternoon of that crash, she'd noticed no front end damage on it and Frank insisted none of the auto body shops in town had seen what she'd described. Crouching and not daring to peek out, she hoped only one car was chasing her.
The engine cut and she tried to hear over the droning ventilator shafts. A quiet crunch of tires on gravel; a vehicle was moving closer. Keeping behind the giant wheel of a raised pickup truck, she peered around. Her heart stopped; the Mercedes was rolling right past her. They must have slipped the car into neutral. The tinted window was down and a bald, sour-faced man craned his head out. What to do next. Where to run. She had probably a second or two lead time as the driver would have to change gear and start the engine again. Readying to sprint, she took her shoes off and gripped the stiletto heels in her fist.
Good thing she'd worn a dress she wasn't crazy about, she thought as she crawled on her hands and knees beneath the truck. She poked her head out by the exhaust pipe and saw another stairwell roughly twenty to thirty feet away. Dare she chance it. Listening out, she thought she could hear footsteps somewhere behind her but with concrete all around, everything echoed. It was impossible to figure out sound directions in this place. She pressed her ear to the cold pavement and spotted a pair of feet about ten or so cars away from her, toes pointing in the opposite direction.
It was now or never. She stood and bolted to the door, praying it wasn't locked. Two sets of heavy shoes stomped behind her and she heard a car door slam. They'd probably head downstairs to look for her so she raced up, cursing herself for being so out of shape. Too bad she hadn't ended up at the stairwell with the elevator. At the top level she came out and stared around the mostly empty lot. Nowhere much to hide up here. Taking her chances, she dashed across the asphalt to the next stairwell over, a heel in each of her hands like they were relay batons.
She didn't hear anyone follow her. Safely inside the next staircase enclosure, she took out her phone. No signal. Fuck. An elevator dinged, startling her; she hadn't seen the sign for one or even noticed the set of doors. A younger couple came out, speaking something that sounded like Danish or Swedish. "Hey," she said, looking at them plaintively and hoping they knew English. "I've had someone following me in here – can I get a ride down to the lower level with ya'll?"
Both of them stared blankly as if she were invisible, argued about something to each other and the doors rolled shut again. Shit. She should have just run inside. She took the stairs, not daring to waste one second to peek out the windows she passed on her way down. She had only one thought in her head: get to the ground. Round and round she went, grabbing the metal railing for balance. Her feet were raw on the concrete steps. Runs in her nylons were laddering up from her toes. At the green level she eased the door open and peered out. One group of men stumbling around a burgundy minivan, not close enough for her to call to them. At the opposite end in the distance, the lights for the casino.
Damn. She'd gotten turned around and was on the far side of the lot now. To her right was a ramp leading down to some lower level. Trying to look casual, she put her shoes back on and strode straight across, making a beeline for the stream of lights and pedestrians beyond the rows of concrete pillars. An engine roared; she glanced over her shoulder and it was that same car aiming straight at her.
She began sprinting and out of nowhere a man grabbed her from behind. He lifted her off her feet. She tried to shriek and a paw of a hand covered her mouth. Adrenaline seized her body. She felt stone cold sober now that a clear head wouldn't make a whit of difference. A black SUV with black windows – too dark to be Rebecca's – lurched to a stop in front of them. The man who'd grabbed her threw her into the back passenger seat. Cold, sharp metal pressed against her wrist.
"Please," she begged, trying not to whimper while her eyes watered and her throat tightened. The man was nothing more than a giant silhouette back-lit by harsh fluorescent lights. "I didn't see anything that other day, and never told no one a thing!"
She felt like she was about to go out of her mind with fear when he pushed her sideways and squeezed in next to her. She still couldn't see his face; he wore a balaclava. "Go," he told the driver in a gruff voice and they went.