What Happened to the Bennetts(2)

“Anyway, you look like him, except he’s way hotter.”

I smiled. “Okay, but can he twerk?”

Allison burst into laughter, and I glanced in the rearview mirror to see her, but the headlights of the pickup truck were too bright. The outline of her head bent over her phone, then I saw the bump of a skinny headband, and the spray of shorter hairs coming from her double ponytail. Those ponytail holders were all over the house, and I fished them from the dog’s mouth on a weekly basis.

Ethan kept twisting around. “Dad, if I were driving, I’d speed up.”

Allison added, “Seriously.”

“Me, too,” Lucinda joined in, still on her phone.

“Okay, I’m convinced.” I pressed the gas pedal, and the Mercedes responded instantly. We accelerated up the hill, hugging the sharp curve to the left.

Oddly the black pickup truck chose that moment to pass us, a dark and dusty blur roaring by with two men in the cab. It crammed us against the guardrail, and I veered to the right, barely fitting on the street.

Suddenly the pickup pulled in front of us and stopped abruptly, blocking our way.

I slammed on the brakes and we shuddered to a stop, inches from the truck. We lurched forward in our seat belts. Lucinda gasped. Moonie started barking.

“It’s okay,” I said, instinctively reversing to put distance between us and the truck. I scanned for an escape route, but there wasn’t one. I couldn’t fit around the truck. I couldn’t reverse down the street because of the blind curve.

Two men emerged from the pickup, illuminated by our headlights. The driver was big, with shredded arms covered by tattooed sleeves. His eyes were slits under a prominent forehead and long, dark hair. His passenger wasn’t as muscular, but had on a similar dark T-shirt and baggy jeans. The driver said something to him as they approached.

I inhaled to calm myself. If it was road rage, I could defuse the situation. I had a year of law school, so I could bullshit with anybody. Otherwise I was six foot three, played middle linebacker in high school, and stayed in decent shape.

Lucinda groaned. “Should I call 911?”

“Not yet.”

“Dad?” Allison sounded nervous.

“What do they want?” Ethan stuck his head between the seats, and Moonie barked, the harsh sound reverberating in the car.

“Don’t worry. Lucinda, lock the doors.”

“Okay, but be careful.”

I climbed out of the car and closed the door behind me, hearing the reassuring thunk of the locks engage. The men reached me, and I straightened. “Gentlemen, is there a—”

“We’re taking the car.” The driver pulled a handgun and aimed it at my face. “Get everybody out.”

“Okay, fine. Relax. Don’t hurt anybody. This is my family.” I turned to the car and spotted Lucinda’s phone glowing through the windshield. She must have been calling 911. The carjackers saw her at the same time.

“Drop it!” The passenger pulled a gun and aimed it at her.

“No, don’t shoot!” I moved in the way, raising my arms. “Honey, everybody, out of the car!”

Lucinda lowered the phone, the screen dropping in a blur of light.

Allison emerged from the back seat, her eyes wide. “Dad, they have guns.”

“It’s okay, honey. Come here.” I put a hand on her shoulder and maneuvered her behind me. Lucinda was coming around the back of the car with Ethan, who held a barking Moonie, dragging his leash. They reached me, and I faced the men.

“Okay, take the car,” I told them, my chest tight.

“Wait.” The passenger eyed Allison, and a leering smile spread across his face. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

No. My mouth went dry. “Take the car and go.”

Suddenly Moonie leapt from Ethan’s arms and launched himself at the men. They jumped back, off-balance. The driver fired an earsplitting blast, just missing Moonie.

My ears rang. I whirled around.

Allison had been struck. Blood spurted from her neck in a gruesome fan. She was reeling.

No! I rushed to her just as she collapsed in my arms. I eased her down to the street. Her mouth gaped open. Her throat emitted gulping sounds. Blood poured from her neck. My hand flew there to stop the flow. The blood felt hideously wet and warm.

Allison’s lips were moving. She was trying to talk, to breathe.

“Honey, you’ve been hit,” I told her. “Stay calm.” I tore off my shirt, breaking the buttons. I bunched it up and pressed it against her neck. I couldn’t see the wound. It scared me to death. “Lucinda, call 911.”

“My phone’s in the car!” Lucinda grabbed Allison’s hand, beginning to sob.

Suddenly the gun fired again behind us, another earsplitting blast.

We crouched in terror. Lucinda screamed. I didn’t know who had been shot. I looked around wildly, shocked to find that one carjacker had shot the other. The driver stood over the passenger, who lay motionless on the street, blood pooling under his head. The driver dropped the gun and ran to the pickup. I spotted his license plate before he sped off. A sudden brightness told me another car was coming up Coldstream.

“Dad, here’s Allison’s phone!” Ethan thrust it at me. My bloody fingers smeared the screen, which came to life with a photo of Moonie in sunglasses.