A Warm Heart in Winter(8)

“Just stop, okay. He’s going to pull us out.”

“Do you have money to pay him?”

“Sure, I do.” No, she didn’t. “Just relax, will ya.”

Instead of getting in, she reshut the door on Terrie because she couldn’t handle anything right now. Fortunately, she didn’t have to do much else. The tow truck came over and eased front-in to the back of their dad’s car, and then the man with the piercings and the knives got out and went to a winch mounted on his bumper. There was a whirring sound, and moments later, a hook the size of a boxer’s fist and a wire thick as a boat rope was pulled over to the BMW’s rear.

“Um . . .” Elle cleared her throat. “I don’t have any money to pay you. I mean, not on me. But I can mail in—”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man said without looking at her. “I gotchu.”

The fact that the guy was fixing a problem for free that she had created on a stupid impulse made her feel small, and not just in terms of physical stature.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

The man bent down with a flashlight, and latched the hook to something under the— Later, Elle would wonder what exactly made her look over her shoulder. It wasn’t a sound, and she certainly didn’t have eyes in the back of her head. But some tickling sense on the nape of her neck had her turning her head.

The three figures in the shadows were as distinct as ghosts in a fog bank, nothing clear about their outlines or whether they were moving. And yet she was absolutely certain of their presence.

They were watching. And not in a Good Samaritan, how-can-we-help-ya kind of way.

“Um, mister—”

As she pivoted back around, the tow truck guy was already on it. He had straightened from the winch and was staring over her head, at the shadows.

“Hey,” he said evenly, “how ’bout you get in your car.”

Elle bobbleheaded that idea. “Yup, I’ll just—”

“And lock the doors.”

“Should we call the police? I mean, can we call the police—”

“Lock the doors. I’ll take care of it.”

Elle lunged for the driver’s side and yanked at the handle. When nothing opened, she glared at her sister, who seemed to be in a cognitive freeze-up as she looked back and forth between the tow man and those three people standing next to the warehouse.

Great. Terrie was broken. Could her sister never be a help— “Open this right now,” Elle bit out.

Terrie fumbled with all kinds of switches, her hands slapping at the dashboard, the steering wheel, the console—when there was finally a pop, Elle yanked the door open, and pitched herself inside, slamming things shut and punching the lock mechanism.

“Wh-h-h-hat—who are they?” Terrie said.

Three men came out of the shadows. Three men with ski hats pulled down low over their foreheads and hands that were out of sight as they walked forward through the snow.

“Elle? What are we going to do?”

“It’s fine.” She punched the locks again even though it wasn’t like she could more-lock the doors. “Get down.”

“What?”

Without looking away from the approaching trio, Elle shoved her sister toward the passenger side’s wheel well. “Shut up, and get down there—”

“I can’t fit—”

As Terrie argued, Elle’s heart pounded and she put her face into her sister’s. “Please. I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s safer there.”

“You said it was fine.” Terrie’s lower lip trembled. “You told me we were fine. I’m scared.”

“It’s going to be okay. Just get down.”

“What are you going to do?”

At least this was asked as the girl folded herself up under the glove compartment, becoming a pink marshmallow Peep crammed badly into some very non-Easter packaging. Elle went back to staring at those men. The closer they came, the younger they got, until she decided they were only a year or two older than herself. The one in the middle was the shortest, but he seemed to be in charge, walking in front of the taller two. They all had parkas on, gray and black, but not like it was a uniform, more like they had the same style.

She looked to the tow truck man. He was leaning back against the door of his vehicle, his arms hanging casually down at his sides. He seemed totally unconcerned, and was not taking out a cell phone and calling 9-1-1. Had he already done that? No. He couldn’t have.

The boys fanned out, like they had done this before, and knew that spreading wide would give them a better attack.

“What you doin’, old man,” the one in the center said as they stopped in a semicircle.

His voice was muffled on account of the BMW being so well insulated and sealed up.

Did they have guns? Elle wondered. Safety glass didn’t go far when it came to stopping bullets.

“I’m never taking you out again when I shouldn’t,” she whispered. “Ever.”

“I’m not going to tell Dad,” Terrie said in a small voice.

“Huh?” the punk demanded out by the tow truck. “What the fuck you doin’?”

Elle narrowed her eyes on the tow man. He was staring at the one who was talking, eyes unblinking, body utterly still. She had a thought that the punk needed to be careful. As much as he seemed to think he was in control, something about what was going on here was not in his favor; he just didn’t seem to be aware of it yet. Then again, maybe Elle was the one who was reading this wrong.