I gathered that much.
The glow of overhead lights danced across the car as Jude drove between the rows of cars.
Jude pulled into a vacant space beside a vehicle shrouded beneath a canvas cover to protect it from the weather. He put the car in park and, for the first time since I awoke in the passenger’s seat, looked at me.
“If you want to live, don’t run. Don’t make a scene. Do exactly as I say.”
I swallowed the grotesque taste of vomit and fear. “Are you going to kill me?” The question was a broken whisper, but it was the best I could do.
“I don’t want to.” His answer was emotionless, and that, in itself, was utterly terrifying.
The truth lingered in what he didn’t say:I will if I have to.
He cut the engine. “Do not run, Amelia. Do exactly as I say.”
I was pinned down by a seatbelt and fear.
Jude just stared, waiting for me to agree. But I wasn’t going to agree. He knew who I was. I had told him my real name thefirst time I went to the Four Horsemen. But I quickly realized that I had absolutely no idea who the scary hot guy from the casino truly was.
I knew he was used to getting blood on his hands. I had seen it with my own eyes. But part of me . . . part of me didn’t want to believe it.
He had helped me hustle at the casino. Why would he do that just to kidnap me and kill me?
Instead of agreeing not to run, I said, “You didn’t strike me as an electric car kind of guy.”
My answer must have been good enough for Jude because he opened his door. “Call it a long-term exit strategy. Grab your bag and get out.”
Airports had security guards. Police officers. TSA agents. Cameras and security measures out the wazoo.
No way did he plan on killing me here.
My brain was focused on self-preservation, but my gut told me to go with him. At least, for the time being.
All those true crime adages about not allowing the bad guy to take you to a second location went out the window as I slid out of the car and stood up on wobbly legs. My head spun as whatever he drugged me with came back for round two. I listed to the left, but Jude was freakishly fast for someone so big. He caught me before I hit the ground.
“Sorry about the chloroform. It tells a good story, but it’s a bitch,” he muttered as he wrapped a supportive arm around my ribs and ushered me toward the tarp-covered vehicle.
My feet skidded across the asphalt as he came to a stop, propped me up against the driver’s side door of the electric car, and ripped the tarp off the truck.
“Are you stealing a car?”
He balled up the tarp and tossed it into the backseat of the electric car. “Not stealing. Borrowing.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Looks a lot like stealing.”
He glared at me, steel eyes sharp as a blade. “Do you want to live?”
“I want to know what the hell is going on.”
Jude yanked open the passenger side door. “Then get in the truck.”
I went with my gut again and climbed in on weak, shaking legs. When I reached for the seatbelt, Jude grabbed my bag. “Hey!” I shouted.
He pawed through the chips and grabbed the cash. Just when I thought he was going to steal it, he set the cash—a few thousand dollars—in my lap, then tossed the bag and the rest of the chips into the electric car.
I was more than curious, but I was also acutely aware of what happened to innocent cats when they were curious. And I wasn’t exactly innocent.
Jude popped the trunk of the electric car, grabbed a backpack and shouldered it, then pulled his wallet and phone from his pocket and tossed them into the car beside my bag.
