I slam on the brake—more to avoid a collision with the car in front of us than for dramatic flair, but it does punctuatethe moment nicely. Plus, it silences Grant Hoffman. I turn to face him.
“Crime novels, you say?”
• • •
GRANT SHRINKS BACKfrom me as we make direct eye contact for the first time. Even if he hadn’t word-vomited his life story at me, I could guess a lot about him with one look. The neatly cut but slightly disheveled brown hair, the vague stubble, the muted sweater and blazer—it all really shouts Exhausted Academic.
But with a sudden burst of energy, he unclicks his seat belt and throws himself at the door, clawing at the lock. It doesn’t budge.
“They’rechild-locked?” he says under his breath. He looks at me, horrified, and I raise my hands in a show of innocence.
“That wasn’t me. That’s sketchy as hell.” A car honks behind me and I turn to drive through the green light. “See, if you think about it, you’re lucky I jumped in here.”
He says nothing. I can see in the rearview mirror that he’s slowly reaching into his jacket pocket, and I realize with a lurch that he’s going to call the police.
“Please, before you do anything, just let me explain,” I implore him. “I’m not a criminal. I wasn’t ten minutes ago, anyway. I’m running from this guy who wants to kill me. Like,reallywants to kill me. I saw an opportunity and I took it. I’m sorry that it ruined your night, but I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. I’m just trying to get away.”
In the rearview, I see him jab frantically at his phone’s power button. A fresh wave of horror dawns over him, and I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. “It’s dead,” he says numbly to no one.
“Oh man, that sucks. Foryou, I mean. It’s obviously working in my favor. You understand.”
“Sure,” he says quietly, as if he is mentally far away and desperate to stay there.
“Listen,” I sigh, “all I need is for you to hear me out. And keep an open mind, because we’re kind of in the Twilight Zone here. But I think you might be able to help.”
“Help? How?” The furrowed-brow look he’s giving me in the mirror doesn’t exactly scream open-mindedness. “Where are you taking me?”
I realize, then, that I have no idea. I’ve been following the GPS by force of habit, presumably to Grant’s place. This is only my first kidnapping, but I don’t think you’re supposed to take your victim to their home.
The gravity of this situation finally hits me with an electric jolt. I stole a car. Aridesharecar. Whose driver is almost certainly describing me and the car’s make and model and license plate number to the police at this very moment. And whose location data is probably being transmitted in real time to a company that I’m sure will have no qualms about releasing it to the authorities.
I tear the driver’s phone from its mount and chuck it out the window, then veer left off our prescribed route. I need to get myself and the witness in the back seat and the giant piece of evidence I’m driving as far away as possible.
I set my mental GPS for the most remote place I can think of.
CHAPTER FIVE
Up the coast from Boston, past the fishing towns with their gummy lobsters and tourist traps, there is a dirt road that winds off the beaten path, through the woods, and straight to the scene of my happiest childhood memories. I spent every August with Steph at her family beach cottage on Gordon Point, mostly for the benefit of the parents; Steph’s had fewer sibling fights to break up when there were friends around, and mine got a child-free month to assess the state of their marriage and ultimately change nothing. But for me, that little cluster of weather-beaten houses was magic—like if Narnia were golden and summery and located on the North Shore of Massachusetts.
But then, I was never brought here against my will in a stolen car at midnight in February. So I imagine it’s a different kind of experience for Grant.
It doesn’t look great, I realize, that I’m driving him farther and farther into deep, ominous woods in the middle of the night. But soon we’ll get to the house and I’ll explain everything, and he’ll see that I’m just your average innocent victim of an unfathomable magic mix-up. We’ll figure out a plan and before we know it, this will all be in the past.
There’s just one thing I need to take care of first.
We emerge from the woods and the boarded-up houses come into view, cutting dark shapes against the moonlit water. I follow the road up the hill toward Gordon Point Park, glancing around the car for anything useful. There are hand weights in the passenger footwell. Perfect.
“Okay,” I announce to Grant. “I have good news and bad news.”
“Is the bad news that you’re kidnapping me?” he says. “Because I gathered that.”
I pause for a moment as I haul up one of the weights.
“… I have good news anddifferentbad news.”
The good news, I explain, is that we’re close to our destination. The road ends, but I keep driving over the grass, climbing toward the crest of the park. There’s a path up there that runs alongside a modest cliff, offering spectacular ocean views for an idyllic summertime stroll. Or my less idyllic current needs.
“The bad news is that we need to lose this car.” I flip the power door lock and prepare to wedge the hand weight into position. “So I suggest you open your door.”
