Peter said he trusted God to help him. Could she?
Peter started singing, so off-key that she cringed at first. Then she realized he was singing “Amazing Grace,” the song she had sung at the audition.
As she listened to the words, she realized it all came down to faith. Despite having a gun trained on him, Peter trusted God’s plan.
So could she.
The car hit a pothole, and the cargo jiggled inside the luggage compartment. That definitely sounded like bottles. They were heavy enough to knock out a man. So were tools. She felt around Peter’s toolbox but couldn’t figure out how to open it. On the other hand, she could lift the seat cushion enough to get a bottle out and strike Vince before he knew she was back there. But she’d have to do it quietly.
Peter’s singing seemed to distract Vince.
“They sing that sometimes in church,” Galbini said between verses.
At least he didn’t demand that Peter stop. Once Peter resumed the next verse, Minnie wiggled to her knees and carefully rolled the pillowcase off the seat and onto the floorboards. It landed with a thud.
Minnie held her breath.
Peter continued to sing. Vince started humming along.
Whew! She wedged her hands under the front edge of the seat cushion. This was going to be heavy, and she didn’t have enough room to slide the cushion forward. She’d have to brace it on her shoulder while she pulled out a bottle. She sure hoped the crates weren’t nailed shut.
Naturally she couldn’t see a thing. Moonlight had flickered into the car when they were in less wooded areas, but they’d entered some sort of evergreen forest on a rutted, bumpy road. On the positive side, that meant Vince couldn’t see her. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see under the seat, either. She’d have to do this by touch.
At the next bump, she lifted. Oh, my! The cushion was heavy. She barely hung on to it before slipping her shoulder underneath. Panting, she waited as Peter continued into the next verse. He mixed up the words, but it didn’t matter to Vince, who hummed along.
She felt around in the compartment. The crates were open. Her fingers grazed bottle tops. The corks or stoppers were pushed down below the rim. Minnie didn’t know much about spirits, so she had no idea what they might be, but the bottles felt fairly large. She could probably squeeze one through the opening, though.
She grabbed one and lifted.
My, oh, my! That was heavier than she’d expected. At this awkward angle and already balancing the heavy seat on her shoulder, she struggled to pull the bottle free of the case. She’d have a time of it bringing the bottle up high enough to hit Vince on the head. Then what if she accidentally killed him? Would the police call it murder? Would she go to jail?
Her resolve faltered, and she nearly let the seat cushion slam down when the car pitched into a particularly large pothole.
Shaking, she gathered her wits. If God be for us, who can be against us? The memory verse from Romans came to mind at exactly the right time. God would give her strength. He would guide her hand.
This time when she pulled up on the bottle, it came out of the compartment right away. After bracing it between her knees, she eased the seat cushion down and prepared to strike. She could get a better shot by crawling up onto the rear seat.
Slowly, carefully, she eased onto the seat directly behind Vince, bottle in hand. Now all she had to do was strike him solidly enough to knock him out but not kill him. She lifted the bottle overhead, but her arms shook too much, and she had to set it down.
She’d never be able to hit a man. Never. Even to save them.
Peter finished the song.
“Keep singing,” Vince said, sounding agitated.
“I’m not a good singer, and my throat is dry,” Peter said.
Vince pressed the gun to Peter’s head. “I said to keep singing.”
Minnie drew in her breath. Vince sounded crazed enough to kill Peter. She had to act. But if she missed, Vince would shoot them both. She squeezed her eyes shut. Peter began “Amazing Grace” again from the beginning. Was blind but now I see.
She opened her eyes and noticed that Vince had lowered the gun and leaned back on the seat. His neck was within reach. At that moment, she saw the answer. She didn’t have to knock him out. She just had to convince him that she had a gun. The mouth of the bottle was about the right size. With the cork pushed in, it would feel like the muzzle of a gun. If she shoved it against Vince’s neck and pretended to be a policeman, she might startle him enough that he’d drop the gun.
Slowly, carefully, she raised the bottle.
The car jostled on the rutted road. Peter kept singing. Vince had dropped his hands to his lap. His fingers still curled around the trigger, but he was relaxed.
Minnie waited for the right moment. She had one chance. One opportunity. She’d better get it right.
Lord, I do trust in You.
Peter finished a verse. The road smoothed out. The moon had sunk below the trees, leaving them in complete darkness. The moment had arrived.
She pressed the mouth of the bottle against Vince’s neck and in as gruff a voice as she could manage shouted, “Hands up!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
What was that? Peter jumped at the odd voice. He whipped around to see who was in the car with them. Had Fallston somehow gotten into the backseat? When? The car had been in view the entire time they loaded the liquor. He hadn’t seen anyone, even when he threw his clothes in the back.
Vince yelled something about driving.
Peter turned back to discover the car had veered left and was headed for the trees. He yanked the wheel to the right. The rear tires spun out on the gravel, and the car fishtailed. Before he could regain control, Vince whipped his gun past Peter’s head to the backseat.
This was his chance. Peter lunged for the gun with one hand and missed, but he caught Vince’s arm. The gun fired. A woman screamed. Peter let go of the wheel completely. With all his weight and both hands, he bent Vince’s wrist backward, trying to shake loose the gun.
“Let go,” he spat out between clenched teeth.
Vince pummeled him on the back with his other fist. “Never.”
Peter smashed Vince’s hand against the dash. Vince punched Peter in the back of the head. Peter’s head snapped forward. He blinked but didn’t let go.
“Stop it,” a woman screamed over and over.
A woman? Agent Fallston brought a woman? The voice sounded familiar, but Peter didn’t have time to think about that. He jabbed an elbow into Vince’s throat. The man gasped but didn’t let go of the gun.
The woman let out the most ear-piercing screams. Something large and heavy flew past Peter’s head and landed harmlessly on the floorboards, where it rolled from side to side with the wildly careening vehicle.
Peter wrestled Vince’s hand toward the dashboard again.
Someone crawled over the backseat behind Peter and grabbed onto the steering wheel. Peter forced Vince’s hand forward. The man’s grip was loosening. If he could smash his hand against the dash one more time... Peter summoned all his strength and pushed.
Vince fought back.
The car spun...once, twice.
“Watch out,” the woman shrieked as she lost hold of the steering wheel and fell into the rear seat.
The automobile dipped and then shot up. Peter held on to Vince’s hand, which cracked against the dashboard on the forward pitch. The impact sent the gun flying. He heard it hit metal moments before both men slammed back against the seat.
A split second later, the car crunched to a sudden stop. Metal screeched. Wood splintered. Dirt flew everywhere. Vince shot forward through the windshield, shattering it in a spray of glass. Peter’s left shoulder hit the steering wheel. His head cracked against the dash.
Then noth
ing.
* * *
“Peter, Peter!” Minnie shook him, but he didn’t wake.
In the dim light, she just could make out her surroundings. Peter was slumped sideways over the steering wheel, his head lying on the dashboard. He’d been battling Vince when the car dipped into the ditch and then crashed into the trees. Vince lay halfway out of the car, unconscious and possibly dead, but Minnie cared only about Peter, who wasn’t moving.
The car had hit a large evergreen tree hard enough to crumple the front of the car and pop the driver’s door open. Minnie couldn’t push open the rear door, so she crawled over the seat behind Peter and got out that way.
Something crunched beneath her feet. Probably glass. She leaned in and tugged on Peter again.
“Wake up, please, wake up.”
What if he’d died? No. Please, God, no.
She pressed her ear to his back. Her heart was pounding so hard that she didn’t hear anything at first. Then she held her breath and closed her eyes. Yes, there it was. A faint heartbeat. He was alive.
“Thank You, God,” she murmured, kissing him on the side of the head. “Thank You for sparing Peter.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Please wake him up. Please let him be all right.”
* * *
Minnie’s voice pierced through the blackness that had closed around Peter. She was there with him. She was alive, and she was crying.
He fought the fog that threatened to swallow him again. No, he wouldn’t give in. He had to get to Minnie. He had to console her.
He drew in a breath to clear the fog and gasped as sharp pain ripped through him.
“Oh, Peter, Peter,” she cried, kissing the back and sides of his head over and over. “You’re alive. You’re alive. I prayed, and God answered.”
He drew in a smaller breath this time, but it still hurt. “Minnie?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
He tried to wrap his mind around where he was and why he hurt so much. He opened his eyes but could see little. “Where? How?” He gasped again at the pain.
“Don’t talk. Gather your strength, and then we need to get out of here. I don’t know if Vince is alive or just knocked out. And I can’t find the gun.”
Vince. Gun. It all came back. Vince had tried to shoot the person in the backseat. A woman had been screaming. Minnie. He’d almost killed Minnie!
“You hurt?” Peter managed to ask between bursts of pain.
“No. No, I’m all right.” She smoothed a hand over his head. “But you’re hurt. You’re bleeding.” She pressed something to his head. “Not too much. A little pressure ought to stop it, but we need to get away from the car.” She sounded unnerved.
Why? The gun. Must be because of Vince and the gun.
“I’ll try,” he murmured, but the blackness was closing in again.
* * *
“Peter! Don’t fall asleep again.” Minnie shook him.
Peter groaned, but he sounded so groggy.
The bleeding from his scalp had slowed but not their troubles.
Though Galbini hadn’t woken up yet, he could at any moment. What would she do then? She had to find that gun. It must have fallen onto the front floorboards. She rummaged around Peter’s feet and came up empty. Maybe it was on the other side. She rounded the car and felt the floorboards around Galbini’s limp and dangling legs. The liquor bottle was there, but no gun. Maybe it had flown out of the car when they crashed. If so, it could be anywhere. In the dark, she’d never find it.
She’d better get Peter out of the car and walking so he wouldn’t drift off again. Hadn’t she heard something about making people stay awake when they’d hit their head? Oh, yes, Beattie had mentioned that years ago when her friend Darcy hit her head in an aeroplane crash. They’d kept Darcy awake for hours. She’d have to do the same for Peter.
“Stay awake, Peter,” she called out as she scrambled out of the ditch to round the car again.
He mumbled something.
Good, he was still awake.
Once she reached the road, she stretched her limbs, amazed at how stiff they’d become in the short time she’d crouched beside the car. She looked down the road, and in the distance, headlamps appeared. A vehicle was headed their way. She waved her arms, hoping they’d see her. Peter needed to get to a doctor.
“Help is on the way,” she said. “Stay awake, Peter. We’ll get you to a doctor soon.”
She waved her arms again. They must have seen her, because the car looked to pick up speed. “They’re hurrying. They’ll be here soon.”
“Other car,” Peter gasped.
“Other car? What other car?”
“Pierce-Arrow.”
Oh, no! The thugs. She’d forgotten about them. They knew where Peter was going. They would have been able to fix the car by now. A dangling battery cable would be obvious. If she could do it, anyone could. Peter was right. This car was probably the Pierce-Arrow. No one else would be traveling such a desolate road in the middle of the night.
She scrambled down the ditch on the driver’s side. “Get out! Get out of the car! We have to run. Now.”
With a groan, he twisted forward and then slumped back against the seat, motionless.
She reached the driver’s seat and put her arm around his shoulders. “You can do it, Peter. I’ll help.” She tugged on his trousers. “First one leg and then the other. You can do it.”
Slowly, he slid his left leg out of the car, followed by a sickening moan.
“Good. Now the other one.” She glanced up. The headlamps lit the trees now. “They’re getting closer.”
He got the other leg out of the car and turned toward her with a shuddering gasp.
“All right.” She put her arms under his and hugged him tight. “Lean on me, and I’ll help you up.”
She pulled. He moved a little. She tugged harder as the headlamps brightened.
“They’re almost here.” She panted from the exertion. “Help me. I can’t lift you alone.”
He gave a push. She pulled. For a second, she had him mostly upright and out of the car. Then his full weight pressed onto her. She tumbled backward, and he landed beside her with a groan.
“We have to get into the woods.” She shook him. “Crawl if you have to.”
She got to her hands and knees. The shards of glass bit into them, and she gasped from the knifing pain.
“Go,” he gasped. “Run.”
“No, I won’t leave you.”
“Save yourself.”
She couldn’t. This time she would not run away. She would stay with the man she loved and face whatever came next. Even a bullet to the head. A sob slipped out, and she buried her face in Peter’s shoulder.
He was shaking. Oh, dear, he must be freezing. She was wearing his coat. He had nothing. She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.
“Go,” he gasped.
“No. We face this together.”
“Trust God.” He barely got the words out.
“I do.”
The automobile stopped, its headlamps illuminating them. In the light, she could see the welt on Peter’s temple. She choked back a sob.
Car doors opened. Someone got out.
“There they are,” a man said. “Follow me.”
Minnie squeezed her eyes shut, held Peter close and prepared to die.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Are you hurt, miss?”
That was awfully polite for a thug.
“Miss Fox? What are you doing here?”
That was Sheriff Ilsley’s voice.
Relieved, Minnie lifted her head. “Sheriff. I’m sure glad to see you.” Light from the headlamps revealed four other men, a couple with guns drawn. “Peter’s hurt. We need t
o get him to a doctor.”
A short man, who looked more like an accountant than a lawman, directed the other men to check Galbini. From the way he barked out orders, he must be in charge.
“He’s out cold,” one of the men shouted back. “But still alive.”
“Handcuff him,” the man in charge said.
Meanwhile, the sheriff helped Minnie get Peter to a sitting position.
“He hit his head,” she said. “I got the bleeding slowed, but something else is wrong. He’s having trouble breathing.”
“Ribs,” Peter gasped out.
The sheriff nodded. “All right, Peter. Miss Fox and I will help you to your feet. We need to get you to the car.”
“I’ll help,” the accountant said.
“No.” Minnie wasn’t about to let any stranger near Peter.
“Federal Agent Fallston,” the man barked out. “I’m not here to hurt Mr. Simmons.”
Though relieved to learn he was a lawman, she wasn’t ready to leave Peter’s side. “I can handle this, sir.”
The sheriff chuckled. “I expect Miss Fox means what she says, Agent. Help your men with Galbini.”
Minnie stood on one side, and the sheriff took the other—and most of Peter’s weight. Together, they got Peter out of the ditch and to the policemen’s automobile. While the sheriff was getting Peter situated, Minnie noticed another car traveling toward them.
The thugs!
“Sheriff, the rest of Mr. Galbini’s men are heading this way. We have to get out of here now.”
The sheriff looked back. “Looks like Sheriff Everson has Galbini’s men well in hand.”
The car pulled over, and the officer inside told Sheriff Ilsley they were headed to the county jail.
“Fallston will follow you with Galbini,” Sheriff Ilsley said. “I’ve got an injured man here. Which way to the closest doctor?”
While the sheriff got directions, Minnie waited beside Peter in the backseat of the police car.
“Sheriff Ilsley will get you to help.” She slipped off his coat and laid it over him.
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