I was incredulous. “You ran from the police because you don’t have a driver’s license? Are you insane?”

“He’s going to kill us,” said the other kid, a lanky young boy hanging sideways from the over-the-shoulder seatbelt holding him into the passenger seat.

The boy had huge brown eyes and blond hair falling across them. His nose was bleeding, probably broken from the slam he’d taken from the airbag. Tears dribbled down his cheeks.

“Please don’t tell. Just say the car was stolen or something and let us go home. Please. Our dad’s going to really kill us.”

“Why is that?” Jacobi asked sarcastically. “He won’t like the new hood ornament on his sixty-thousand-dollar car? Keep your hands where we can see them and get out real slow.”

“I can’t. I’m stuh-uh-uck,” cried the boy. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his face. Then he threw up on the console.

Jacobi muttered, “Aw, shit,” as our instincts to render aid took over. We holstered our weapons. It took our combined strength to wrench open the ruined driver’s-side door. I reached in and shut off the ignition, and after that we eased the kids out of the vehicle and onto their feet.

“Let’s see that learner’s permit, Sara,” I said. I was wondering if her father was Dr. Cabot and if the kids were afraid of him for good reason.

“It’s here,” Sara said. “In my wallet.”

Jacobi was calling for an ambulance when the young girl reached into her inside jacket pocket and pulled out an object so unexpected and so chilling my blood froze.

I yelled, “GUN!” a split second before she shot me.

Chapter 7

TIME SEEMED TO SLOW, every second distinct from the one before it, but the truth is, everything happened in under a minute.