They argued about it back and forth for a while, with Hadley mentally tallying up each thirty cents as it vanished into the airwaves. Eventually, she had to threaten to get out and walk toward town if he and the kids came. That shut him up, except for the grumbling. He promised to call for a tow, and was starting in on a list of things she should do to check the car, when her phone ran out of minutes, right in the middle of "… spark plug connectors…" She was almost grateful.

She sat back, resigned to the wait, letting herself drift in the cooling dark. She tried to recall the last time she had time to sit, nowhere to go, nothing to do. She could remember times when she was pregnant with Hudson. She'd be so tired after getting home from her receptionist gig that she'd sprawl out on the sofa, not eating, not watching TV, not doing anything. Dylan would come home from whatever party he had been working and ask her how the hell she could waste an entire evening doing nothing. She always figured she was doing something. She was growing a baby. Not that he would've given her credit for that.

Lights coming toward her, this time. She sat up to see if it might be the tow truck. It slowed down, its high beams making her squint, then crawled past, a bass line vibrating right through her closed windows. A jacked-up, giant, my-penis-isn't-big-enough Humvee. Or were they Hummers? She couldn't remember. God, she had a test on car recognition next week. She was going to flunk for sure.

Red brake lights bloomed in her rearview mirror. Then white, as the SUV backed up, returning. She sat up straight again. It parked on the opposite shoulder. The back door opened, illuminating the interior, showing her a brief glimpse of four men.

Oh, shit. Why her? Why now? Why couldn't it be some elderly couple on their way home from a revival meeting?

The guy who had exited the back sauntered across the road, the headlights outlining the fluid roll of his hips. Hadley reached inside her purse and grabbed the inactive cell phone. She held it up to her ear and began chatting animatedly with dead air. "So, you'll never believe this, honey, but there's an SUV stopped right across the road from me. A young man's gotten out. I think he wants to help me. No, no, I'll just let him know you're almost here."

He was a young man, maybe Flynn's age, but pimped out in an exaggerated hip-hop style that would have worked a lot better if he had been seventeen. And black. And somewhere else besides the cow country outside Millers Kill. He bent down and smiled at her through the window, and she saw he was Latino. He had three studs spaced along his upper lip, and for a second Hadley forgot to be scared, thinking, How the hell do you eat with that?

"Having car trouble?" His voice sounded flat and faintly accented through the glass.

"I'm fine," she said loudly. "I'm on the phone with my husband, and he's headed over here now." She smiled like an idiot.

"Pop the hood, I'll take a look."

"No, no, that's fine-" He strolled to the front of her decrepit car. Her flashers cycled him from light, to dark, to light again.

"Open the hood!" He smiled while he shouted. It reminded her of Dylan, the way he'd yell, "What's your problem? We're having fun, goddammit!"

She put on her best hapless female look and shrugged. He just smiled again, fished something long and flat out of his commodious cargo pocket, and leaned against the hood. The car dipped. Hadley heard a metallic clunk and the hood flew up, hiding Stud Boy, who, for all she knew, was stripping down her engine.

For the first time since she had been issued her service piece, she wished she had her gun. For two months, it had been too heavy, too alien, too intimidating. Now she wished she could pull it out from the lockbox under her passenger seat and rap on her window and see the look on this guy's face. Not, despite her firing instructor's gung-ho pep talks about "yer best friend," that she'd ever use it.

But, oh, she wished she had it now. Then maybe she wouldn't feel so scared.

Stud Boy ambled back to her door without bothering to replace the hood. "I hate to tell you, but it looks bad. Your alternator belt's broke."

She had no idea if he was bullshitting her or not.

"C'mon, we'll take you where you're going. Pretty girl like you shouldn't be all alone out here." His smile made her flesh crawl.

She held up the useless cell phone. "Thanks, but my husband's already on his way."

He rapped her window with a silver ring in the shape of a skull. He held it out, as if she ought to admire it. He had letters printed over each of his knuckles. Jailhouse tats, inked in with a sharpened pen and a homemade hammer. Oh, shit. His smile grew broader. "If you have a husband, how come you don't have no ring?" His fingers slid down, out of sight, and she heard the click-click of the door as he tried the lock.

She dropped the little-wife routine. Hardened her voice. "I'm not going with you. There's a tow truck on the way… and the man I live with knows where I am." She considered telling him she was a cop, but with nothing to back that up, she figured it would just make her look more scared and desperate.

He kept smiling. He released her door handle and let his fingers glide over the window, creating shapes. She realized he was miming touching her and her stomach flipped over with a nauseated lurch. With his other hand, he beckoned to the Hummer. Across the road, doors swung open and men got out.

Oh, shit, she thought. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

"We don't have to take you anywhere," Stud Boy said. "You can just hang out with us in our truck." A short, broad Latino pressed up against her door next to Stud Boy. He had a nervous ferret face that made him look like Peter Lorre.

Click-click. Click-click. He was trying the rear door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two others, dark shapes on the passenger side.

Click-click.

"You must be getting cold, stuck out here," Stud Boy said cheerfully. "You come with us. We'll let you warm up." One of the ones on the opposite side of the car said something, and they all laughed.

"You like to party?" Stud Boy asked. "We'll have a party. We'll make you feel real good." He said something over the roof that she couldn't make out, and one of the shadowy figures detached himself from her car and meandered across the road. Back to their SUV. He flung open the driver's door and reached under the dash. Their rear hatch popped open. She thought about the handy do-it-yourself hood opener Stud Boy had produced from his pocket and knew, with the horrible sinking certainty of someone whose luck always ran bad, that the one across the road was going to pull a jimmy strip out of the back of that truck, and she was going to be screwed. In every sense of the word.

She eased her key ring out of the ignition and folded her right hand around it, letting the keys jut up between her fingers. If she pretended to play along and acted scared and helpless-God knew, that wasn't going to take much effort-she figured she'd have one good chance to catch Stud Boy off guard. Keys in his throat, knee in his balls, then the flat of her foot to his kneecap with her weight behind it. If she could put him down-put him down hard so he wasn't getting back up again-the others might back off. She swallowed. Laid her hand on her door rest.

In her rearview mirror, she saw the flash of red and whites.

Oh, God, thank you, God, thank you!

The cruiser rolled in tight behind her vehicle, flooding her interior with the brilliant white light of the kliegs. She couldn't tell if it was a state trooper or the MKPD, but whoever it was, she prayed he was big, hairy, and heavily armed. Stud Boy and his ferret friend stepped away from her window, and the guy on the far side vanished toward the front of her car. A moment later, her hood thunked into place.