Girl, Stolen(49)

Griffin’s ears were ringing. He did not move a muscle. He was dead now. It was only a matter of time until TJ made it official.

But then TJ dropped the gun and leaned over, his hands on his knees. Vomit splattered on the pine needles.

Griffin cut his eyes toward Jimbo and then wished he hadn’t. He adjusted his head a couple of inches so that he wouldn’t accidentally see the body again.

Straightening up, TJ wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “I’ve never done that before,” he said. “It’s different than you think.”

Griffin was afraid to even meet TJ’s eyes. When he finally did, he saw TJ’s pupils looked too big. And his face looked like he was about ready to laugh or cry – or both.

“Oh, well,” TJ said, “there is one good thing. Jimbo finally, finally shut up.” His laugh was high-pitched. It sounded like glass breaking.

Griffin heard TJ go over to the body, but he still refused to look. Jimbo had landed on his side. He heard TJ pull the backpack off Jimbo’s back.

TJ walked back into Griffin’s line of sight. “It’s half yours,” he said, hefting the backpack.

“That’s okay. I don’t need any.”

TJ unzipped the backpack. There was a long silence. “It’s wet. Why is the money all wet?” His voice arced higher. He reached in and grabbed a fistful of money, pulled it out. Red drops speckled the snow. “It’s blood. Oh, my God, it’s blood!”

He dropped the money and then the backpack. A bill floated down and landed by Griffin’s hand. One end of it looked like it had been dipped in red paint.

TJ found a little patch of snow. He knelt down and began to wipe his hands on it like it was a towel. Washing his hands in snow. It quickly turned slushy and pink. And then he stood up, without saying another word to Griffin, and walked away. Leaving Griffin with a broken ankle, a bloody backpack filled with a quarter of a million dollars, two guns, and a dead man.





THE HARDEST THING IN THE WORLD


Crouched behind a huge tree, Cheyenne tried to be as quiet as possible. She was too winded to hold her breath, so she panted shallowly, openmouthed. The cold air scraped her lungs. Her eyes watered, but she refused to cough. Any second they would find her. Thirty minutes ago she had heard the sound of a gunshot, not close, but not far away, either. It had spurred her to walk even faster.

Then five minutes ago she had heard the faint sound of a car engine. She must be near the road! That meant there were people up ahead, people who could help her. And then this whole long ordeal would be over.

She had hurried forward, mindless of branches that lashed her legs, of ground so rough she stumbled and nearly fell a half-dozen times. Her only thought had been to flag down the driver, even though part of her knew that he was surely long gone.

But then she had heard it. Someone running through the trees. Running right for her. And who else would be out in the woods? The driver of the car wouldn’t suddenly get out, because he wouldn’t have any idea she was here. It must be one of the three men. She had gotten lucky when Griffin had turned out to be one of the good guys.

She didn’t think she would get lucky twice.

So Cheyenne had hidden behind the biggest tree she could find and concentrated on remaining absolutely still.

It was the hardest thing in the world. She wanted to jump up and start waving her arms and screaming. Just to get the inevitable over with. Was her killer even now aiming a gun at her?

Cheyenne tried to think of a plan. Knowing she was probably going to die gave her a certain amount of freedom. Maybe she could rush whoever it was – TJ, Jimbo, or Roy – and wrestle the gun away before he overcame his amazement at her suicidal charge. Although it was more likely that she would just end up with a fist-sized hole in her chest.

Still, something inside of her refused to give up. Not after she had gotten so far, risked so much, done so many things she would have said were impossible just a week earlier.

Then words rang out through the cold, still air.

“Freeze! Police! Hold it right there!”

An electric shock jolted from Cheyenne’s head to her heels.

Not the bad guys, then.

Cheyenne was going to live. She had made it!

She didn’t obey the cop. She couldn’t. She stood up and ran toward his voice, heedless of what might be in her way.

“Help me, oh, please help me!” Something sharp tore through her pants, gouging her left calf. Shaking herself free, she ran on, holding her hands high overhead so he would know she didn’t constitute a threat. Her only goal was to close the gap between herself and the cop as fast as she could. She wanted to finally be safe. “Help me!” she yelled again. “I’ve been kidnapped.”