hip level, leaving my view unobstructed. Thank God.
And yet, thanks to the swirling snow, I still couldn't see beyond a few feet.
But then, the snow cleared barely enough for me to spot Mason's car on the opposite side of the road, where it had apparently found a ditch of its own. The rear of his sedan was a banged, crunched-up mess.
As far as the front, I couldn’t be sure either way.
As I took in the damage, something squeezed at my heart. Was Mason alright?
I reached for the door handle and gave it a frantic tug. Nothing happened. In the front seat, they were still arguing.
The guy was saying, "Oh yeah? Then next time you drive!"
"I wanted to drive," she yelled back. "But you wouldn’t let me!"
"Yeah, because you drive like shit in the snow."
"Yeah? Well so do you!"
Ignoring them, I gave the door handle another tug. Still nothing.
Stupid safety features.
I hollered out, "Unlock the door!"
Both of them ignored me and kept on bickering.
Great. Already, the snow was kicking up again, hiding Mason's car from my desperate view. With growing anxiety, I stared through the swirling snow.
And then I saw him, striding forward like a gladiator heading into battle. He wore a dark business suit, a red necktie, and a look so ominous, I felt myself swallow.
In his right hand was a hammer – silver on the business end with a blazing orange handle. I couldn't make out the logo, but of course, I didn't need to.
Blast tools were famous worldwide. And this was their trademark Blast Demolition Hammer, which he was wielding like a weapon.
I murmured, "Oh, my God," before hollering out to the idiots in front. "At least roll down the window!"
I wasn't even thinking of escape. I knew I'd make it out eventually. But now more than anything, I needed to let Mason know that his sister wasn't here, before he killed someone in a brotherly rage.
But did they listen?
No.
They kept on bickering.
As I watched in growing horror, Mason strode to driver's side window and lifted the hammer high. A split second later, the window shattered in a hail of broken glass that instantly silenced the bickering.
Mason used the sharp end of the hammer to puncture the driver's airbags. And then, he tossed the hammer aside and reached into the car with both hands. He grabbed the guy in the driver's seat and yanked him out through the now-open window.
The guy hollered out, "What the fuck?"
As for his companion, she practically dove for the passenger's side door. Unlike me, she shoved her door open with no trouble.
How nice for her.
As for myself, I was still trapped by the child safety locks.
I watched in stunned disbelief as the masked female bolted from the vehicle and headed not for her companion, but in the opposite direction, sprinting toward the nearby woods.
Well, so much for loyalty.
As for Mason, he slammed the driver up against the side of the car, just inches from my face. He hauled back and hit the guy in the dead center of his ski mask.
With my face pressed against the back window, I hollered out, "Willow's not here!"
Mason called back, "I know," just before hitting the guy again, this time in the stomach.
Huh?
By now, the masked car-jacker was babbling and cussing up a storm. And so was I.
Obviously, Mason still wasn't getting it. I scrambled over the center console and dove into the driver's seat. As I did, Mason called out, "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm trying to get out!"
"Don't," he said. "There's broken glass."
As if I didn't know.
I glanced down at my hands and thanked my lucky stars that I'd worn gloves today, along with my warmest winter coat and sturdy denim jeans. My clothes were thick, and if the shards of glass were cutting me, I sure as heck didn't feel it.
Or maybe I was just too numb to feel anything but desperation.
I needed to stop Mason before he murdered the guy.
I grabbed the front door handle and gave it a hard yank. The door wasn't locked, but when I tried to push open the door, I was met with hard resistance in the form of the guy's backside, which was apparently blocking the door just enough to keep it from swinging open.
I stuck my head out the front window and yelled, "Didn't you hear me? I said Willow's not here. She's with Arden."
Now Mason was gripping the guy by his shoulders, holding him firm against the vehicle. Without letting go, he looked to