when it came to correspondence about his sister.
But no return text came.
Was he making me wait because I'd made him wait?
Or – oh, God – what if he was on the way to pick her up? He was so protective sometimes that I could totally see him doing it, hopping into his car and coming out after her.
With a frown, I picked up my phone and texted again. "Ok???"
No response.
Dang it. I should've texted him sooner.
While the SUV thawed, I figured I'd hop into the back seat and rearrange some of the things I'd tossed into it last night – clothes mostly, along with some extra blankets and Christmas presents – some of them already wrapped, and others in need of boxes or bows.
Normally, I'd be a lot more organized, but last night, I'd been so angry, I swear, I did more throwing than arranging.
And even though I obviously couldn't leave for my trip any time soon, there was at least a decent chance I'd be able to leave tomorrow morning – assuming it ever stopped snowing.
A quick glance out the side window wasn't encouraging. If anything, it was snowing harder.
Unwilling to brave the weather so soon – or risk getting locked out of the vehicle – I crawled over the center console and tumbled into the back seat.
Dignified? No.
But hey, dignity had been scarce on the ground, especially lately.
I was in the back seat for less than a minute when suddenly, the two front doors opened at exactly the same time. A split second later, two strangers in ski masks hopped into the vehicle. One claimed the driver's seat while the other claimed the passenger's side.
I swear, my heart leapt out of my chest. What the hell?
Chapter 51
Cami
From the back seat, I yelled, "What are you doing?"
In unison, they both turned to look. Their ski-masks were pitch black, just like their bulky black winter coats. The masks covered most of their faces, leaving only their eyes and mouths exposed.
The one in the driver's seat demanded in a voice that was all masculine, "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm the owner of the vehicle," I said. "Who the hell are you?"
Before he could even think to answer, the person in the passenger's seat – a female, judging from her voice – yelled, "You are such a liar!"
I shook my head. "What?"
Her tone grew snippy. "It's not 'your' car."
Legally speaking, she was correct. I mean, it's not like my name was on the title. But it was still my vehicle as far as these two jokers were concerned. I shot back, "It is, too."
"Hah! It belongs to Mason Blastoviak, not you."
I blinked. "Wait, how would you know?"
"It's a custom color," she said. "Any idiot knows that. What, you don't watch TV?"
Obviously, she was referring to the brothers' cable show. I told her, "I've watched it plenty."
"Then you should know, the color is Blast Orange, the same as their logo."
Through gritted teeth, I said, "And you should know that I’m not in a good mood. So get out."
"No, you get out."
"Forget it," I told her. "I'm not going anywhere."
Maybe I was being foolhardy, but the way I saw it, I'd be even more foolhardy to give up the vehicle, along with all of my belongings, just because two idiots in masks decided they wanted to take the Blast-Mobile for a spin.
Or maybe I'd simply had enough.
I told them, "So get out before I call the police."
But they didn't get out. Instead, the guy turned forward and shifted the vehicle into drive.
Again, I yelled, "What are you doing?"
"I'm getting the hell out of here."
"Why?"
"So the police don't catch us."
Oh, for God's sake. "I haven't called them yet," I said. "Just let me out." I paused. "Wait, no. I mean, you get out!"
But already, the guy was pulling forward. Shit. Way too late, I recalled that I'd shoved my cellphone back into my purse, which I'd stupidly left in the passenger's seat.
Was she sitting on it right now?
Probably.
The female looked to the male and said, "Hey, I wanna drive!"
"Forget it," he said. "You drive like shit in the snow."
"I do not!"
"Oh yeah?" he said. "Tell that to my truck."
"Hey, that wasn't my fault!"
"Well, it sure as hell wasn't my fault."
I spoke up. "I don't care whose fault it is. Stop the car!"
In the passenger's seat, the female made a scoffing sound. "It's called an SUV, you know."
I blinked. "What?"
Her tone grew snotty. "You called it a car. But it's not."
Well, this was just terrific. "Yeah,