houses on either side, empty, windows boarded up. Where was everyone? She was in Europe. Had to be a town somewhere. A highway, a farm, a gas station, whatever, somewhere with a phone. Keep moving. Not too much weight on the leg.
She hoped at the top of the hill she’d see lights. She hoped she hadn’t wasted too much time, hoped Jacques and Lilly were out for a nice long dinner or doing whatever kidnappers did when they weren’t kidnapping. The bike seat had made her ache where she’d stuffed herself with the bottle, and remembering the bottle made her think of Rodrigo and—
No more thinking.
She had never felt so lonely.
At the crest of the hill, she mopped the sweat from her eyes, bit her hand against the pain in her leg. She wondered if the ankle was broken. It was swelling for sure, the bone disappearing under a glove of stretched-out skin. She touched it lightly, wished she hadn’t.
A thick black chain blocked the road ahead, metal signs attached to the posts, facing out. Warning against trespassing, probably. Beyond the chain, the road was paved, cracked but paved. They’d kept her at the end of the line, the outer edge of this failed development. Did they own it, or had Jacques just found it somehow, the Lonely Planet kidnapping boards?
More unfinished houses lay to the right. Beyond them, the land sloped down and she saw a cluster of lights. She couldn’t judge how far. Didn’t matter, she couldn’t possibly navigate open ground on one leg. Stick to the road.
She hobbled around the chain. Ahead the road dipped slightly, then rose. The next crest was maybe five hundred feet away.
Move. Move, Kira, move. Her mother’s voice.
The flatland wasn’t too bad. But when she had to climb, the steps sent fire up her leg, her ligaments giving more with each step. Sooner or later she would tear them off the bone and her pain tolerance wouldn’t matter, she’d be on her hands and knees no matter what.
Ten minutes to the top of the second hill? More? She didn’t know. At the top, she went to a knee. Wiped her face. Sweat and tears mixed. She’d been crying and hadn’t even known.
She pushed herself up. The land ahead was nearly flat, just a few low hills. The road cut straight across it. East, west, north, south? She didn’t know. She was a child of GPS and turn-by-turn directions. No one had ever taught her to read the stars.
Anyway, the road was empty on either side, no more houses. No wonder the development had failed. Why had they stuck it out here? Four widely separated clusters of lights glowed in the distance. Villages, she guessed. Closer, two miles ahead, maybe, red and white lights blurred through the night.
Taillights. Headlights. A highway. The one she’d heard before when the wind was right.
With the bike, she could have ridden to it in ten minutes. Less. Even without the bike if she hadn’t sprained her ankle she could have covered the distance in half an hour at most.
If, if, if. If she had an Uber waiting for her she’d be back in Barcelona already, hanging out on La Rambla with Becks and Bri and Tony, telling kidnapping stories. Then I shoved the polish remover bottle up my twat, ouchie, hilarious, right?
* * *
You want help? Get to the highway. Stop whining and move. Brian’s voice this time.
She walked again, faster now, putting the pain in a corner, loving the pain—
And saw a white blur pull off the highway. Headlights. The blur swung right. Onto this road.
Yes, someone was coming, help—
No.
Nobody good was driving down this road at this hour. Nobody was coming home to see the fam, hang out in the man cave. Jacques and Lilly had finished the night’s errands, setting up the auction or whatever—one tall American not-quite-virgin, do I hear eight million euros?—and were coming home to check on the merch.
She was in the worst possible place. She had to get off the road.
The land around her was barren, low scrub. Maybe seventy-five feet away, down a slope, there was a strand of bushes. Not heavy enough to hide her if they searched, but if they just drove by—
She hop-hobbled across the road, down the hill, moving as fast as she dared. If she tore her ankle she’d have to crawl and wouldn’t have a chance.
She kept her eyes on the bush, not the road, she didn’t want to know how fast they