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I shoved my hands in my pockets to hide how badly they were shaking.

This felt like a set-up. It was too easy, too friendly, to be a casual encounter, and it took serious effort to act normal.

I felt like they were both scrutinizing me, these tall men who towered over me, paying too much attention because of the car or because I was a teenage girl or because they’d seen a bulletin to look out for a Jessie Swift, the runaway murderer from Seattle.

Surely they wouldn’t be looking out for a vintage Mustang, though? No one from back home knew I was with Brooke.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, paranoid now about my accent, on top of everything else.

‘Where are you headed?’

I took a longer look at the cop. He was studying me, too.

‘Indianapolis,’ I said. Then I realized I’d been giving short answers, which sounded evasive because I was being evasive, and they needed something more from me before they’d let me walk away.

I took my sunglasses off my head and pushed my fingers through my hair, ruffling it.

‘My dad owns a garage. Someone bought the car online and wanted it delivered.’

‘What an asshole,’ the officer said with a laugh. He looked me over again, then seemed to dismiss me. ‘Drive safe.’

The second cop tipped his hat. ‘Have a good day, miss.’

‘Thank you.’ I swallowed hard. ‘You too.’

I hesitated for a second, then kept on walking. I wasn’t going to hang around to find out if they were watching me leave. My cover story had worked – maybe I’d gotten better at lying in the past couple of days – and I didn’t want to leave them with any questions about my identity.

I got back in the car and almost wept with relief.

The Mustang, thankfully, behaved as I tore through Missouri. Heavy rock albums proved to be the perfect tempo to define and refine a plan, so I knew exactly what I needed to do when I reached St. Louis.

Brooke being taken was my fault, and getting her back was on me.

If it weren’t for me, she would be in Orlando already, or wherever she would have ended up if she hadn’t stopped to help me back in Seattle.

I should have paid more attention to the van, to Chris …

I should have insisted on Brooke checking the Mustang more thoroughly for another tracker back in Utah.

All of that didn’t matter anymore. I had to put it out of my head and fix things – that was my next and only responsibility.

For someone who had only passed her driving test six months ago, the Mustang was a beast to handle.

After driving it for only a few hours I’d learned why Brooke loved it so much.

The car didn’t just drive, it seemed to fly.

But it wasn’t weightless, it had some heft to it – a sturdy feeling of security even with the top down and the wind whipping my hair.

I’d never noticed anyone else on the road up until now, but driving it was different.

People stared. Truck drivers sent long, admiring looks my way, though I wasn’t naive enough to imagine they were for me rather than the car.

Older men in sensible sedans eyed it up, too.

It made me feel like something. Like somebody.

When I got into the city, I found the neighborhood where the Phoenix Motel was located, then forced myself to drive around a few times to get an idea of how things were laid out. I wanted to know my getaway routes, so I’d have more than one option if something went wrong.

It was a little after seven in the evening and the air was warm, making my hairline break out in tiny beads of sweat.

It was too early for me to realistically make a move.

There were lots of people milling around, and I knew from experience that at this time of day, motels were busy.

It was the time when people decided, hey, let’s stop for the night and find somewhere to sleep, we can make the next jump tomorrow .

People looked for clean, compact motels, ones with pastel-painted walls and good lighting, just like this one.

We’d been doing the same thing for a whole week.

I pulled into the parking lot and shouldered the backpack. It didn’t take long to do a quick scan of the area, and I tried not to panic when I couldn’t see the black van.

They weren’t here.

Shit.

I went back to the car, trying not to stress out.

I couldn’t wait here – if Chris drove in and spotted the Mustang, he would turn around and drive straight back out again.

The car was too distinctive. With no better ideas, I drove a few blocks over to a Walmart, parking it between two giant trucks.

Then I sat in silence for a minute, jiggling my knee anxiously.

The plan had been a good one. It had been great , in fact. I wasn’t ready to give up on the Phoenix Motel. I trusted Megan, and her magic ancient system. Maybe Chris had made a late start this morning and was still on his way here. That was the most likely scenario.

I couldn’t sit in the parking lot forever, but I didn’t like the idea of taking the backpack and the gun into the store with me, because that seemed like a dick move.

At the same time, I didn’t want to let the gun out of my sight.

It had started to represent something else today – not security, or a power move, like it was to Brooke, but a weapon that I had to get comfortable with the idea of actually using.

Would I shoot Chris if it meant saving Brooke?

A week ago, no way.

Now? Yes.

No hesitation.

And that scared me a little. I’d changed from the girl who’d been desperate to get out of Seattle at all costs, but I hadn’t realized I was now someone who was capable of shooting a man.

In the end, I put the backpack in the trunk of the car and locked it. That felt like a good compromise.

The trip to the store wasn’t just to kill time – I needed more than one option when I came face to face with Chris. I wanted to be able to protect both of us, me and Brooke, and making sure she got out safely meant being prepared.

I picked up a bag of apples and a jar of peanut butter, another box of Pop-Tarts, since I’d eaten the last of our stash, and a couple bags of chips. Then I went to the kitchen section and bypassed cake tins and cooling racks to pick up a knife.

Insurance. That’s all it was.

Back in the car, I wrestled the paring knife out of its packaging and used it to slice chunks of apple to dip into the peanut butter while I watched the clock. I needed the sun to set just a little more, for there to be more shadows for me to lurk in.

Finally, around eight thirty, I drove back over to the motel and parked the Mustang in the clearly marked EMPLOYEES ONLY parking lot.

It was risky, because I didn’t want someone to call the cops or tow the car for being parked in the wrong place, but leaving the Mustang in one of the guest parking lots was riskier.

I didn’t want Chris to see it and know I was there.

This motel had pale-yellow tiles on the walls to disguise the poured concrete, and pastel-pink doors to all the rooms. It was only when you got close that you noticed the cracks in the tiles, the split edging around the doors. All the rot underneath the cute exterior.

From a hundred yards away, I spotted the black van with Utah number plates. 8912 . I wouldn’t forget that number in a hurry.

Instead of fear, I felt a gut-punch of anger. And vindication. And appreciation for Megan. I turned on my heel, went back to the car, and grabbed the backpack.

With the knife and the gun, I felt far more prepared and protected than I had the very first time we’d seen Chris in Salt Lake City. On impulse, I sidled over to the black van to get a better look at it.

From the outside, it really was just a plain black van – nothing to suggest anything sordid was going on inside it. But I knew it belonged to Chris and I couldn’t contain my sudden burst of fury.

Carefully, and quietly, I pulled the knife out of my pocket and stabbed it into the front tire.

I was half expecting it to pop, like a balloon, but the rubber put up some resistance and I had to give the knife a good tug to get it out again.

I went around the van and did the same to the other front tire.

From behind, no one would be able to tell the tires had been slashed, so there was no chance of Chris noticing.

But if I got Brooke out, they wouldn’t be able to follow us.

I tucked the knife safely into my pocket and pulled my shirt out to cover it, then walked around the motel, looking for the room number Megan had given me.

113, 115, 117 … There. 119. It was right next to the stairs leading up to the second floor, and as I was watching the door, it opened. I immediately ducked into the shadows under the stairs, my heart pounding.

The blonde lady stepped out, glanced around, then closed the door behind her and walked off at a quick pace in her spiky heels.

It took me a second to compose myself.

This was the most outrageous, most scandalous, atrocious thing I’d ever contemplated doing, and when I checked in with all the emotions thumping through my body, I found I was okay with it.

I glanced around the parking lot again, which was quiet now, and took the gun out of my backpack.

I stuck it in my other back pocket, then scurried over to the door the blonde lady had walked out of.

After knocking sharply, I stepped to one side and pressed my back to the wall, so I was out of range of the peephole.

My whole body was thrumming with nerves as I waited, as I listened to footsteps coming up to the door.

The bugs were chirping in the bushes around the motel, and the hum of air-conditioning units filled the atmosphere with more background noise.

Maybe, if I was lucky, the people staying in the rooms either side of this one would be out eating dinner, or, if they were in, have their TVs loud enough that they wouldn’t hear me.

I felt someone pause by the door, then they pulled the chain off and opened it. I waited, holding my nerve until the door was open wide enough, then I stepped out of the shadows and into the doorway, meaning Chris couldn’t shut it in my face.

‘Hi,’ I said with a grin. ‘Miss me?’

‘What the fuck?’

He was uglier than I’d given him credit for back in Salt Lake City. Maybe it was because he wasn’t wearing his charming sneer and laughing at Brooke’s witty conversation, but up close like this I could smell his overpowering cologne and see all the hairs on his neck he hadn’t bothered to shave.

‘Give her back,’ I said clearly.

Chris lunged for me, and I read in his movement that he was planning to take me too, but I was quicker than him. I pivoted out of his way and reached for the gun in my back pocket.

Even though my hands were shaking, I aimed it right at his face.

‘Give her back,’ I repeated, as Chris stumbled away. ‘Or I’ll shoot your fucking face off.’

‘Jessie?’

Chris took another step back into the room, and I saw her then, on the second bed, farthest from the door. She was still wearing her jeans and T-shirt from Kansas City.

‘Try me,’ I said to Chris. ‘Please.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ he said.

I wasn’t a brave person. For years, people had been telling me to be more confident, to take risks, to see in myself the potential that my teachers saw in me.

That was easier said than done. While some people were trying to hype me up, others were doing their best to tear me down, and I didn’t have enough strength in me to let my cheerleaders win.

It turned out there was an override switch for Mouse – I could turn her off if it meant helping someone I really cared about. It had taken Brooke being in danger for me to fully realize that.

Brooke stumbled inelegantly off the bed and got to her feet, swaying a little.

I pushed down on the safety and pulled the slide back.

Brooke walked unsteadily to the door and Chris put an arm out, like he could keep her away from me. She shoved him, just with one hand, but he hadn’t expected that, and she managed to knock him off balance. I grabbed her wrist and tugged her behind me.

‘Don’t come after us,’ I said. ‘If I ever see you or the woman again, I’ll shoot you first. Do you understand?’

Chris didn’t say anything, just curled his lip at me.

Then I made my first mistake.

Brooke was breathing hard, close enough to me that I could feel her warmth, and I glanced over my shoulder to check she was okay.

Chris took the opportunity to lunge toward us again and I didn’t think. I couldn’t make my thoughts move that quickly even if I wanted to.

Luckily for him, my instinct wasn’t to press down on the trigger, but to grab the knife out of my pocket and shove the blade up into the palm of his hand. The knife met resistance, and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream, then I pushed harder, and the tip came through the other side.

His chest contracted, like he was going to throw up, and he stumbled backward.

For a split second, I froze.

I’d never had anyone stab me through the hand, but I knew pain. I knew what it was like to feel powerless and helpless, like Chris was right now, and of all the things I’d thought I was going to feel toward him tonight, empathy wasn’t one of them.

I forced myself to shake it off.

‘Don’t even,’ I said, my words trembling a little. ‘Don’t fucking even.’

Chris finally found his voice and his howl of pain was primal, cutting through the air, loud enough that someone else was going to hear him. I stepped back, slammed the door closed and grabbed Brooke’s hand.

‘We need to run,’ I said seriously, as emotion and adrenaline and my fight-or-flight instinct knotted together and punched me in the gut.

She nodded.

I didn’t let go of her hand as we sprinted around the side of the motel, past the service entrance, in the opposite direction to where the blonde lady had gone.

We clearly weren’t supposed to be back here, but it was the quickest way to get to the staff parking lot and the only route that wasn’t likely to take us past anyone else.

‘Jessie,’ Brooke said, but I shook my head, still pulling her along.

‘Not now. We have to get out of here.’

We got to the car, and the SUV on the passenger side was gone. Brooke opened her door to get in, and I threw myself up and over the side into the driver’s seat.

It took me three attempts to get my trembling hand to put the key into the ignition, and when the Mustang roared to life, I passed Brooke the gun.

‘Can you make this safe, please?’

She nodded.

I couldn’t watch her do it. I had to put as much space between us and the motel as humanly possible.