LITMIR.BIZ

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“Can I call you Hildy?”

      “No.” Because it wasn’t her name and she’d never been one for being called anything other than who or what she was. Her given first name was Hildegard, an old-fashioned family name shared by both her mother and grandmother. Her parents and very closest friends had always called her Holly, in part because she was born on Christmas Day. For everyone else in her life Asher would do. “Either Asher or Corporal is fine.”

      “Well, then, just learn to relax, Corporal, or it’s gonna be a really long drive.”

      But how could she relax when something inside kept telling her something was wrong?

       Help me, Lord. Something’s not right. I can feel it. Help me know what it is and what to do about it.

      A phone began to ring. She reached in vain for the cell that used to be in her pocket before she’d entered witness protection, and then realized it had to be Elias’s. The officer yanked his phone from his own pocket and her eyes barely caught the name on the screen before he held it to his ear. Det. Noah Wilder.

      “Back off, Wilder,” Elias said. “I’ve got it covered. I don’t need your help. I’ve been doing this since before you were in diapers and you’re not even supposed to be on active duty!”

      She didn’t hear whatever answer Detective Wilder gave, but it seemed to be taking him a long time to say it. Elias was still driving with his phone to his ear and one hand on the steering wheel. Then he wedged the phone into his shoulder and his left hand darted out of sight. A loud and sudden click resounded through the car. Officer Elias had activated the child safety locks. He’d locked her in? Why had he locked her in? Elias swerved up an on-ramp and onto the elevated highway that ran through Toronto’s downtown core. For a moment, the city spread out below her and skyscrapers pressed in around them. Then he darted down another ramp and back into a maze of docks and warehouses. Green and red cardboard letters in the windows of an ugly brick building wished her a Merry Christmas. She glanced back. The blue car had stayed on the highway and was now traveling parallel to them on the road above.

      “You were wrong, plain and simple,” Elias said. “The safe house was clean, the route wasn’t contaminated and—Yes, I’m sure it’s really her! I’m not about to pick up some imposter!”

      He said the last word so loudly it seemed to reverberate inside the car. Warehouses hemmed them in on either side. Fleeting glimpses of ships docked in Toronto’s harbor rose to her right, through the narrow, vertical slits between buildings. He turned down another, even narrower street, and though the man was old enough to be her grandfather, her own years of tactical experience made the hair stand up at the back of her neck. Not only did he not take her, or apparently Detective Wilder, seriously, he’d chosen a route with terrible lines of sight.

      “You know, Corporal,” Elias started, and it took her a second to realize he was now talking to her, “sometimes you’ve got to ask yourself if whatever stand you’re trying to make is really worth all the trouble it’s gonna put you through.”

      Gunshots split the air to their left, taking out the tires and shattering the driver’s and back seat windows in a spray of bullets and broken glass. The phone fell from Elias’s hand. His lifeless body slumped over the steering wheel. The vehicle swerved wildly.

      No one was driving the car!

      “Help me, God!” The words flew from her lips as she lunged for the wheel and fought to straighten the car. But the vehicle began to speed faster, as the pressure of Elias’s full weight landed hard on the accelerator. She yanked her seat belt off, then threw her leg over the center console, kicking his foot off the pedal and pressing her own on the brake. The car spun on the icy ground. She clenched her jaw and tried to force the wheels to the right. But they reached a lamppost first, taking out the front of the hood as the vehicle slid into it. Her head slammed against the dashboard, then her body landed back against the seat. Pain filled her skull. The sound of a horn filled her ears as Elias fell against it.

      “Hello? Hello?” A male’s voice, deep and disjointed, floated up from somewhere below her. “Are you there?”

      She pulled herself back into the passenger seat, checked Elias’s neck for a pulse and couldn’t find one. Lord, have mercy on Elias and those who love him. Then she felt around on the floor behind her for the phone.

      “Hello?” She’d snatched it to her ear so quickly nausea swept over her. “Hello?”

      “Corporal Hildegard Asher?” Detective Wilder’s voice was warm and concerned, with just the faintest hint of a growl, and for some reason made her think of the protective wolf character from a book she’d loved as a kid.

      “Speaking,” she said. She slid the phone into the crook of her neck and carefully pulled Elias’s service weapon from his holster.

      “I’m Detective Noah Wilder,” he said. “You can call me Noah. Are you okay? Where are you? Where’s Detective Crane?”

      “Detective Crane was shot and appears to be deceased.”

      She heard Noah whisper a prayer as she looked around. Her head was pounding, and it seemed to be affecting her ability to focus. Brick buildings and gray empty streets filled her gaze through the maze of broken glass. Noah’s blue car was nowhere to be seen.

      “Our vehicle was shot, and we crashed,” she added. “I’m as okay as can be expected. But I can’t see any street signs. Hang on, I’ll go search the area.”

      “No, stay in the car,” he said. “Wait there, until I can find you and assess the situation.”

      Her eyes rolled. She was just fine assessing the situation on her own, thank you very much, and then she could help him locate her and brief him better on his arrival. If only her head would stop pounding.

      “Don’t worry,” Noah added. His voice softened. “It’s all going to be okay. What happened?”

      She opened her mouth to tell him, then closed it again. It had all happened just seconds before and yet somehow her mind was fuzzy.

      “Gunshots came from our left,” she said. “I didn’t see the shooter.”

      “And then?” he asked.

      “Then the vehicle lost control. I had to grab the wheel and force it to stop. We crashed.”

      And she’d hit her head. Motion dragged her attention back to the window. She looked up. A white cop car was pulling into the alley in front of her. A slim, uniformed officer sat behind the wheel. In recent years, Toronto police had slowly started swapping out their signature white cars for nondescript gray cruisers that blended perfectly into the dreary city streets in winter. But this one was an older model, its white hood reflecting the dim street light against the predawn sky. She glanced to the mirror. A second police vehicle was pulling up behind. It, too, contained just one officer—a large figure in a peaked uniform cap. “The cops are here. I’m going to go talk to them.”

      She grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.

      “Wait! No! Stay in the car!” Noah’s voice rose. “They might not be cops!”

      What? What did he mean by that?

      “What do they look like?”

      “The cops?” she asked. “One’s big. One’s skinny. I can’t really see their faces or give you much of a description from this distance.”

      Tires screeched. The vehicles ahead and behind her surged forward, as if both drivers were mashing their accelerators at once. They were coming up fast on either side, trapping her in the middle. She leaped from Crane’s ruined car and started to run, feeling another wave of nausea sweep over her. Help me, Lord! The cruisers roared closer. She rolled, tucking her body tight and desperately hurling herself out of the way. The phone fell from her hand. She heard the screech of metal smashing hard against metal. Slush and dirt flew, spraying over her.

      She lay still for a moment,

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