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lazy, or distracted, and she meant to use the lapse against them.
    In the meantime, she stared out the windows as the van exited from the garage onto the street. She intended to keep track of the turns so that she might find her way back here again, or at least use the hotel as a point of reference should she go on the run.
    Darkness made it difficult. The van turned three times, then hooked two lefts at alternating stop lights. Chey twisted in the seat, looking back, fixing the route in her mind. Already it was a bit hazy. Familiar landmarks she might have recognized from her earlier outing couldn't all be seen under the cloak of night, leaving her to fixate on clusters of buildings or lighted signs instead.
    Damn. The van took a right. A left.
    By then, her confusion was complete.
    Frustrated, she clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt. Her gaze dropped to the floor of the van in search of something, anything, to use as a weapon. The only thing she saw was a collapsible umbrella.
    Fat lot of good that would do her. It was small, to boot, without even a spiked tip to use for stabbing. She wondered if the handle was thick enough to cause a decent blow if she struck the driver or passenger with it.
    In the meantime, she worked at the rope binding her wrists. The men hadn't been very thorough in this, at least, and the more she wriggled her hands, the looser it became. Small favors. She hid the action from the driver as best as she could. He kept glancing in the rear view mirror, shifty-eyed and menacing.
    A moment after that, she got the rope completely free of her wrists. That was when the idea to use the rope struck. She could choke the driver, cause him to crash, and then, with any luck, she might escape before the men could detain her.
    Discreetly, she toed off the heels. They would only hinder her later. If she got desperate, she might use one. Aim for the eye or the jugular.
    Before she could solidify her plans and act, the driver spat a curse at the windshield.
    Chey looked up from her lap, fearing the driver had seen her free the ropes from her hands.
    With a jolt, the van picked up speed. A lot of speed. The driver wasn't paying attention to her, but something behind on the road.
    Chey twisted around to glance back.
    A sleek black SUV was coming up fast, a heavy duty grill guard in place. It impacted the back bumper of the van, sending the vehicle into a small fishtail.
    Chey gasped. Could it be Sander already? How in the world had he found them?
    The driver of the van cursed again, this time in another language, and corrected the fishtail. He sped ahead, stomping the gas pedal.
    Chey decided it was now or never. If it was Sander, the least she could do was help slow the van down. Wrapping each end of the rope around her hands, she lurched forward and hooked it around the driver's neck. She jerked back with all her might, one foot braced against the seat.
    In the next second, all hell broke loose.
     
    . . .
     
    The van swerved hard to the right, throwing Chey's balance off. Overcompensating, the struggling, choking driver veered back the other way, grappling with the steering wheel while attempting to reach back and grab Chey's arm.
    Tenacious, she hung on. Right up until the passenger clocked her in the cheekbone with his elbow. Stunned, she slumped back against the seat, losing her grip on the rope.
    The SUV banged into the back of the van again, harder this time.
    Shouting curses, red faced, the driver whipped the wheel between his hands, left and right, fighting to regain control. The van shot forward again and screeched into a hard right turn at the looming stoplight.
    Chey reached down, feeling around for the umbrella, fending off the irate passenger who had twisted between the seats to try and subdue her. He snatched her hair, eliciting a cry of pain. She scrabbled for his eyes with her fingers, returning the favor. Bastard.
    She scratched harder while unsnapping the clasp on the umbrella. Shoving it up between