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her car wildly careening. They’d shot out a tire. She let off the gas, fought the steering wheel. She struggled to steady the almost out-of-control car. Stopping would be the wrong choice. A ruined tire rim was nothing compared to being caught by those madmen.
    “ Help me, help me, help me,” she prayed, her brain not able to form a more substantial thought. “Help! Me!”
    Sweat beaded on her forehead as she wrestled with the car. In spite of her efforts, the car lost speed. She yanked the wheel, forcing another sharp turn, whipping in front of an oncoming car. The black SUV turned behind her, passed the other car, and soon loomed on her tail, closer than before.
    The tire rim scraping on the pavement sounded worse than a metal file grinding against an axe. She clenched her teeth against the sound and frantically searched for a safe place.
    A silver Lexus sped into the next intersection and squealed to a stop, blocking her way.
    She slammed on the brakes. The car bounced and jolted on the bad rim. At the last second, she wheeled her car hard to the left to avoid crashing into the Lexus.
    Trapped! Her heart sank. She would have to make a run for it. She snapped her seatbelt free and jumped out to dash away. She was the fastest player on her soccer team. She prayed her speed wouldn’t fail her. There was a shopping strip ahead. People. Phones. Help.
    Wait. Her cell phone.
    No time to go back. She sprinted.
    They came at her from everywhere. Five men with guns. One woman. Bad odds.
    Two of the men cut her off and grabbed her arms. Gasping to catch her breath, she tried to twist away.
    “ Where you think you’re going, bitch?” This one was a native New Yorker, his Italian descent still obvious despite the accent.
    “ Careful, he don’t want her hurt.” The big Italian again. He was huffing and puffing from the chase. “He only wants to question her.”
    Who wanted to question her? “I told you I don’t know anything. Leave me alone.”
    Gathering the fear pounding through her body into energy, she thrust a sidekick to her right. Connected with a knee. One captor fell in agony. Her legs were powerful. She jerked an arm free, but immediately, it was trapped again.
    They dragged her toward the black SUV. No one rushed forward to help her. No one was even in sight. The people had disappeared like cockroaches in sudden light. She couldn’t blame them. Five men with guns were bad odds for anyone.
    Frantic not to get in the car with them, she dug her heels into the concrete.
    “ No fight, please,” the big Italian said, not unkindly. “Carlo just wants to talk to you.”
    Carlo. Carlo Peruzzo. She was right. The realization made the fight momentarily desert her. If the well-known crime boss wanted her husband, then Sandro had to be in trouble.
    What sort of trouble could he be in that involved men with guns?
    She tried bravado. “Who are you?” Nia demanded. “What does Carlo want with me?”
    No one answered.
    “ Leave her car here,” the big Italian directed. “He’ll find out faster that way.”
    Who would find out? Sandro? Was this a ploy to make him show himself? Or was fear making her illogical?
    She knew she should never go to the second location. It was better to make a stand here than disappear into a car where no one could track her. She screamed. A hand clamped across her mouth. She bit until she tasted blood, and her attacker screamed as loudly as she did. Then the backhand came. She saw stars, and they pushed her into the SUV.
    The New Yorker, the one who called her a bitch, slid in beside her. The big Italian and his driver climbed into the front seat. The other two drove off in the Lexus she’d nearly crashed into, and her cream-colored Mercedes was left sitting in the middle of the street. Punctured with bullet holes. Deserted.
    What happened to Dave? Would he be able to find her? Was he okay?
    The New Yorker aimed his big black gun at her. “So’s you don’t get no ideas about jumping