“You can’t,” Chrissy says. “They’ll tow you, unless you’ve got a resident sticker.”
“Crap,” Shelby mutters.
“We’ll both drive, then,” I decide, shifting Winnie in my arms, so I have a better grip. “I’ll bring Winnie in my car, you can drive Chrissy.”
Shelby looks guilty, glancing from her shiny, low-slung, two-seater Mercedes convertible to Chrissy. “The thing is, I actually just had the interior redone, and—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, I’ll ride with Gemma,” Chrissy says, heading for my car which is, thankfully, still idling by the curb. “And anyway, Shelbs, your convertible is so low to the ground, I’d need a fork-lift to get me out again.”
“Mine may not be any better,” I mutter. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t break down on the way there.”
“What?” Chrissy says, her voice suddenly shrill.
Shelby widens her eyes at me and shakes her head in warning.
“Nothing! Nothing.” I swallow. “I’ll get you there.”
While I strap Winston into his baby booster, Shelby helps Chrissy get settled in the backseat next to him. My car is rattling a little ominously, but I pretend not to hear it. Getting worked up might snap Chrissy out of the zen-like calm she’s adopted — which, I have a feeling, would be very, very bad for my health. And my ears.
Once they’re both shut in the back, I turn to Shelby.
“See you there?”
“Yep. Take Storrow Drive, it’ll be fastest, this time of day.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t worry, Gem.” She grins as she heads for her car — which she somehow managed to park in a perfect spot, in front of a neighboring brownstone. “The hospital’s ten minutes away. What can possibly go wrong in ten minutes?”
A feeling of dread creeps over me as soon as she says those words. I want to screamShelby,you idiot! How could you tempt the universe like that?
But, since I’m not five anymore, I keep my superstitions to myself, ignore the bad feeling stirring in my gut, and watch her drive off.
She’s right, I tell myself, sliding into the driver’s seat.It’ll all be fine.
Forcing a grin, I glance back at Chrissy and Winston.
“How you doing, back there?”
“We’re fine, Gemma. Just drive.”
See?
Everything’s fine.
I’m reaching for the shifter when the passenger door of my car is roughly yanked open. A man jumps into the seat — a pudgy, disheveled-looking man, with dirty clothes and a dark scowl. A man whose face I might recognize, if not for the fact that my attention is fully consumed by his hands.
Or, more specifically, what’sinhis hands.
Because he’s holding a gun, and it’s pointed at me.
“Drive, bitch,” Ralph sneers, shaking it in my direction. “Right fucking now.”
Okay.
This right here?
So totallynotfine.