Dew, frigid and stinging, seeped through her jacket and into the Polo shirt beneath. Even her jeans felt sodden.
Had they seen her in that brief flash of light? Move. She dragged herself through the grass commando-style, hoping like crazy the darkness would camouflage the trail her body left.
A car progressed slowly down the road. It stopped. A door slammed. Dogs barked.
Maggie’s breath stuck in her throat. Fear, like a thick, suffocating cloak, smothered her. Was this what it felt like to be an animal stuck in a trap, just waiting for something or someone else to decide how its life was going to end?
Two nights ago, she’d believed she’d outsmarted Conrad and his associates. So, are you going to lie here, face down, and allow them to decide your fate? Not friggin’ likely. Quinn’s earlier words bolstered her. You’re tough, smart, and resilient. I’d back you anytime. The noose of panic choking her loosened a little.
Maggie burrowed her face into the cold, damp grass hoping it would help her gather her composure. She drew a slow, deep breath. Think. Keep Angel safe. Nothing else matters. Another deep breath and her head began to clear.
Dogs still barked, but Maggie listened intently for the sound of footsteps. Nothing. Was she going mad? Was it Paulie and his off-siders who were driving the car, or was it just Mr. and Mrs. Average getting home late after a night on the town? She tilted her head to the side. No one.
The lights of another vehicle coming around the corner dazzled her. It stopped further down the road. Had they called reinforcements?
She wasn’t waiting to find out. Angel would be at the playground. No one followed when she left the street van, so time to move. Her body refused to obey. Then she heard it. That buzzing sound. Damn, they’d activated the lighting system. No wonder they hadn’t come looking for her. The blue glow from the lights confirmed it. There were only minutes until the lights were warmed enough to illuminate the entire oval.
Not daring to stand, Maggie crawled as fast as her arms and legs would allow. When the grass became coarser, Maggie lifted her head. She was at the swing park.
From a crouched position, she observed the area. Swings, a slippery slide, and further along, a skate bowl. At the opposite end of the field stood the silhouetted clubhouse.
She swiped her tongue across her dry lips. “Angel?” she stuttered in a husky whisper.
Maggie stood upright and bolted toward the half pipe.
About the Author
Rosie Miles has always been fascinated by cops. If she didn’t hate guns with such passion, she would have joined the force. Instead she writes about the cop behind the badge and the loves that challenge them.