When he extended his arm, she shrank back and covered her face with her hands. When nothing happened and nothing hurt, she peeked out from between the picket fence of her fingers. The man was leaning over her… with an extended open palm. That had nothing sharp and shiny in it.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated.

Elle glanced back at her dad’s car. Terrie had both of her hands covering her mouth like she was worried that saying anything, even inside the car, might spook the big man into disastrous action.

The guy rolled his mismatched eyes. “Come on, kid. I don’t have all night. Shit or get off the pot.”

“You shouldn’t curse around children,” Elle mumbled.

“Children aren’t in this part of town at ten o’clock at night. You were an adult when you took that car out, sweetie, and now you’ve got an adult-level problem. Hearing the word ‘shit’ better be something you can handle because it’s the least of your worries.”

Well… shit… he had a point.

“You talk like my dad.”

“That’s because I am one, so I have the same rule book yours does.”

“Rule book? And you have a kid?”

“Two. So I’m viewing this as a training exercise for when they can drive.”

Elle put her hand in the man’s and was pulled up to her feet so fast she almost fell on her face again. He kept her upright by planting a palm on her shoulder and steadying her.

“I’ll get you out of that snowbank,” he said, “and then you gotta head off to wherever you belong. Things aren’t safe down here.”

As he stomped back to his tow truck, Elle pulled her coat into place around her torso and stared at his stalking stride. God, his black boots were the size of her head, and he might have sounded like her dad, but he sure didn’t move like Basile Allaine. This man prowled like you didn’t want to mess with him, like he was really strong and knew it, like he might not mind having to set someone straight. Her dad was an international tax attorney.

Elle blinked. For some reason, she thought of how her mom had once been a lawyer. A long time ago. Now, she wasn’t anything professional, and that was another reason Elle had wanted to go out tonight. Sometimes, it was too hard to stay inside with all the things going on in her head.

She went back over to the BMW. Before she could hit the door handle, Terrie threw things open and exploded with talk, her words carbonated and shaken up from the scare, releasing in a rush.

“OhmyGodIthoughthewasgoingtokillyou—”

“Just stop, okay. He’s going to pull us out.”

“Do you have money to pay him?”

“Sure, I do.” No, she didn’t. “Just relax, will ya.”

Instead of getting in, she reshut the door on Terrie because she couldn’t handle anything right now. Fortunately, she didn’t have to do much else. The tow truck came over and eased front-in to the back of their dad’s car, and then the man with the piercings and the knives got out and went to a winch mounted on his bumper. There was a whirring sound, and moments later, a hook the size of a boxer’s fist and a wire thick as a boat rope was pulled over to the BMW’s rear.

“Um…” Elle cleared her throat. “I don’t have any money to pay you. I mean, not on me. But I can mail in—”

“Don’t worry about it,” the man said without looking at her. “I gotchu.”

The fact that the guy was fixing a problem for free that she had created on a stupid impulse made her feel small, and not just in terms of physical stature.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

The man bent down with a flashlight, and latched the hook to something under the—

Later, Elle would wonder what exactly made her look over her shoulder. It wasn’t a sound, and she certainly didn’t have eyes in the back of her head. But some tickling sense on the nape of her neck had her turning her head.

The three figures in the shadows were as distinct as ghosts in a fog bank, nothing clear about their outlines or whether they were moving. And yet she was absolutely certain of their presence.

They were watching. And not in a Good Samaritan, how-can-we-help-ya kind of way.

“Um, mister—”