Tinny music sounded at the end of a gloomy tunnel, a few bars of a song I almost recognized. A ringtone. Enough to draw me back from the darkness.

Then Maddie’s voice came. "Hello? Oh, Shandra."

I woke to a hard throb of agony in my hand. My leg burned so hotly that I imagined the smell of roasting meat. A vise squeezed my chest and clamped my breath into shallow panting. Then I remembered the mozzies--the rooftop--the vest and the truck.

I peered through my lashes and saw that I wasn’t in the truck anymore. I was lying on a concrete floor, a kevlar vest clamping my chest, my wrists cuffed at the small of my back.

I was in one of the repair bays of an auto shop. Three hydraulic lifts disappeared into the floor, and three mercenaries lounged against the SUVs in the end spots, while a few more stood sentry by grimy windows through which I caught glimpses of the city.

"Thank God you called," Maddie continued. "They’ve got Lark and--" She listened. "Rachel Kravitz told you that? Well, sure--PJ’s a psycho. But you haven’t met the real boss. Carson Boone." She listened for a while, saying ‘uh-huh’ occasionally. "Yeah, we can meet. Sure, in public if you want, that’s fine."

When she hung up, PJ’s voice said, "I’m a psycho?"

"That’s not a newsflash," Maddie told him, then quickly added: "Shandra’s looking for an excuse to meet you."

"Why?"

"She … wants the pain to stop. She wants you to stop it."

PJ chuckled. "Is she clear on what that entails?"

"I’m not sure she cares."

"She wants to meet in public?"

"Her plan is, she trades herself for Lark, then you take her pain away. Except she’s got a problem. She knows Lark won’t leave without me."

"Because he’s smitten," PJ said, scornfully.

"Yeah," she said.

A flash of anger warmed my face. I started pushing the orbs into the vest, trying to squeeze them free from my chest. To squeeze them between my skin and this fucking straightjacket. No way. They'd torqued the straps too tight.

"He won’t leave New Park without me," Maddie continued. "So Shandra wants you to trade herself for me and Lark. Then we go home and live happily ever after."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"When and where is the meet?"

"In twenty minutes, on a street-corner." She told PJ the avenue and cross street. "If she doesn’t see Lark on the northeast corner, she doesn’t show. At least I think that’s her plan, she’s not really coherent."

"Doesn’t matter," PJ said. "We’ll snatch her, then we'll move. And tonight, everything changes." He raised his voice. "Wake him up."

A hand slapped my face. I groaned and opened my eyes. It took a while before my focus kicked in. Then I saw Teegan, his gaze bright and hard.

"I owe you a beating," he said.

"Are you kidding?" I struggled for breath. "Look at me."

His expression didn’t change, but he said, "Yeah. I’ll give you that one on the house."

He yanked me to my feet and wrapped a trenchcoat around me, hiding the vest and handcuffs. I pressed the orbs forward again, and still felt no slack--nothing changed except my breath grew even shallower.

Teegan dragged me past two other mercenaries checking weapons. He shoved me into the back seat of an SUV. I hit the cushion with my face. Everything still ached, but the pain had mellowed into a constant dull throb, with occasional spikes from my leg.

After lying there for a minute, trying to breathe, the cushion jounced and Maddie sat beside me. She dabbed at my face with a wet rag, wiping away the blood. Not out of kindness: just so I wouldn’t attract any attention in public.

I fought for breath. "Shandra doesn’t … deserve this."

Maddie scrubbed at my cheek. "A stealth bomber costs seven hundred and eighty million dollars."

"Hell are you talking about?"

"That's enough to feed sixty thousand starving children for life. Enough to save sixty thousand children's lives. In a perfect world, we’d feed them. But the world isn’t perfect. Sometimes you need the bomber."

"PJ’s pulling … your strings."

"He’s in my head a little, yeah. But Boone is special. He's a leader worth following."

"Me and Shandra," I panted. "Are family."

"Yeah, sacrificing a million strangers is easier than sacrificing you. That's true. That's true, but you never lifted a finger for those strangers, Lark. You never tried to save anyone. You lived your own selfish little life." A necrotic reek seeped into the SUV and her eyes turned glassy. "You never lifted a finger for Dewitt."

She left, stalking past PJ toward the garage office. He called after her, and she slammed the door in reply. He quirked a grin toward the mercenaries, then shifted his bulk into the passenger seat of the other SUV.

Three soldiers climbed into mine, two in front and Teegan beside me. I realized I hadn’t seen Spandle in a while, and didn’t want to wonder why. Tonight, everything changes. What did that mean? What was PJ planning?

And where was Rachel? I needed Rachel. I felt that like a bell chiming in my chest: I needed Rachel.

When the SUVs prowled onto the street, my worry sharpened into fear. The thought of Shandra in PJ’s power sickened me. I guess I saw her as naïve and childlike, even though she knew the depths of depravity better than I did--better than anyone did. Maybe that’s why I felt sick. Not because she didn’t know what these guys were capable of, but because she knew all too well.

The city streets whisked past and I found a rhythm in my breath. Three or four hours after the orbs saved me from splattering on the sidewalk, the pain had dulled into a slow pulse of heat. My hand felt normal-sized instead of like a catcher’s mitt. My leg burned where dried blood glued my jeans to my thigh, but less intensely.

I'd always healed quickly. Maddie wasn’t the only one with a certain resistance.

I turned my attention inward. Found the orbs--one two three--and also felt the weight of my body anchoring them, a dense hard swirl inside my chest.

When I pressed them forward, the vest clamped me and a jagged point dug into my spine. Sharp enough to draw blood. I couldn't free the orbs. I was useless.