The van reeked of sweat, gasoline, and gunpowder.
Caroline Monroe lay on the cold steel floor, wrists tied behind her back, mouth gagged with duct tape that tasted of dust and glue. Her crimson gown was soaked from the sleet, sticking to her skin in places like a second layer of bruises.
The gunmen were yelling.
“Police behind us!"
“Faster! Go—just hit the damn gas!"
The vehicle jolted forward. She slammed into the wall, her head thudding against metal.
From her limited view, she could see headlights through the cracks in the rear doors. Sirens wailed behind them—closer now. A voice barked over a megaphone.
“Pull over immediately or we will open fire!"
The driver snarled. “Try me."
The van swerved sharply left. Caroline's shoulder cracked painfully against the edge of a crate.
Ac
