He was definitely going to get to the car first. I reached into my jeans pocket with my free hand and punched the remote to unlock the vehicle. “You drive!” I yelled at him.
For a second, his eyes widened, and then I thought I saw him nod. He headed for the driver’s side of my Prius and slid in, quickly adjusting the driver’s seat so his knees wouldn’t be smashed up against his chest, then put the backpack on the back seat. That same rough man’s voice was yelling at me to stop, but I had absolutely no intention of obeying his commands. No, I tore across the corner lot and threw open the car door and got in the passenger seat. As soon as I shut the door, Ben jammed his foot on the gas and sent the car leaping forward — no mean feat, since Priuses generally weren’t known for their accelerat
