Free Winter Hawk Star by Sigmund Brouwer Page B

backseat. We had made this trip twice a week so many times now that I didn’t have to concentrate much to get us there.
    As usual, just past the Chinatown gate, I swung into the right-hand turn lane. Oneblock ahead, the light was green. I signaled for the turn and slowed down for the corner at Fifth Avenue. Although it was green for me, a pedestrian stepped onto the crosswalk in front of the Jeep, and I had to slam on my brakes.
    That took me out of my daydream in a big hurry.
    â€œWhat an idiot!” Riley said. “Honk your horn.”
    â€œNo sense,” I said. “I’ve already stopped.”
    At the front of our hood, the man turned to face us. He had one hand in his pocket. There was something too familiar about his face.
    Then I remembered! The walrus mustache!
    He was one of the kidnappers who had taken Ben. He was one of the two men who had pulled a switchblade on me.
    He grinned at the shock that must have shown on my face.
    He stayed in front of the Jeep. Cars behind us began to honk.
    I was too stunned to do anything. Besides,there was no place for me to go unless I ran him over.
    He grinned more and motioned with his free arm like he wanted me to roll down my window. He pulled his other hand from his pocket and flashed us a switchblade.
    â€œHe’s the guy!” I told Riley. “One of the kidnappers from the van!”
    Riley didn’t have a chance to reply. The rear passenger door clicked open.
    We had been so busy staring at the guy in front of us that we hadn’t noticed another man step off the sidewalk. Before I could react, the second man slid into the rear passenger seat, pushing the gym bags onto the floor.
    â€œBoys,” he said, “nice day, isn’t it?”
    Riley spun around. “Get out of—”
    â€œShut your mouth, kid,” the guy said with a sneer. “I’ve got a Forty-five Magnum pointing at your back. If I pull the trigger, it will blow the stuffing out of the seat, and you’ll be smeared all over the dashboard.”
    The other man walked around the side of the Jeep toward the rear door on my side.
    â€œIf you hit the gas, kid,” the guy in the backseat said, “I pull the trigger on your friend.”
    The light was still green; that was how fast this had happened. Cars behind us kept honking for me to complete my right turn through the intersection. To them, it must have looked like I’d stopped to pick up a couple of friends. Despite the honking, I forced myself to wait until the second man got into the backseat directly behind me. He slammed the door shut.
    He laughed.
    â€œThanks for stopping,” he said. “Looks like a great day for a drive.”
    I was tempted to drop the Jeep into reverse and slam backward into the car behind me. A car accident would get these two out of the Jeep.
    I lifted my hand to the gearshift. “Don’t try anything stupid,” the guy behind me said. He spoke in a cheerful tone, as if we were old friends. “I’ll slit your throat so deep your tongue will become a necktie.”
    I hesitated. The honking grew louder.
    â€œAnd while people are trying to stop your bleeding, Ron and me will make another getaway. Understand?”
    I eased the Jeep forward.
    â€œThat’s better,” he said. “You just keep taking directions and you’ll be just fine. And hand me your cell phones.”
    â€œThis is nuts,” Riley said. “You can’t do this to us.”
    â€œWe’ve got a switchblade and a gun,” the second guy said. “I think we can do whatever we want.”
    We handed him our cell phones. Fifteen minutes later, we drove around the back of an abandoned one-story warehouse near the Willamette River and stopped. They forced us out of the Jeep at gunpoint and took us to the trunk of a huge, rusty, old, baby-blue Cadillac.
    The one named Ron banged on the top of the trunk.
    â€œWe’re opening it up!” he