Sarah Linden scoffed in the face of hope. There was no higher power. If God existed, surely he would have showed up by now. And people? She could count on one hand how many people had ever helped her in her life. Screw optimists with their faith in the innate goodness of humanity. They'd clearly never been to Seattle.
The man in her backseat only further cemented Linden's worldview. He was a pastor. He was supposed to have dedicated his life to serving others, and yet here he was, jabbing her own gun into her side. "Don't move," he hissed.
"Okay, you don't need to point the gun at me," Linden protested in a whisper. She was trying to sound calm and in control, but she knew she was failing.
"Shut up." The gun pressed deeper into her ribs. Linden stayed very still. When the police car passed them by, Pastor Mike ordered her to go. She obeyed.
She resisted the urge to look down at her radio. If the green light was on, that meant it was transmitting, but that didn't necessarily mean anyone was listening. She couldn't afford to hope that someone – that Holder – was on the other side of that radio. Hope had never served her well before, hadn't protected all those other girls. She had to get out of this one on her own. That was her only shot at survival.
Linden's mind was racing. How could she get through to this psychopath?