Every Precious Thing

CHAPTER SEVENTY — THREE

As Harp watched the woman and Clausen walk across the street toward the house, he’d never felt so hopeless and frustrated in his life. There had to be something he could do. If they could just overpower the guy who’d been left with them-Clausen called him Markle-then maybe they could get help, but he wouldn’t be able to do that alone, and Alan was barely holding it together. He kept looking at the house, then out the front window, then back at the house, his hands shaking as if he were freezing to death.

Paskota and Clausen were at the door of the house now. The place was dark. Harp hoped that meant no one was home, but knew it was just as likely whoever lived there had gone to bed early. He couldn’t hear if they knocked or not, but after a few moments, the door eased open, and they stepped inside.

Harp turned his head just enough so he could see out the back window. No cars coming. Not that he would have known what to do even if one headed their way.

He gave Alan a nudge and smiled, trying to convey that it would all be okay. Alan wasn’t buying it. Quite frankly, Harp wouldn’t have, either, in his shoes.

For God’s sake, there had to be something he could do. Anything. He must-

The driver’s door flew open. As Markle turned, a hand reached in, grabbed his arm, and yanked him outside.

Something metallic clattered to the ground, then-

Swack. Swack.

Swack.

Alan looked at Harp, his eyes wide. Harp couldn’t see his own face, but knew he was wearing a similar expression.

Something scraped along the road, rounding the car.

Then silence.