Looking north. Like she was waiting for something.
Or watching for it.
That’s when I heard it.
A sound from the back of the car. Soft. Muffled. Like something shifting its weight against the inside of the trunk.
I went still. I’ve got good ears, even at my age, better than my eyes these days. I stayed down on one knee with my hand flat on the ruined tire and I listened with everything I had.
It came again. A small sound. A whimper.
I looked up at the girl. Whatever color was left in her face had drained right out of it.
“Pop the trunk,” I said.
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She shook her head. Fast. Too fast. “It’s nothing. It’s just bags. Stuff shifting around.”
“That ain’t bags.”
“Please.” Her voice
