But if that sign was right, that meant they'd been on the road for two hours!

How could that be? During homeschool study hour, Aunt Renee always said that time crept by when a person was in a state of high stress, so if Doriann and her cousins would just relax and be quiet, they could complete their lessons in half the time, then go out and play.

This wasn't right, because time was passing way too fast, and if Doriann was any more stressed, this stinky cloth seat would be drenched with her pee.

Maybe she was in the middle of a bad dream.

The road blurred, and Doriann blinked. She couldn't cry again. The woman and the man called Clancy might enjoy it. They were the kind of people who probably liked to make kids cry. Clancy would laugh at Doriann's tears, and Deb was probably waiting for a reason to slap her again.

And so, as they drove past the sign for Columbia, Doriann counted billboards and reworded them to make them rhyme, and added the mileage in her head, while taking slow, steady breaths until her vision cleared.

They'd just passed the exit to Columbia Regional Hospital, leaving the city behind, when the corroded old scanner in the truck's open glove compartment hissed and spat, and then a tinny male voice said, "We have report of a… pft… pft… pft… male and female, possible hostage situation… pft… last seen two hours ago in the vicinity of Swope Park, possibly headed east on I-70… pft… pft… pedestrian reported seeing a child being forced into the pickup—"

"That would be me," Doriann said, voice wobbling like a baby's. "You should let me—"

Deb slapped a dirty hand over Doriann's mouth. Hard. "Shut up!"

Doriann blinked to keep the tears from falling. She breathed slowly. Tried to stay calm. Not panic. Who'd have thought it would be so hard?

"…pft…FBI's most wanted couple…at least six already dead…possible sighting at a convenience mart at exit… pft… could be en route toward St. Louis."

"Six." Clancy spat on the floor.

Doriann grimaced in spite of her fear. Eeww!

"People can't even do their job right. The count's at least nine. No, wait, that's eleven."

Deb took her hand from Doriann's mouth and reached across her to smack the man on the side of the head. "Didn't I tell you not to grab the brat?" Her voice sounded like the crackle of a campfire built with green cedar branches. "And I told you not to stop for gas along the interstate!"

Doriann nodded. That was right. Deb had told him. But Clancy seemed to be the kind of person who did exactly what he was told not to do.

"What was I supposed to do, let the truck run out of gas?"

"You could've taken an exit and found a place out of sight of cruising Feds, but, no, you had to park right out in plain sight, where anybody watching for us—"

"Everybody's watching for us!" His voice clattered like a chain saw in the truck cab, making Doriann wish she could disappear into the seat cushion. "It doesn't matter where we are, they're after us!"