Harlequin Romantic Suspense April 2021 by Karen Whiddon (interesting books to read for teens TXT) 📕

until his knuckles were raw, use up every ounce of his energy and a great deal of oxygen, all for nothing. A younger Micha might have done this once, but since then he’d learned a thing or two.

Sinking to the floor with his back against the wall, he settled in to wait. He’d conserve his strength and his air, and when the right opportunity came, he’d take it.

Time passed slowly, the way it always did when monitored. At first, he checked his watch too often, and at some point he fell into an uncomfortable doze.

A sound startled him awake. He got to his feet, not entirely certain he hadn’t been dreaming, and listened.

Outside he heard voices and laughter. Teens, from the sound of them. They must be sneaking around the container yard looking for mischief.

Micha waited until they got closer. “Help,” he called out. “Please help me. I accidentally locked myself in this shipping container.”

The teens went silent. Micha could only hope they didn’t take off running. “Please,” he called out again, banging on the metal side for emphasis. “I’m afraid I’m going to run out of air in here.”

“Let’s go,” one of the boys urged. “This could be some sort of trick.”

“It’s not,” Micha hollered. “Who the hell would lock themselves in a small metal box and then sit around waiting for someone to show up as a trick?”

“He has a point,” another young male voice said. Then, a bit louder: “Where are you, man?”

“In here.” Micha banged again, a steady cadence of tapping to let them know his location. “It’s dark and hot and I have no idea where the door is.”

They began talking among themselves, their voices too low for him to hear. Heart pounding, he tried to remain still, to wait out their decision.

“Bang again,” the same male voice ordered. “There are, like, hundreds of these metal containers here. It’s hard to tell where your voice is coming from.”

He began tapping again, more softly this time, but loud enough that they should be able to find him.

A second later, he heard the sound of the door bolt sliding back and the door opened. Though it was still nightfall, there were numerous lampposts that gave off enough light to momentarily blind him.

Still, he managed to propel himself forward, stumbling out and nearly falling. Luckily, one of the kids caught him.

“Whoa.” The teen stared. “You look awful. What happened to you to mess you up like that?”

Micha glanced down at his shirt and for the first time realized he was covered in blood. He reached his hand for his still-throbbing head and his fingers came back bloody from where Andy had clobbered him with the gun.

“Do any of you have a car?” he asked. “Because whoever did this to me is likely on his way to hurt my girlfriend. I need a lift to Hyde Park.”

Most of the kids—teen boys, all of them—began backing away and shaking their heads. “We don’t want no trouble,” one said. “We’re not even supposed to be here.”

But one kid stood his ground, eyeing Micha thoughtfully. “You’re in real trouble, aren’t you?”

Slowly, Micha nodded. “I don’t want him to hurt my lady. You don’t even have to take me to her house, just drop me off down the street. I promise, you won’t see me again.”

While the teen considered him, Micha held his breath.

“Come on,” the kid finally said, motioning with his hand. “Since it’s my dad’s SUV, I get to decide. The only thing is, you can’t get blood on the seats, ’kay?”

“I won’t,” Micha agreed. “My head is the only thing bleeding and I’ll keep it away from the seat.”

Apparently satisfied, the teen led the way through the maze of containers. They finally emerged in a fenced-off parking lot, skirted the gate and went around to a back street. A large, dark-colored Suburban was the only vehicle in sight.

“You sit up front with me,” the kid told Micha. “The rest of you can all fit in the back two seats.”

Micha did as he was told. So did the others, who apparently looked up to their leader. “When you got here, did you happen to notice any other vehicles parked around? Specifically, some sort of van?”

“No.” The boy started the car. “But I’m thinking maybe you should go ahead and call the police.”

“I’ve got to check on my girlfriend first.” The urgency in Micha’s tone made all the teenagers go silent. “Please. We need to hurry.” He thought again, and then decided. “I do have a friend in the Chicago PD. I’m going to call him and let him know what’s happening.”

Nodding, the boy passed Micha his phone. Micha dialed Charlie Crenshaw’s number from memory, unsurprised when the call went straight to voice mail. He went ahead and left a message, detailing what had happened to him and that he was on the way to Carly’s house and the time. “If you get this before morning, meet me there,” he said, and ended the call. All he could do now was hope he got there in time.

* * *

Bridget barked, startling Carly awake. She must have dozed off at the kitchen table with her head pillowed on her arms. Blinking, she pushed groggily to her feet and eyed her dog. Now Bridget faced the front door, her tail wagging furiously.

A moment later, her phone chimed, signaling a text from Jones. I’m here, it read. And then almost immediately he knocked.

Padding toward the door on bare feet, she went ahead and checked the peephole before unlocking the dead bolt. Behind her, Bridget stood furiously wagging her tail.

As soon as Jones stepped inside, Carly closed and locked the door, her racing heart settling down into its usual steady beat.

“Hey, girl,” Jones said, crouching down to pet her dog. Bridget leaned into him with a groan of pleasure, her eyes half-closed while he scratched behind her ears. Straightening, he held out a cell phone to Carly. “I found this on the sidewalk in front of