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As I pulled up the short hill to my new apartment and took thesharp corner to the left, I noticed the blue truck had moved. Okay,what? What’s up with this? Now the truck was backed into a parkingspace directly behind where I had originally parked; and it was onespace over from a free-standing garage, which meant I could only seethe hood. Driving slowly toward my parking space, I got a better viewof the windshield and tried to look inside. Oh, God — help me. Someone’sstill in there.

I had no idea what to do right then. The driver was just sittingthere looking straight ahead. Is he looking at my car? Looking at me? Icould feel myself starting to sweat. I knew this wasn’t right. Maybe Icould just make a U-turn and drive off. But where would I go? My momlived nearby, but she and I had been fi ghting — I didn’t want to goto her place, especially not at two in the morning. And I didn’t haveclose friends in the area. Checking out the short distance betweenmy parking space and the front door, I thought maybe I could makea run for it.

Okay, if he tries to follow me, I can just try to beat him to the front door, get inside, and lock it. I was starting to shake, sitting there in the car. Was this a stupid idea? Ashley, think! Are you sure you want to try this? I didn’t really know what else to do at this point. Just why’d you have to go out in the first place? Stupid cigarettes. Trembling, I pulled the car into my space and shut off the ignition. I guess I’m going for it. I got my keys ready and reached for the door handle.

As soon as I stepped out of the car and shut my door, I heard aclicking sound — it was the truck’s door closing behind me. That’s thedriver.

I was walking quickly toward the apartment now. Just a few stepsup this walk right here. I turned my head slightly to check behind me,and I could see out of the corner of my eye a black man coming rightfor me. I could hear his footsteps, hear him getting closer. Maybe he’llpass me and go to the stairwell. I kept moving. Finally to the door, I gotmy keys in the lock, turned the knob, and pushed the door open.Then he was on me.

"Aah! Aah! Aah!" I was standing on the sidewalk, screaming atthe top of my lungs.

He had me by the arm. There was a gun in my face. My pocketbookslid off my shoulder and crashed to the ground.

"Shut up!" he said in a harsh whisper. "Stop screaming! If youstop screaming, I won’t hurt you. Just shut up! Shut up!"

"Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me!" I could almost hear the gunfiring. I braced myself. This is it. Paige.

Wrenching my arm, he got behind me, wrapped his arms aroundmy upper body, and shoved me inside the apartment, pressing thegun into my side. The door bounced against the empty boxes I hadstacked behind it, and I slouched in his arms, hoping that if he tried toshoot, I could somehow dodge the bullet by slumping to the ground.Once he got me inside the small foyer, he closed the door behindus and locked it. I stumbled and stood up. My beige sweater had gottenpulled off and was now at my feet. Just get me out of here alive, God.If he rapes me, so be it. Just let me make it out of here. Let me see Paigeagain. Please!

The man was waving the gun in my face. "Why’d you scream?"I was backed up against the closet door directly opposite the frontdoor and standing about two feet away from him. He had a baseballhat pulled low over his face. I looked down and saw one of his pantlegs was rolled up, exposing what looked like another gun tuckedinto his black sneaker.

"Please don’t kill me, please don’t do this. Don’t hurt me. My littlegirl doesn’t have a daddy and if you kill me she won’t have a mommy,either. Please don’t hurt me." I stuck my hands out in front of me,pleading. "My little girl . . ."

"Just calm down, quit moving. Don’t do that. Just, I’m not goingto hurt you if you just listen to me and don’t scream again. Do notscream again, because if your neighbors heard you scream, then thepolice are on the way, and I’m going to have to hold you hostage andkill you and probably kill them and myself."

"Okay, okay, okay." The gun was about a foot from my face."Why’d you scream?" he asked again. The pitch of his voice rose.He was glaring at me from under that hat.

"What? Why did I scream? I . . . I don’t know you. It’s two in themorning. You have a gun pointed at me. I’m scared!" My voice wasbreaking now. Oh, God, just get me out of this.

"Is anybody here with you?"

"No, I’m by myself. I just moved in here. Please don’t hurt me."

The foregoing is excerpted from Unlikely Angel by Ashley Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission from HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022