The old woman kept one hand on the lock and the other on the boy’s shoulder.

Nobody inside the laundromat moved.

Through the rain-streaked window, the man in the dark coat stared at the parked car like the secret inside it had just started screaming.

A customer whispered, “Call the police.”

The boy shook so hard his teeth clicked.

“My sister is little,” he cried. “She can’t open doors.”

The old woman grabbed a metal laundry cart and pushed it in front of the entrance.

The man outside stopped pretending.

He slammed his hand against the glass.

“Give him to me.”

The old woman’s voice stayed cold.

“You’ll have to get through all of us.”

One by one, customers stood in front of the door.

Then a faint sound came from the parking lot.

A tiny hand hit the fogged-up car window.

The boy screamed, “Lily!”

The old woman ran out the back exit with two customers behind her. Rain soaked her gray hair as she reached the car and pulled at the handle.

Locked.

The man started running toward them.

Then sirens cut through the rain.

He froze.

The old woman smashed the window with a fire extinguisher, reached inside, and pulled a crying little girl into her arms.

The boy ran to his sister and wrapped himself around her.

The old woman looked at the man as police lights filled the laundromat windows.

“You picked the wrong place,” she whispered.