Hostage For A Hood

Every minute she had was borrowed, and every second ticked off the time for murder. Joyce was driving along the deserted avenue. Just ahead on a side street, Cribbins checked the second hand of his watch for the last time. He swung the heavy Cadillac around the corner. He had a rendezvous with an armored car and a quar¬ter of a million dollars; he had a tommy gun to make sure it all went off smoothly. Everything was timed, everything was planned down to the most insignificant detail--except for Joyce Sherwood and her eight-year-old Chevy, which crashed deep into the side, of Cribbins' stolen car. That's how they met--the house¬wife and the hoods. And terror took over!