Crush

Paranoid? Realistic. Someone might be following her. She wasn’t about to let whoever it was have the upper hand again.

A few yards ahead was Pratt Avenue. Without signaling, she hung a sharp right onto the narrow, two-lane road and accelerated, coming up quickly on Park Street. Swerved right again, then made an immediate left onto Crinella Drive. Residential.

Glanced up, saw nothing—no headlights. All that for nothing. She felt her heart rate moving at a good pace. Nothing like a little scare to get the blood pumping. She followed the road as it curved right, keeping an eye on her mirror, just in case. If nothing else, it’d be a long way around to getting back onto 29 in the correct direction.

Parked cars populated driveways and lengths of available curb space. To her right, a portable basketball standard stood poised for action, sandwiched between neatly placed garbage and recycling containers.

She followed Crinella as it proceeded straight, then hooked right again. Perfect, a circle. She would stay on it and loop back onto Park, then get back onto 29. Of all things—a detour when she desperately wanted to meet up with Robby and relax. If she told him about this, he’d laugh at her. Then again, given all they’ve been through lately, he probably would not find it amusing.

After turning right onto Park, she took a couple of deep breaths to slow her pulse rate. This can’t be healthy, she thought. Doesn’t stress kill? A totally different kind of serial killer. One I’d never be able to catch. She chuckled at the absurdity of her thought, how the mind turned to humor at strange times.

As she passed the opening of the Crinella loop, she caught a glimpse of a car sitting at the curb ahead of her, its headlights burning. So what? It’s just a mother who’s running to the store for milk. Waiting for me to pass so she can turn onto Park.

Vail continued along Park, headed toward Pratt. Looked in her side mirror. The car had turned onto Park but was several dozen feet behind her. But what if it’s not an innocent resident?

She reasoned most people would turn left here, to get to the main drag, Highway 29. So she turned right, down toward a darker area. If the other vehicle stayed with her, the chances were greater its occupant was trailing her. She would then call Robby, have him drive toward her. Enough of this shit.

As she crossed a set of railroad tracks, Vail wished she had Stella with her. She didn’t know her way around—especially in the dark—and the Taurus wasn’t equipped with an in-dash GPS. She then realized she should’ve headed back to 29, a road she had been on and which was a main thoroughfare. Then she could have gone back to the police department.

As she mentally kicked herself, the two pinpricks of bright light appeared in her mirror. The car had turned right and was now behind her again. She accelerated hard, took it up to seventy for the next half mile as the road doglegged left. This had to open up somewhere, spill onto another road. If not, she’d need to find a street to turn around, then head back toward whoever was following her. She pressed her left forearm against her waist and felt her Glock.

While she mulled her options, Pratt dead-ended at what looked like a main road a hundred feet ahead. She remembered looking at the map when they were planning the trip and seeing another artery that paralleled Highway 29. Silver-something. It was the road she was on earlier today with Dixon.

Yellow traffic sign: Narrow Bridge. She slowed hard, then crossed the two-lane cement-walled overpass. Street sign—Silverado Trail. Yes, that was it.

She turned left while sneaking a peak in her mirror. No one there. No lights. Was he still behind her, running silent? She accelerated hard through the turn and brought the Taurus up to sixty, alternating her gaze between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. She flipped the signal bar forward and threw her headlights into the brights setting so they illuminated a wide arc on the asphalt ahead. They also stretched upward, reaching the lower branches of the tree-lined road.

She pulled out her BlackBerry and struggled to navigate to Robby’s phone number. But because this was a new phone, none of her contacts were loaded. She’d have to go into her call history, to when he had called her. That’s all she needed—to get into an accident by dividing her attention among three different tasks. But no one else appeared to be on the road, which was good. If those headlights appeared again, she would have to take action.

And as luck would have it, a few seconds later when she glanced up, she saw those fucking headlights appear in her mirror, turning onto Silverado from Park. She thought of texting the killer back on his number—but she had to keep her head about her. What would that accomplish? If it wasn’t the Crush Killer following her—if it was Fuller, for example—she could set in motion a series of events that would be potentially disastrous. If she had her original phone, she could call Fuller and find out if it was him behind her.

Up ahead—a turnout. She cut her headlights and downshifted into low. The car lurched hard as it abruptly dropped into third gear. Vail yanked hard on the wheel, screeching round the bend onto a narrow, unmarked road —without applying the brakes. She wanted to give her pursuer the illusion her car had disappeared from existence. Beamed away into thin air—neat trick if it were possible, but this should work fine, too.

Vail swerved onto the narrow side street, regained control of the vehicle, then hung an abrupt U-turn, using the skills she had learned in the tactical driving course at the Academy. She brought the car around facing Silverado Trail and pulled hard right against the soft shoulder. Cut her lights and disabled the interior dome light—in case she had to exit the vehicle.

She sat there and counted. Based on the distance the car was behind her, she figured she had no more than four seconds before it would pass her. But she was ready.

The Taurus was in neutral, her foot off the brake and her head ducked down low to prevent the driver from seeing her—in case he was looking in her direction when he passed.

There! The car zoomed by, its headlights off now. Speeding, no doubt looking for where she had gone. Keeping her own lights off, she pulled the Ford into drive, accelerated hard and went into pursuit mode.

He was traveling fast—but with a dark dashboard, she could only guess at the speed. What mattered was she was losing ground. She glanced up—saw another car behind her—and ignored it. Focus on the task ahead.

She depressed the accelerator. The engine downshifted, hesitated, roared, surged. But the vehicle ahead was still expanding the distance. The roadway curved left, then right.

He blew through the flashing red, and with a quick glance at the intersecting street, Vail followed suit.

She wasn’t sure he was aware of her presence; in the near-total darkness, she didn’t think he’d be able to see her. He wasn’t driving evasively; he was driving as if he was pursuing, searching. Wondering where the hell she had gone. Whoever he was, he was clearly motivated to find her.

I’ll bet you are, asshole.

An oncoming truck was approaching in the opposing lane. In the glow of his headlights Vail could now see the silhouette of the driver of the car in front of her: a male, rotating his head from side to side. Looking for her, no doubt. His vehicle had the shape and smooth, curved lines of a Chrysler.

The light from the truck was a mixed blessing: It illuminated her pursuer, but it would also lay her bare as well, should he look in his rearview. And he must have done just that—because he suddenly switched on his headlights and slammed on the brakes.

Christ! The oncoming truck was passing her the instant Vail had to swerve left into his lane to avoid smashing into the Chrysler. She narrowly cleared the truck’s rear and was now driving in the opposing lane.

Heart pounding hard in her ears. Bam, bam, bam. Calm yourself, Karen. Focus!

She reached for the switch to turn on her headlights—but the Chrysler swerved into her, pushing her Ford further left. Onto the shoulder.

Vail tightened her grip on the wheel and leaned right, as if that would help pull the car away from the oncoming tree line.

The two vehicles were of similar size and mass, so Vail had only one option available to her: She slammed on the brakes. Screeching tires . . . ripping scraping metal as her front fender tore along the left side of his sedan.

The Chrysler braked before she was able to clear the rear of his car. She yanked her wheel hard right and accelerated. Her engine groaned in protest.

But Vail had leverage on her side and the Chrysler whipped into a violent counterclockwise spin. He swung