the sand.
How could someone affect her that way? She thought about all the photos she’d just seen in the police station. Thought about the young Horace Nighthyde. That must have been it. She’d been looking at all those pictures of criminals and it must have made an impression on her subconscious. Deep down she’d been expecting someone to come after her. Especially after being chased on the beach that way. She’d let her paranoia run away with her.
Pretty dumb.
The man in the BMW had probably been just what he looked like. A guy who was out of cigarettes. He’d seen a woman get out of a Porsche. Saw her at the wine section when he came in. Was intrigued, started a conversation to see where it might go and when it didn’t, he left.
She took the milk to the check-out, paid for it and went back out to the Porsche. The Beemer was gone. She’d been right, after all. It was just a coincidence that the guy followed her through a U-turn and then into the store.
She got in the car, pulled on the shoulder harness, thinking about Nick now. He’d probably tell her the man was following her. Of course, he didn’t believe Oswald killed Kennedy, thought James Earl Ray was innocent and was convinced the Queen was responsible for the death of Diana. Nick would keep a good eye on the rearview mirror. Maggie decided she would too.
She started back down Ocean, made a U at the next intersection and continued on toward the Shore, Pacific Coast Highway and the ride along the seaside to Huntington Beach and her new home.
She gasped. It was there, parked on the right, the black BMW. She grabbed a quick look as she passed it, then looked in the rearview as it pulled away from the curb and came up behind her. So he was following her, after all.
Soon she was at the Y junction. Go right and Ocean continued along the beach till it dead ended at the river that separated the counties, Los Angeles and Orange. Go left and you went up Second Street, through Belmont Shore.
She saw the Belmont Pier up ahead, thought about Darley and Theo. The duplex she’d lived in with Nick was only a couple blocks away. He wouldn’t be home, but Gordon would be.
She put her right blinker on, but went left at the last second. She didn’t want to involve Gordon. She’d call him someday, after her new life was running smoothly. Sometime before the baby was born. But now was too soon.
Another look in the mirror. The guy had dropped back some, but he was still there. Her life was hanging by a thread and now some clown on a power trip was trying to intimidate her with his suave voice and fancy car. Well, she had a fancy car too. And it was faster than that BMW, she’d bet.
“Get ready to rock and roll,” she muttered, but she kept the speed at thirty-five. Up ahead, Pacific Coast Highway. Second Street became Westminster Boulevard when it crossed PCH. A long straight shot into Orange county, slicing through the Seal Beach Naval Weapons Station. Her boyfriend used to race down that street when she was in high school, speeding through the night with her at his side. PCH to Bolsa Chica-Hot Rod Alley. Now she was behind the wheel.
It had been a long time since she’d driven like a hell hound. She felt the adrenaline pumping. If she was going to put away her past, the part that needed to be dealt with first was that boy in Borneo. She used to be the one of the best racers on the planet. She knew how to drive. It was time she did it again.
She looked in the rearview, at the headlights behind, as she passed the Edgewater Marina. She slowed for the light at PCH, clutched, dropped it into first, stopped. She drummed her fingers on the wheel, gripped it.
The light changed.
She punched it.
Rear wheels spinning, screeching, the car careening out of control, heading for the traffic light on the opposite side of the street. Maggie jerked the wheel to the right, pulled the car away from the light, back onto the right side of the road. She did it without letting up on the accelerator. Like her boyfriend used to do all those years ago, like she’d done so many times before.
Back on the straight, she punched the clutch, slammed it into second. She didn’t shift to third till the engine screamed and she kept her foot on the floor till it screamed again, then speed shifted into fourth.
Headlights up ahead. Car coming. Oh shit. Two pair. Some asshole was passing in her lane. The engine howled. She was doing over a hundred.
A quick look in the rearview. The Beemer’s brights filled it. He was riding her tail. That guy could drive.
The car ahead, the one passing in her lane, turned on his brights too. He wanted her to pull over, give him room. Slow down maybe. Maggie kept her foot on the floor, gobbling up the distance between herself and the oncoming car. She was almost driving blind.
The bright lights in front were two whirling suns giving out cold light rays, stealing the road, stealing the fence that protected the Navy base from civilians, stealing the night. Maggie centered her concentration on a place between them. The fucker better pull over, because she wasn’t going to.
He did, crashing into the side of the car he was passing. Maggie screamed as the side mirror made a shotgun sound and was ripped off. Collision, her first thought, but it was a glancing blow and then she was past. Now it was her headlights chewing up the dark and she had her vision back.
Another look in the mirror. She was pulling away from the BMW.
Eyes back on the road. Oh Fuck. Traffic light ahead. The end of the Navy base. Houses, stores, cars and people on the other side of that light. She had to slow down. She panicked, slammed on the brakes. Locked the wheels and the car started spinning, a speeding second hand on a crazy out of control clock.
She was on one of those wild rides they had at Disneyland, spinning, spinning, spinning. But all of a sudden calm descended. The world revolved, raged around her. She pulled her hands from the wheel. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Death.
She was a top, turning as if controlled by a giant child’s hand.
The baby.
She grabbed the wheel again as the car slid into a stop in the middle of the intersection facing back the way she’d come.
Downshift into first. Rev the engine. Pop the clutch. Spinning wheels again, screeching, a banshee wailing into the night and the wail was answered by another, the shrieking tires of the braking BMW. They passed, going opposite directions, missing each other by centimeters as the Porsche sped up and the Beemer slowed down.
Maggie threw it up into second, chirping the tires again as she came upon the wreck she’d caused. She hoped they were okay. She wanted to stop and see, but a quick look in the mirror told her the BMW was back on her tail. She passed the tangled cars doing fifty in second and went up into third.
Ahead she saw a small train start to cross the street. The Naval Weapons Station was cut in half by Westminster Boulevard. Heavy machinery and weapons were transported back and forth on a rail that crossed the road. What could they possibly be moving after dark? Maggie remembered the rumors of nukes. The Navy claimed they had none at Seal Beach, everybody else knew better.
Was she heading toward an A bomb at seventy-five miles an hour? Could she beat it? She upshifted into fourth, keeping the accelerator to the floor. A horn blared from the train. It had to be loud, because she heard it over the roar of her engine.
Light in her eyes. The BMW was behind her again, brights on, reflecting from the rearview. No time to move the mirror aside, too dangerous to take her hands from the wheel.
The train was at the road, moving left to right, starting to cross. Two cars, smaller than a real train. Some kind of tractor or crane on the lead car.
It was halfway across. Maggie eased right, onto the shoulder now, driving like she was possessed. Rocks and gravel flew from her tires as she flew by the train, the Beemer on her tail.
“Oh shit.” The light on PCH was red. There was traffic, headlights moving in both directions. The BMW was still behind. She busted the light at eighty, barely aware she’d skinned through without hitting anyone.
She was back on Second Street now, the Shore up ahead. It would be crowded. People out. Pedestrians. Even at this hour. Belmont Shore was a college town, people were out till late. She couldn’t keep going, she might kill someone.
Downshift to third, tap the brakes, down to second and a screaming left onto the dark road to the marina. A
