herself as whole, rather than as parts of the people she'd loved the
best.
She looked through the gloom to the house nestled on the hill, and hoped
with all her heart she would dream of it that night. When she did, she
would open that door. She would stand, and look, and she would see.
Releasing the brake, she started down the narrow road. Six months
before, she knew, she wouldn't have had the courage to come alone, to
open herself to all those feelings. It was good, so good not to be
afraid.
The headlights flashed into her rearview mirror so close, so fast, they
blinded her. Instinctively she threw a hand up to block the glare.
Drunk and stupid, she thought and glanced for a place to pull over and
let the car pass.
When it rammed her from behind, her hands clamped automatically on the
wheel. Still, the few seconds of shock cost her, and had her veering
dangerously close to the guardrad. Dragging the wheel back, she heard
her tires squeal on the wet pavement. Her heart jackhammered to her
throat as she slid sideways around the next Turn.
"Asmhole!" With a trembling hand she wiped a smear of blood from her lip
where she'd bitten it. Then the lights were blinding her again, and the
impact of the next hit had her seat belt snapping against her
breastbone.
There was no time to think, no room for panic. Her rear fender slapped
against the metal guard as her car shimmied. The car behind backed off
as she fought her own out of a skid. She saw the tree, a big leafy oak,
and used every ounce of strength to jerk the wheel to the right.
Panting, she concentrated on maneuvering around an S Turn, pumping her
brakes to slow her speed.
He came again. She caught a glimpse of the car, bumed the image
into her brain before the lights glared against her mirror again. Though
braced for the impact, she cried out.
He wasn't drunk. And he wasn't stupid. In one part of her mind the
terror screamed out. Someone was trying to kill her. It wasn't her
imagination. It wasn't leftover fears. It was happening. She could
see the lights, hear the crunch of metal against metal, feel her tires
skid as they fought for traction.
The car came up on her left, punching hers toward the drop. She was
screaming; she could hear herself as she laid on the gas and tore around
the next turn.
She wouldn't outrun him. Emma blinked the glaze out of her eyes and
tried to think. His car was bigger, and faster. And the hunter always
had the advantage over the hunted. The road cut through the hills gave
her no room to maneuver, and there was no place to go but down.
He pulled up again. She could see the dark shape of the car, creeping
closer, and closer, like a spider toward a victim in the web. She shook
her head, knowing at any moment he would ram her and send her crashing
over the edge.
In desperation, she jerked her car to the left, surprising him by taking
the offensive. It gave her an instant, hardly more. But even as he
approached again, she saw the headlights gleam from the other direction.