Page 102 of Beguiled

Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, but I could swear it was the same person I’d seen on the street. Again, maybe my imagination was in the full throes of a breakdown, but I thought I caught a black baseball cap and a dark jacket with a hoodie, the hood clinging to his shoulders. Not necessarily too odd.

Except for the dark sunglasses worn in the middle of the night. I was no detective, but the outfit was something for the wearer to be able to fade into the shadows.

And to say with clarity—don’t fuck with me.

Another round of panic tried to settle in. I was running out of options as to what to do.

Stash.

I leaned forward, now with both hands on the steering wheel, and pressed down on the accelerator, thinking about his address. I rattled it off in my brain several times before concentrating on how to get away.

Just then, headlights popped on from behind me. A quick glance in the side mirror and I could tell the driver had pulled away from the curb. Oh, my God. He was about to follow me.

Think. Think. Think!

I took a sharp turn then another, hoping that I could lose them quickly.

But I didn’t.

I could see the headlights in the distance. Another hard turn and my poor little car had trouble, the backend swerving. Catching control, I did everything I could to right the car, losing speed and the advantage.

Within seconds, the driver had made the turn smoothly, not a single swerve. My mind was close to fritzing out, more terrified than I’d been in a long time if ever.

The street signs began to pass by too quickly and I did what I could to pay attention to where I was going.

The driver was catching up to me, not bothering to hide they were following me. While I drove, I remained on the lookout for any police cars, but something in the back of my mind told me my best bet was making it to Stash’s house. He would know how to handle this.

A full body chill hit me when the vehicle moved even closer.

What if the voicemail had gone to the wrong person and whoever had killed her knew I’d been on my way over?

A knowing hit me right between the eyes at that very moment, the kind of unsettling darkness indicating I was being hunted. The man was a predator and for whatever reason I’d been placed on his radar, he was determined to eliminate any risks.

Just like at the club.

The sensations were innate like the requirement to breathe.

There was nothing else to do but run for my life.

So I did.

Twists and turns in the road did little to slow him down. In New York there were enough distractions that a decent driver could disappear.

Not with this guy.

I moved to a more populous area, but all that did was slow me down. He remained right on my tail, keeping his cool while I was freaking out. But I had to concentrate or I’d miss the turns. Of course I was risking more than my life by heading to Stash’s house, but there were no decent options. Plus, I had the distinct feeling he’d been caught somewhere in the middle of all this.

“Damn it,” I hissed, going through mental exercises to try to figure out how I could buy myself some time.

If I took a certain turn at the last minute, crossing over a couple of lanes of traffic, the man following me would be forced to turn around. I had one shot at this and with the traffic fairly heavy, there was a good chance I’d end up in a horrific accident.

I had to try it. No pain, no gain.

A motto that meant absolutely nothing right now. I remained on the edge of my seat, wired to the hilt. The turn was coming up. I had one shot at this. One.

“It’s now or never.” I jerked the steering wheel and thankfully, the suspension responded instantly. While my poor car groaned in frustration, she responded as required, the wheels wobbling a little, but all in all, even though horns were honking, I was satisfied with the performance.

The moment I’d made it onto the ramp, I floored it. Suddenly, I was some crazy Indy 500 driver, powering the road like a warrior. There were other vehicles behind me, but nothing that caused any alarm, yet I had no intention of slacking off or hitting the brakes.