Page 94 of Knox

My heart rate spiked, gaze darting to the rearview mirror. The cruiser behind me sat empty and unmoved.

“Sloane, Sam didn’t identify Walter in the lineup. His work with a sketch artist identified the killer as Walter Lehman Junior. Walter’s son.”

Recognition slammed into me. The imposter’s face had seemed familiar, because I knew his father.

“Shit!” I set my hand on the shifter and hesitated. “He’s parked behind me.” Should I try to get inside? Close the garage door? Try to get around the cruiser?

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know.” I twisted and craned my body to see behind me, adrenaline racing, and fear clawing at my chest. I changed my mind. “I’m going to hit the cruiser.” Getting out of the car, trying to make it inside, was too big of a risk. And he’d already proven he could reach me there.

The sudden explosion of my rear windshield pulled a scream from my core.

“Sloane!” Knox bellowed through the line.

Fragments of pebbled glass rained over the seat behind me.

Seconds later, the window at my side burst as well, shattering into an opaque field before a gloved hand pushed through the veil.

“No!” I screamed and shoved at the hand as it ran along the door panel, seeking the handle. “Help!”

“Sloane!” Knox yelled.

The assailant’s hand turned and wrapped around my throat, effectively stopping my screams. He pressed me against the seat with force, closing my windpipe and forcing spots into my vision.

I clawed at his fingers, panicked and losing air. Flashbacks of the night on the lawn returned with terrorizing clarity. Knox had saved me then, but he wasn’t here now.

I remembered his touch, his kiss, his voice, as black dots invaded my vision. As my chest and windpipe burned with need of oxygen.

“Fight, Sloane!” The heated demand from my car speaker cut through the ringing in my ears.

I pushed a hand into my purse and fumbled for the pepper spray while a second gloved hand knocked the rest of the glass from my window.

Then the door wrenched open.

Walter’s son released my neck and caught my wrists, one in each hand. He hauled me from the vehicle in one brutal jerk.

My hip and palms hit the cement garage floor, along with a thousand pieces of glass. I cried out as pain ricocheted through me. My throat burned with each desperate, ragged gasp, and I kicked wildly when the hands hauled me onto my feet.

His arm locked around my waist, lifting, crushing the air from my lungs.

I found the button on my pepper spray and aimed it over my shoulder, then pressed the trigger.

Walter screamed. He stumbled back, clawing at his face.

Chemicals filled the air around us. I coughed and cried as I ran.

Through the door. Out of the garage. Into the house.

I slammed the door behind me then turned the deadbolt.

He threw himself against the door. The frame rattled but didn’t give.

I headed for the kitchen. I needed a weapon. I couldn’t keep running. The pain in my wrist and hip were agonizing. Blood poured from the cuts on my hands. My eyes and nose burned from the pepper spray released beside my head.

I just had to stay alive until Knox or the sheriff got here.

Knox was on the call. He knew I was in trouble. He would be here soon.