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The front door is shut, but when my gaze drifts over toward the living room, I see Judge Hollowell standing near one of the large windows. He’s got his hands in his pockets, and his posture is relaxed, but the way the light hits him casts him in a stark silhouette. I can’t make out his expression.
I can only tell that he’s watching me.
My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel, maneuvering around the tight circle driveway and heading back toward the street. I can hear the snow crunching and squeaking under the wheels, and I turn on the windshield wipers as high as they’ll go, batting the large snowflakes out of the way before they can even land.
When I reach the end of the block, I start to breathe a little easier. I dig my phone out of my pocket and pull up River’s address, then follow the directions the GPS gives.
I need to let the guys know what happened.
I know I shouldn’t text and drive, but I don’t know if River will be able to hear well if I call him. And honestly, I don’t think I should put anything about Judge Hollowell down in writing. It’s too risky.
I’m about to scroll through my contacts to try calling one of the other kings when something catches my attention.
A spot of black in the white flurry outside.
I toss my phone down on the seat and stare into the rearview mirror, squinting to see through the falling snow. The flash of black appears again, and my entire body clenches with fear.
It’s a dark car, creeping down the road behind me. It’s far enough back from me that I can’t discern any details about it, and I can’t see the driver’s face through the snow. I can barely make out the car itself, and it seems to be creeping along at the same slow pace I am… almost like whoever is inside is hanging back, trying not to be seen by me.
Oh, fuck. That’s why he waited.
That’s why Judge Hollowell gave me free legal advice and smiled so calmly and let me leave his house in one piece.
Because he knows exactly how to kill someone without getting his hands dirty.
My pulse throbs in my temples, and my foot presses harder on the gas pedal, making the wheels spin on the slick, wet snow before they gain traction and the car lurches forward. I jerk in the seat, knuckles turning white as I glance back in the rearview again.
The car is still there.
I’m driving fast now, faster than I probably should. I’ve never driven in snow before, but I can already feel how different it is from the reassuringly dry roads in Bayard. It’s like trying to run on sand, with the terrain beneath me constantly shifting and giving way, refusing to provide enough purchase to really dig in.
In this kind of weather, it’s not safe to speed. But I’m doing it anyway, and so is the car behind me.
“Shit. Shit. God, fucking shit.”
My whispered curses fog up the windows, and I hardly ease off the gas at all as I make a wide turn onto a side street. The calm voice of the GPS starts calling out new directions as it reroutes from my current path, but I’m hardly listening. I suck in air as I drive as fast as I dare down the side street, hoping the car behind me lost track of me in the snow and missed my abrupt turn.
For several long seconds, there’s nothing behind me.
Then the black car swings into view.
“Motherfucker!”
I slam my fist against the wheel, laying harder on the gas even as I round a curve that makes the back of the car fishtail on the slippery road.
What the fuck do I do? Pull over, then get out and run? I’ll be a sitting duck, just as easy a target as Iris was on that dark, desolate street. Nothing but a hundred and twenty pounds of breakable skin, bones, and muscle against several tons of steel and glass.
I don’t dare leave the safety of the car, but being inside it feels like being trapped on a rollercoaster with no way off. When I glance behind me, the black car is closer. It doesn’t have its headlights on, and although I can’t make out what kind it is, it’s definitely the same general shape as the one that killed Iris. A four-door sedan, sleek and sturdy.
Turning my lights off too, I speed up again. The engine revs as the wheels slip and spin. The car behind me keeps pace, and when I spot another intersection ahead, I take the turn without signaling.
But this time, I’m going too fast.
The back end of the car whips around, forced outward by my momentum, and the slick snow on the ground does nothing to stop it.
I slam on the brakes before I remember that’s not what you’re supposed to do in icy conditions.
And a micro-second later, I find out exactly why.
