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“Followed?”
“Yes. I’ll text you, send you my location via GPS. I need backup.”
“Text?”
Argh. She ended the call and handed her phone to Grant. “Text Charlie. Tell him where we were, that we’re heading north on Lower Sahler Mill Road toward Krumville, then east toward US 209.”
Grant didn’t argue. He sent the text.
“Now tell him we’re being followed. If I can’t get to the highway, we’re going to double back to the house.”
When Grant just looked at her, she said, “Do it, Grant. Then go to location services and share my location with Charlie.”
He complied.
She kept her eyes darting from the road to the bright lights behind her.
The area was remote with few homes, and most of the houses were well off the road.
Regan couldn’t risk turning down a driveway. Some of the houses might be unoccupied, but others could have people, families, inside. She wasn’t bringing violence to the innocent.
No, she needed to get to the highway—five miles away—then to the interstate—another five miles. Find a police station or highway patrol.
If she had the time.
But the way their pursuer was following them, on this narrow, winding road?
She didn’t think they had the time. She was fast running out of options.
She had to slow at Krumville, but she didn’t stop at the stop sign. She saw no lights coming toward her—not at 4:30 in the morning on this remote country road. But she had to slow to make the turn. As soon as she pulled out of it, she put on the gas.
Her pursuer did the same.
Grim, jaw tight, she continued increasing speed. She knew the roads, but not well—and in the dark, they were a death trap for speeders. Trees towered above her as she wound around the mountain, needing to focus on the road more than the person behind them.
The lights were coming at her fast.
“Brace yourself,” she told Grant.
She barely got the words out when she felt the violent impact of their pursuer ramming the back of the truck. Her seatbelt tightened around her chest as she lurched forward. Grant automatically put his hands up in front of him, and she wanted to tell him no, he’d break a wrist, but no words came out.
She managed—barely—to keep the truck on the road. Her alignment was off, but she compensated with her steering.
They were rammed again from behind, and this time, the other vehicle accelerated, pushing her truck forward as they were approaching a sharp turn.
She had only one option. And if she didn’t do it now, they were dead.
Regan turned her wheel sharply to the right. Her truck went hard into the ravine next to the road, the front end slamming into the ground, her rear wheels up in the air as the truck was almost at a ninety-degree angle.
Their pursuer didn’t expect the move and the momentum took him forward, forcing him to spin out as he clamored for control of his own vehicle.
The airbags inflated, slamming into Regan’s face, and she momentarily saw stars. But she couldn’t be sidetracked. Their attacker would be back any second.
“Grant!” she shouted as she used all her strength to push open her door. “Grant!”
He was disorientated, but she had to get him moving. She was out of the truck, her feet sliding on the steep slope. They were on the edge of a small lake. The ground was soft, muddy, and their truck was sinking.
“Grant, move it!”
