Delaney yanked the wheel hard to the left, trying to avoid a head-on collision with a tree. She failed. The front of her car rammed into the trunk with a sickening crunch of metal and glass.
The impact jerked her forward against her seat belt as the airbag deployed, knocking the wind from her lungs. But at least the car had stopped.
The headlights cast eerie shadows into the forest.
She shifted into Park and shut off the car, as if the thing might suddenly drive on its own. For several moments, she sat frozen, hands still gripping the wheel, the only sound her ragged breathing and the tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine.
“I’m alive.” The whispered words caught in her throat. “Thank you, Lord.”
She fumbled for her phone and called AAA, relieved to find her membership was still active. The operator’s calm voice helped steady her as she explained what had happened.
“We’ll send someone right away, ma’am. Are you injured?”
“Nothing serious.” At least, she didn’t think so.
“Okay, just stay with your vehicle. Our technician should be there in about thirty minutes.”
Thirty minutes.
She needed to call Mr. Aylett and let him know she’d be late, if only to reassure Charlotte that she would keep her promise and come home. She’d do that when she thought she could talk without bursting into tears.
It was just a car accident, and she’d survived. But adrenaline still coursed through her veins.
Delaney stared into the darkness beyond her windshield. The turnout was deserted, the only light coming from her damaged headlights. Even the distant glow of Driftwood was hidden behind trees.
She tried to steady her breathing. How had her brakes failed? Had she done something to cause that? She hadn’t been good about getting her oil changed, but that wouldn’t affect the brakes, would it? Maybe the fluid was low. Wouldn’t there have been a warning light or something?
Delaney unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the car. She stretched, carefully checking herself for injuries. Her chest ached from the belt or the airbag, and her neck felt stiff. But nothing seemed broken. At least outside, she could breathe fresh air, away from the airbag dust.
Headlights appeared, approaching slowly from the direction she’d come. Thank goodness. She wouldn’t have to wait alone in this dark place until the tow truck arrived.
But the vehicle didn’t pull up beside her. Instead, it stopped at the entrance to the turnout, high beams suddenly flashing on, blinding her.
She lifted her hand to shield her eyes, thinking the driver would get out or call through the window to ask if she needed help.
But nobody stepped out. Whoever was in that car just sat there, engine running, lights blazing.
Delaney’s relief curdled into unease. If they hadn’t stopped to help, why not move along? Why stop at all?
The car idled. The driver watched.
Delaney took a step back toward her damaged Toyota. Was this the same car she’d seen following her and Charlotte earlier? The glare made it hard to tell.
Mr. Aylett’s warning echoed in her mind. Could this be his stalker? The woman who thought she and Noah were “fated” to be together?
Delaney slid back into her SUV and locked the doors. The stranger’s high beams illuminated the steam still rising from her crumpled hood, turning it into ghostly fingers reaching toward the night sky.
Whoever that was behind her…it wasn’t a friend.
And she was all alone and defenseless. She was no longer careening along the narrow highway, but the situation suddenly felt just as dangerous.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Noah walked with Charlotte toward the car, the scent of french fries following them from Dockside Burgers. Charlotte’s small hand swung his arm back and forth, her fingers warm against his palm.
The dinner with Lisa, her husband, Wilt, and their daughter had been incident-free—the kind of evening that made him believe he might actually be getting the hang of this parenting thing. Charlotte had eaten her chicken fingers without complaint and even giggled at something Shanyn’s father had said. It was the most relaxed he’d seen her in public.
Noah’s conversation with Wilt had been refreshingly ordinary—talk of business, fishing spots, and coastal weather patterns. No probing questions about Charlotte’s parentage, no sly mentions of magazine articles naming him the region’s most eligible bachelor. Just guys talking about guy stuff.
