“I-I saw Clara drive out of here really fast…and I saw a woman go after her.”
Holden stepped closer. “Who?”
“I don’t know. But she was blonde. She had really tight curls that were pulled up into a ponytail. She was tall and she drove a blue Ford.”
Air seized in Holden’s lungs. “That’s Briar Winslow. She drives a Ford Escape and fits the description.” Something flickered back in his mind. “And at her house, there was a photo where she was looking at Malcolm like she cared about him. Maybe even loved him.”
“But Briar was working the day Clara was attacked,” Jesse said.
“A twelve-hour shift,” Holden said quickly, his mind working fast. “She could have left for her lunch break. Gone to The Tea House but before getting out of the car, she overheard Clara and Indie’s conversation about Scarlett.”
Jesse cursed and pulled his radio from his belt. “I need an APB on Briar Winslow’s blue Ford Escape.”
Clara’s carengine roared as she sped toward the sheriff’s station. No matter how fast she drove though, Briar’s Ford remained in her rearview mirror. It was faster than Clara’s Volkswagen.
Dammit.
If it wasn’t the day of the street party, she would have driven straight through town, but Main Street would be blocked off and people would be everywhere. She couldn’t risk any pedestrians getting hurt.Kidsgetting hurt. She had to go around.
She took a sharp right, her tires squealing, heart pounding hard in her chest.
Her eyes swung to the rearview mirror. Briar took the same right turn.
She took another right, then a left. When she looked in her rearview mirror again, her chest tightened.
Briar was gone. Had she given up? Was Clara getting too close to potential witnesses?
Relief was just starting to slow her heart when a car flew out of a side street to her right.
Clara screamed as Briar’s Ford slammed into the side of her Volkswagen. Metal scraping metal screeched through the air, and the force snapped her head to the side, into the window.Pain ricocheted through her skull. She tried to regain control, but the car swung, hitting a tree.
Then there was stillness.
A deep fog clouded her head, and a loud buzzing filled her ears. She felt tired and heavy, every inch of her hurting. All she wanted to do was keep her eyes closed and wait for help.
But there was no help. Businesses on this street were closed for the street party. There was no one around to call police or an ambulance. She had to run, and she had to run now.
With trembling fingers, she forced the seat belt off and shoved her door open. The second her feet touched the ground, her knees buckled and she fell.
The world swayed around her and nausea crawled up her throat.
Run, Clara! You have to run!
The voice in her head, the need to survive, was louder than the exhaustion. She stumbled to her feet, glancing over her car toward the Ford.
Briar was hunched over her wheel.
Thank God.
Clara started moving. Running up the road as fast as her legs would take her, the party a few streets over getting louder.
She was about to turn when glass shattered in the shop beside her.
Clara screamed before looking behind her to see Briar out of her car, blood running from both her nose and a wound on her temple. She looked unsteady.
Her gun was pointed toward Clara—and she looked ready to kill.
Air caught in Clara’s lungs, so thick she could barely breathe. She turned and ran, not thinking about the gun or how much her body hurt. All she could focus on was getting away.
