“Fuck you!” she shouted at the mirror as she stomped the accelerator. Her Mustang rocketed forward. “Hell yeah! Catch me now, asshole!”
The victory high vanished as headlights and a grille loomed large in her rearview mirror.
A frown tugged at her lips. “What in the hell?”
The black car rushed right up on her bumper. Nudged her.
Her Mustang jerked forward even as her right foot instinctively let off the accelerator.
Jazel’s heart lunged into her throat. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. What was this dick doing?
Stay calm. Focus on the road. Keep it between the ditches. Holding her breath, she glanced at the rearview mirror just to be sure he was gone.
He’s . . . coming again!
“Shit.” She floored the accelerator. Gripped the steering wheel even tighter and leaned forward. She had to lose this son of a bitch.
He rammed her.
The Mustang lurched forward.
Jazel screamed as she fought to stay on the road.
Where was her cell phone? She dared to glance around the interior. Not in the passenger seat. Not in the floor. Her purse. It was in her purse.
Where was her purse?
Another shove. Hard. The impact caused her to jerk. The right wheels jumped off the edge of the pavement. She wrenched the steering wheel left. Too fast. Shit!
Panic seized her as she fought to get the Mustang back under control and barreling forward.
She looked around, frantic for help.
There was no one.
What the hell was she supposed to do?
Another glimpse at the rearview mirror and terror tore at her heart. Ice filled her veins.
He was coming again.
She braced.
Oh God . . .
14
5:30 p.m.
32nd Street, Birmingham
Sloss Furnaces
Dane Drake hugged himself against the chill that came from deep inside. He couldn’t shake it. Felt sick as shit. He wanted ...
He shuddered. No, he didn’t want, heneeded.
Needed it so bad.
