Jacobi followed her to the exit. But as Angie reached the door at the reception area, he said from behind, “It might not be a bad idea to leave town.”
She reached into her pocket and surreptitiously clicked on her recorder. Slowly she turned to face him.
“I’m sorry, what did you say, Constable Jacobi?”
“I said, it might not be such a bad idea for you to leave town.”
“Is that some kind of threat, sir?”
“All I’m saying,” he said softly, “is that there are things and people in this town I might not be able to control.”
“Are you implying that you know of certain people who might be a danger to me if I continue my investigation of the Jasmine Gulati incident?”
“I’m saying it might be better not to stay and find out.”
His gaze locked with hers, and silence hung thick. He reached for the reception door, opened it, and waited for Angie to leave.
As Angie drove away in her rental, she cast a look back at the small police station. Constable Darnell Jacobi stood silhouetted in a window, watching her car depart. He had a phone pressed to his ear.
CHAPTER 30
As Angie gained elevation in her rental, the logging track grew steeper, and clouds roiled in thick swaths down the mountain. Rain became mixed with sleet. When she reached the eastern shore of Lake Carmanagh at the top of the watershed, the verge on her left disappeared in a precipitous drop all the way down to the gray-green glacial water. She slowed the car as visibility worsened.
From this point the old logging track hugged the lakeshore all the way to Predator Lodge, which had been built near the western outflow of the glacial lake. The Nahamish River grew out of that outflow, fed by tributaries from the mountains as it twisted its tortuous way down to the stormy and remote west coast of Vancouver Island.
The road turned rutted and muddier. Old-growth cedars and hemlocks grew tall with moss-covered trunks, branches dripping with old-man’s beard. Her tires started to slip, and she felt the all-wheel drive engage. Angie was suddenly grateful to have been forced to leave her Mini Cooper behind. She was not convinced her own vehicle would have handled these conditions as well as this Subaru.
Almost halfway along the lake visibility became a serious challenge, and sleet turned heavy.
Lights suddenly appeared in the mist behind her. Angie glanced into her rearview mirror. A big black shape approached fast behind her. A behemoth of a truck.
Her pulse quickened. She tapped her brake lights in quick succession, making them flicker in the fog to increase her own visibility. But the vehicle kept on coming at speed, as if the driver still couldn’t see her. Angie’s hands tightened on the wheel. She tried to drive faster. Still, the truck loomed ever closer, closer. Her heart pounded.
She flicked on her hazard lights, making them pulse repeatedly in the mist. The black behemoth kept coming. Angie engaged the rear window wipers, smearing an arc through mud and sleet. Through her rearview mirror she saw big silver letters across the grille. RAM. Her mind raced as she absorbed details—Dodge, black, diesel engine. Tinted windows, the passenger cab extended. Wheels had been tricked out with silver spurs and studs. Plate was obscured by mud. A row of hunting spotlights suddenly flared to life along the top of the cab. The diesel engine revved.
Angie clenched her jaw as reality hit—this truck was trying to run her off the road. She pressed down on the accelerator, bracing her body in anticipation of a bang. But the Dodge abruptly dropped back, lights fading into the mist. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Angie swallowed, tried to breathe. Gripping the Subaru wheel tightly, she bent forward as she peered through the sleet-smeared windshield, trying to locate somewhere she could pull off the logging track and get out of the truck’s way.
Part of her also didn’t want to stop. The truck’s occupants might be trying to force her to do just that, and then she could be in dire trouble, out here alone with them. Unarmed against hunters. Or perhaps it was just someone trying to spook her like Wallace and the twins had spooked Jasmine and the women along the river almost a quarter of a century ago.
But the warning left in her trashed Mini Cooper suggested something more sinister.
GO HOME BITCH BEFORE SOMEONE GETS HURT
She flicked a glance at the drop to her left. She couldn’t even see where the water was now, the cloud was so dense, the sleet slashing at her windshield like thick gelatin. Worst-case scenario, the driver of that truck intended to run her off the road and into that frigid lake.
The black behemoth suddenly came racing up behind her again, diesel engine roaring and revving. Her heart stampeded in her chest. She shot another look at the sheer, rocky drop on her left. She knew the lake was deep. Very deep. If her car went over and hit the freezing water, she’d sink fast, drown in the rental. If she could even get out in time, she’d have trouble making it to the surface before hypothermia got her.
The road ahead of her rose suddenly in a sharp incline. Angie took the opportunity, stepping on the accelerator, fishtailing in mud as she tried to gather speed up the hill, revs high, engine whining. Maybe she could put some distance between her Subaru and the heavy truck on the uphill. The rear of her car jacked sideways suddenly, then whipped back. But she kept her foot down, her heart in her throat.
Behind her, the truck began to fall back as she increased the gap between them. Angie hit the summit of the incline. In front of her, the road dipped suddenly. At the bottom of the hill was a tight bend.Fuck!
She crested and immediately started gathering speed downhill. But she barely tapped the brakes as she careered down, fists tight on the wheel, teeth clenched, her shirt growing wet against her skin.
As she neared the bottom at speed and the curve loomed, panic licked through her bowels.
This fucking driver is trying to send me into the lake all by myself. It’ll look like a total accident in foul weather, with a driver inexperienced in this terrain.
