Page 7 of The Quiet Witness

Lights hit her face. A lone car traveling… A guy with glasses on, full focus on the road. Most likely heading home, to a wife or kids waiting for him to scoot in on the dining table for breakfast in the morning. What would the man do if she flagged him down? Kill him with the gun that clung to his hip? The driver probably wouldn’t even see her. Or so she thought, until his head turned, watching their car idling on the emergency shoulder.

“I wouldn’t.” His voice was steady and the threat within. Crystal clear.

“Why wouldn’t I?” The truth was she had nothing left to lose but her life, for however long that would last, she wouldn’t spend it as a victim. As long as she could move her hands and feet, she could keep fighting.

Finally, he backed away. His breath hitched. It was subtle but repeated as he settled in the driver’s seat. His forearms were dressed in bandages, stark white in the reflection of the mirror. That was the reason for the burn under her nails, the pressure building beneath, her final act of defiance had left its marks.

He adjusted the mirror, the little glass now continuing their staring competition as it framed her pale face.

She looked awful. A fight with a mountain lion wouldn’t have her looking this… haggard. But he was hurt too, those ribs of his, they’d be stealing his breath for a while.

Blue eyes faced green ones. They could have stayed there the entire night for all Kate cared. Suspended in this… game of who would look away first. A silly fight that she thought she could win, silly indeed.

But the killer merely winked at her, winked! Then putting the car into first gear he said, “Let’s just say, I’ll warn against making any moves. The consequences could be… uncomfortable.” He merged onto the highway, the car she’d seen… its red taillights faded from view.

She leaned back, ignoring the cold embrace of the leather against her back, no way would she be picking up the blanket. Cold or not, it felt too much like… giving in. Or maybe… Next to it lay the coarse rope, discarded onto the floor beside her feet. With a perfect length to give him a taste of his own.

“You know… You never did answer my question.”

Fuck.

Those green depths weighed down on her once more.

Her head made a somersault as she bent down to grab the blanket, sliding the rope underneath it before scooting back. Spreading the cloth out over her legs. “Claustrophobia? No. What would your response be to being choked out, kidnapped and then tied up?” She was getting warmer alright, but it had nothing to do with the blanket and everything to do with the rope clenched in her fist. Out of view.

“Good point.” The rope dug deeper in her hands.

Now if he would keep his attention off of her for longer than five seconds.

“That said… how would you respond to a girl wanting to choke you out with the rope in her hand?” She felt the blood drain from her cheeks.

His hand raised over the gear shift, palm up. “I’d like that back.”

All-seeing son of a gun.

“What are you talking about?” She kept her voice low, innocent like a child caught with her hand in a jar of cookies.

“The rope you’ve been wanting to twist around my neck.”

“I don’t know what you’re—,”

“It would be bad for the both of us.”

“I don’t see how this…” She lifted the rope in the air, waving it around. “Could hurt both of us.”

He let go of the steering wheel, Kate watched, heart in her throat as the car veered closer to the white line. “Sorry, this isn’t a self-driving car.”

“Maybe I’ll be better off.” Whatever his plans were. If she didn’t get out. There wasn’t a future in which she could see anything but pain and suffering.

“Maybe… you need to give it another think.” He took back control over the wheel with a hand, the other still upraised between them.

That must give cramps at some point, perhaps she should just wait for that to happen.

“You won’t be fast enough. Plus, it won’t be worth the consequences.”

The rope weighed heavy in her hand. “You sure?” It was almost hypnotizing… endless possibilities raging through her mind.

But there was the one thought of the car flipping over. A memory too intertwined with another, younger version of her. It had led to her standing at a house with a hole in the door.