Page 139 of No Good Fight

That bothers me more than if Preston were standing in the middle of the road waiting for me.

He wanted me here. He should know I arrived.

The certainty helps me keep moving.

Mrs. Vance is somewhere ahead of me, and every minute I spend standing beside the truck is another minute Preston gets with her.

I take another few steps.

A sharp sting hits the back of my upper arm.

I jerk around so fast my balance goes with me, one hand flying out until my palm catches the side of the truck. Pain flashes behind my eyes from the sudden movement, and for a second I’m more focused on keeping myself upright than figuring out what just happened.

Then I reach over my shoulder.

My fingertips find something small caught in the fabric of Ryder’s hoodie.

I pull it free.

The object in my hand is narrow, with a short point at one end.

My stomach drops.

“No.”

I scan the trees.

There’s nobody there.

No movement between the trunks. No footsteps. No car door. Nothing on the road behind me except Ryder’s truck and the wet tracks I left getting here.

I throw the dart into the mud and reach for the driver’s door.

My fingers miss the handle.

I stare at my hand because I know where the handle is. I’m looking directly at it. Somehow my arm isn’t doing what I’m telling it to do quickly enough.

I try again and catch it this time.

The door opens.

Relief hits so hard I almost laugh, but when I lift my foot toward the running board, my knee buckles instead.

I catch myself against the seat.

“Come on.”

My voice sounds distant.

I drag myself higher, trying to get enough weight forward to climb back into the cab, but my arms have started feeling heavy. They still work, only every movement takes longer than it should, like there’s a delay between deciding what I want and my muscles agreeing to do it.

I know enough to understand I’m not going to be able to drive.

That doesn’t stop me from trying.

My hand searches across the seat for the horn, the keys, anything that could make noise or get the truck moving. The key is still in the cup holder exactly where I left it for Ryder, several inches farther than my fingers can reach from this angle.

I almost move it.