At the Edge by Laura Griffin Page B

leaped into a doorway, crashing to her knees. A wall of gray metal flew past, missing her by inches and making her heart nearly burst out of her chest.
    Another squeal of rubber was followed by a loud pop like a car backfiring. Emma clutched her chest. She tried to breathe, but her lungs felt paralyzed. Another roar, another squeal. The noise faded. She leaned forward, hazarding a peek from the doorway just in time to see a pair of glowing red taillights disappearing around the corner.
    She heard hysterical little hiccups and realized they were coming from her own body. She clamped her mouth shut and watched the crowd converging on the busted fire hydrant, ducking to the side to avoid the drenching spray.
    Emma pulled herself up on wobbly legs and stepped from the doorway.
    â€œHey, lady, you okay?” A man rushed toward her.
    Another engine growled nearby. Emma jumped back into the doorway as a black pickup screeched to a halt in front of her.
    A black F-250. Ryan at the wheel. The passenger window was down, and he was leaning toward it, yelling at her, but she had absolutely no idea what he was saying.
    He reached across and shoved open the passenger door.
    â€œGet in!”
    She stared at him, slack-jawed.
    â€œGet in , Emma!”
    She stumbled to the truck and jumped inside.

ELEVEN
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    A re you hurt?” he demanded.
    She was still pulling the door shut as he peeled away from the curb.
    â€œAnswer me!”
    â€œI’m—” She looked down at herself. Her knee was bleeding beneath the hem of her skirt. “I’m fine. What—”
    â€œSeat belt,” he snapped, gunning the engine and racing for the intersection. He halted inches away from an SUV’s bumper.
    She looked at him. “What just happened?”
    He reached over and dragged the seat belt across her lap. The light turned green, and he punched the gas. They sped around the corner, and Emma tipped sideways, gripping the dashboard for support. He sped up again, swerving around a delivery truck as he raced to catch up with the pickup.
    Emma looked ahead but didn’t see it.
    â€œHold on,” he ordered, careening around another corner. They skidded onto a wider road with a median down the middle. Emma looked ahead at the sea of taillights but didn’t see the pickup.
    â€œFuck.” Ryan pounded the steering wheel.
    â€œStop! What the hell just happened?”
    But he didn’t stop, and he didn’t say anything. He sped through another intersection, then swerved into a gas station and whipped into a parking space near the convenience store.
    He shoved the truck into park and turned to her. He reached over and clutched the side of her head. “Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m . . . yes, I’m okay.”
    He dropped his hand and stared at her, his eyes flashing with intensity. “How long has someone been tailing you?”
    She tried to process the words, but her heart was still racing a million miles an hour. “Tailing me ?”
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œI don’t—”
    â€œCut the bullshit, Emma. Someone’s been following you, and you damn well know it. How long?”
    She gulped and looked down. The pads of her palms were bleeding, and her hands were shaking uncontrollably. She folded them in her lap and looked up through the windshield at the convenience store.
    â€œI think . . . Thursday.” She looked at him. “That’s the first time I noticed it.”
    â€œWhere?”
    She stared at him.
    â€œWhere, Emma?”
    â€œPalmeda Road.”
    His eyebrows arched with surprise.
    â€œI swung by your apartment,” she explained. “Just to see whether you were in town. I circled your block twice, and on the second pass, I noticed a car in my rearview mirror. I thought I’d seen it earlier.”
    â€œA car, not a pickup?”
    She nodded. “Then I noticed someone again Friday. A pickup truck this time.