Blind Instinct by Fiona Brand Page A

feet. An elderly man picked up her purse, which she must have dropped, and helped her to the sidewalk.
    She leaned into him, limping and ridiculously weak. She was bruised and sore, she had wrenched her ankle and her palms were bleeding, but she was alive.
    He helped her to an empty table at a nearby café. A waitress hurried over with water and a supply of paper napkins. “Do you need an ambulance?”
    Sara blotted her palms, which were leaking blood and watery fluid. She realized her white blouse was spattered, and so were her beige pants. The lurid stains made her injuries look a lot more serious than they were.
    â€œI’m fine.” She peeled the napkins off the heels of her palms. The bleeding had almost stopped, making them look raw and sore. “If I could use your bathroom to clean up, that’s all the help I’ll need.”
    â€œNo problem.” The waitress indicated the restroom doors just visible at the far end of the café.
    As Sara pushed to her feet, the elderly man handed her her purse. “Are you sure you’re okay? Shock is a funny thing. It can sneak up on you.”
    She put more weight on her sore ankle. When it held, she straightened and let out a breath. She didn’t feel good; aside from the dizziness and the fact that she was shaking with reaction, her head was throbbing. She didn’t think she had a concussion, but the bang on top of the sleepless nights and the sleeping pill hadn’t helped. “A couple of painkillers and a good night’s sleep and I’ll be fine.”
    He stared in the direction the car had sped off. “Damned maniac. People like that shouldn’t be allowed on the road.” He handed her a piece of notepaper. “I wrote down the license plate. If you don’t want to call it in, I will, but there’s more chance the cops will haul that guy off the road if you put in the complaint.”
    Sara took the number. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it. I’m on my way to the precinct as soon as I clean up.”
    Ten minutes later, after she had soaked mostof the stains out of her blouse and slacks and rinsed and dried her hands, she used her cell phone to call in sick at work, explaining that she’d had a small accident. Feeling closer to normal, but still undeniably shaky, she limped out of the restaurant and caught a cab.
    The precinct was only three blocks over. She could have limped there, but given that she was almost certain the driver of the car that had nearly hit her had been the same guy who had attacked her last night, she didn’t want to risk it.
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    The detective who took her statement was concerned about the near accident, but ultimately dismissive about her theory that the driver of the vehicle had been deliberately trying to run her down.
    Shreveport was a university town and there were a lot of kids with hot cars. Add the casinos on the waterfront and the drug trade, both of which generated a significant “underworld” factor, and they had their share of the weird and the wacky.
    In the few minutes she had been seated in the interview room with Detective Thorpe, he had made it plain that he thought it was more likely the driver had been either a kid pulling a prank,or an addict, high on whatever drug he had pumped into his veins, than a killer.
    He studied the file on her attack the previous night. “How could you tell it was the same guy who attacked you in the library parking lot?”
    â€œI recognized his face.”
    He glanced at the statement she had just filled out. “You say here that the driver was wearing dark glasses.”
    â€œThat’s right.” And last night the assault had taken place in the dark, but she had been clear enough about what he looked like then .
    He tapped his pen on the desk. “Aside from the fact that he had dark hair and tanned skin and was wearing the glasses, was there anything else about him that you