Chapter One
Hera wasn’t sure how long her old Mustang would hold up on the twisty mountain roads, but there was no time to stop. The car was an ‘85, and not something she’d planned to drive outside of her hometown of Winston. She patted out a reassuring rhythm on the gear shift. “Come on, honey,” she said. “Just get me to Reno.”
Sixty miles away. They could do it. They were in this together.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. The white pickup had been following her for a while. Stop it, she told herself. There weren’t many turnoffs—where else could the pickup go but forward, the same direction she was headed? If she had a panic attack every time someone was behind her, she’d never get to Reno.
The pickup pulled forward, nearly to her rear bumper, before falling back again. There was a sign for a passing lane in half a mile. She forced her fingers to relax on the steering wheel. A death grip wouldn’t get her anywhere faster.
There was the passing lane. Hera eased back on the gas, hoping the pickup would pull forward and pass her. She slowed further and even stuck her arm out the window, gesturing the truck forward. He came right up on her tail but still wouldn’t go around. A dark green SUV zoomed past both of them, but the pickup stayed on her bumper.
Either an asshole or a hired goon, she thought. He pulled back once more, giving her space, even when she slowed again. Her heart beat faster. He was following her, now she was sure of it. Tobin had figured out where she was going and sent someone after her. At the base of a twisting incline, she downshifted and slammed down on the gas. The little Mustang shot forward, engine roaring. If she got far enough ahead, she’d pull down a forest service road and take cover behind the pines and manzanita. But she had to get really far ahead if she didn’t want a dust cloud giving away her retreat.
The engine wasn’t sounding good, though, and steam was billowing from the hood. She glanced at the temperature gauge. Shit. It was overheating. There hadn’t been time to give her a tune-up in the school garage where Hera taught auto mechanics. There hadn’t even been time to grab more than a couple changes of clothes and her toothbrush. No time to buy a prepaid cell phone to use in emergencies. Afraid of her regular cell being tracked, even though she’d turned it off, she’d left it behind. Now she was in the woods, alone with an ominous white pickup and a failing engine.
On the next upward curve, the Mustang sputtered. Frantic, Hera pushed down the gas pedal. “Come on come on come on .”
The engine died. Hera maneuvered the car toward the edge of the road, half on the shoulder and half in a low ditch. She checked the rearview. The white pickup came around the bend and slowed. She braced herself for it to stop, for someone to run out and grab her, but the truck traveled past.
She let out a shaky laugh. Paranoid. She patted the dashboard. “Oh, girl, we’re going to make it. Don’t you worry.”
She unbuckled and popped the hood release, then climbed out to examine the engine. A cloud of steam billowed up from underneath the hood. Just as she thought, something with the radiator. As she poked around, she discovered that the upper radiator hose was leaking. Shit. If the Mustang was going to go anywhere at all, she’d need a new hose. Hera looked up at the trees, as if hoping a spare hose might be dangling above her, like a pine cone.
Even though it was only a two-lane highway, the road was too exposed. She had to get out of here, away from the car. The sooner, the better. There was no telling how soon Tobin would figure out she ran, no telling how soon he’d send someone after her. Destroy the evidence, kill Hera to keep her quiet.
She slammed down the hood and ran around the back of the car. She grabbed her gym bag with her clothes and toiletries, and the folder of photos—the only evidence of Tobin’s crimes. If she had to hike to Reno,
Hera wasn’t sure how long her old Mustang would hold up on the twisty mountain roads, but there was no time to stop. The car was an ‘85, and not something she’d planned to drive outside of her hometown of Winston. She patted out a reassuring rhythm on the gear shift. “Come on, honey,” she said. “Just get me to Reno.”
Sixty miles away. They could do it. They were in this together.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. The white pickup had been following her for a while. Stop it, she told herself. There weren’t many turnoffs—where else could the pickup go but forward, the same direction she was headed? If she had a panic attack every time someone was behind her, she’d never get to Reno.
The pickup pulled forward, nearly to her rear bumper, before falling back again. There was a sign for a passing lane in half a mile. She forced her fingers to relax on the steering wheel. A death grip wouldn’t get her anywhere faster.
There was the passing lane. Hera eased back on the gas, hoping the pickup would pull forward and pass her. She slowed further and even stuck her arm out the window, gesturing the truck forward. He came right up on her tail but still wouldn’t go around. A dark green SUV zoomed past both of them, but the pickup stayed on her bumper.
Either an asshole or a hired goon, she thought. He pulled back once more, giving her space, even when she slowed again. Her heart beat faster. He was following her, now she was sure of it. Tobin had figured out where she was going and sent someone after her. At the base of a twisting incline, she downshifted and slammed down on the gas. The little Mustang shot forward, engine roaring. If she got far enough ahead, she’d pull down a forest service road and take cover behind the pines and manzanita. But she had to get really far ahead if she didn’t want a dust cloud giving away her retreat.
The engine wasn’t sounding good, though, and steam was billowing from the hood. She glanced at the temperature gauge. Shit. It was overheating. There hadn’t been time to give her a tune-up in the school garage where Hera taught auto mechanics. There hadn’t even been time to grab more than a couple changes of clothes and her toothbrush. No time to buy a prepaid cell phone to use in emergencies. Afraid of her regular cell being tracked, even though she’d turned it off, she’d left it behind. Now she was in the woods, alone with an ominous white pickup and a failing engine.
On the next upward curve, the Mustang sputtered. Frantic, Hera pushed down the gas pedal. “Come on come on come on .”
The engine died. Hera maneuvered the car toward the edge of the road, half on the shoulder and half in a low ditch. She checked the rearview. The white pickup came around the bend and slowed. She braced herself for it to stop, for someone to run out and grab her, but the truck traveled past.
She let out a shaky laugh. Paranoid. She patted the dashboard. “Oh, girl, we’re going to make it. Don’t you worry.”
She unbuckled and popped the hood release, then climbed out to examine the engine. A cloud of steam billowed up from underneath the hood. Just as she thought, something with the radiator. As she poked around, she discovered that the upper radiator hose was leaking. Shit. If the Mustang was going to go anywhere at all, she’d need a new hose. Hera looked up at the trees, as if hoping a spare hose might be dangling above her, like a pine cone.
Even though it was only a two-lane highway, the road was too exposed. She had to get out of here, away from the car. The sooner, the better. There was no telling how soon Tobin would figure out she ran, no telling how soon he’d send someone after her. Destroy the evidence, kill Hera to keep her quiet.
She slammed down the hood and ran around the back of the car. She grabbed her gym bag with her clothes and toiletries, and the folder of photos—the only evidence of Tobin’s crimes. If she had to hike to Reno,
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