dirt. Dark hair plastered to his head.
Hell! She didn’t think twice but pulled the driver’s door closed, slapped on the automatic locks, threw the van into Drive, and hit the gas. Wheels spun, spitting dirt and gravel. The Dodge hurtled forward and crashed into the gate. With a groan the aluminum twisted and bent, but didn’t give. Damn!
Chloe rammed the van into Reverse and, spying the man running forward, didn’t hesitate. “Die, fucker!” she said through gritted teeth, and punched it. The van’s engine roared, the huge vehicle streaking backward.
Thunk!
Oh, God, she actually hit him!
Too bad .
Or not.
Her stomach revolted and she fought the urge to gag. She had to hold it together now. Throwing the gearshift lever into Drive, she punched it, hoping there was enough distance for the acceleration necessary to break through the gate. Tires whirred as the Dodge spurted forward, hitting the gate and stopping so quickly Chloe was thrown against the steering wheel. “Ooof!” She caught her breath. Had to keep moving. “Come on, come on,” she moaned through her pain, and tromped on the accelerator again.
Whining, the tires dug deep into the lane.
Thunk! That same awful sound she’d heard before when she’d run over the bastard. But the van wasn’t moving. No matter how hard she stepped on the gas. Frantic, she rammed the Dodge into Reverse again to take another run at the gate.
Thunk!
What?
Crash!
The passenger door window shattered.
Glass sprayed.
A beefy hand shot through.
Chloe screamed.
The door flew open.
The huge whack job stood in the frail light cast by an interior lamp.
Clutched in one of his massive hands was a heavy stick, most likely the branch he’d used to thump against the van.
“No!” Terrified, she scrabbled for the door lock. She had to get out. To run!
Cowering against the driver’s door, she tried to find the handle, but the evil smile that crawled over his bruised and bloodied face petrified her. He knew she couldn’t escape.
A weak, mewling sound slipped from her throat.
He yanked the key from the ignition and opened the glove box.
Her fingers found the door handle.
She pulled.
Her door gave way, but as she dove to the left to escape the van something closed over her arm. He had grabbed her with one meaty hand.
“Not so fast,” he muttered against her ear as she fought, flailing and clawing at him. She tried to wrench free, but the sound of a metal click matched the manacle he was tightening over her wrist.
Handcuffs. He’d taken them from the glove box.
Before she could react he yanked her over his lap and twisted her arms behind her. Over her own cries, she heard the horrifying click of the second cuff locking, and she knew it was over.
He would never let down his guard again.
She was as good as dead.
C HAPTER 5
A fter a fitful night’s sleep, Brianna showered, then scraped her curly hair into a loose, dark knot before throwing on yesterday’s faded jeans and her favorite cotton tee. While St. Ives preened himself, she went to the kitchen to make coffee and clean a few dishes that seemed to have multiplied on their own in her sink.
Last night’s dreams still lingered with their disturbing images, but in the predawn hours she had convinced herself that her dreams were hers to own, period. It was silly to think that skeletons in the desert had any connection to Tanisha’s nightmares. “It’s all just some weird cosmic coincidence,” she muttered as the doorbell pealed.
She glanced at the clock on her stove.
The sun wasn’t even up yet.
No one stopped by this early.
Wiping her hands, she made her way to the front door, peered through one of the sidelights, and spied Selma Denning on the front stoop. Selma stood in a cloud of smoke, pulling hard on a cigarette.
Brianna felt a chill deep inside. Selma had given up smoking years ago, and it wasn’t like her to drop by so early in the morning. Pale as death, her graying hair pulled back into
Hell! She didn’t think twice but pulled the driver’s door closed, slapped on the automatic locks, threw the van into Drive, and hit the gas. Wheels spun, spitting dirt and gravel. The Dodge hurtled forward and crashed into the gate. With a groan the aluminum twisted and bent, but didn’t give. Damn!
Chloe rammed the van into Reverse and, spying the man running forward, didn’t hesitate. “Die, fucker!” she said through gritted teeth, and punched it. The van’s engine roared, the huge vehicle streaking backward.
Thunk!
Oh, God, she actually hit him!
Too bad .
Or not.
Her stomach revolted and she fought the urge to gag. She had to hold it together now. Throwing the gearshift lever into Drive, she punched it, hoping there was enough distance for the acceleration necessary to break through the gate. Tires whirred as the Dodge spurted forward, hitting the gate and stopping so quickly Chloe was thrown against the steering wheel. “Ooof!” She caught her breath. Had to keep moving. “Come on, come on,” she moaned through her pain, and tromped on the accelerator again.
Whining, the tires dug deep into the lane.
Thunk! That same awful sound she’d heard before when she’d run over the bastard. But the van wasn’t moving. No matter how hard she stepped on the gas. Frantic, she rammed the Dodge into Reverse again to take another run at the gate.
Thunk!
What?
Crash!
The passenger door window shattered.
Glass sprayed.
A beefy hand shot through.
Chloe screamed.
The door flew open.
The huge whack job stood in the frail light cast by an interior lamp.
Clutched in one of his massive hands was a heavy stick, most likely the branch he’d used to thump against the van.
“No!” Terrified, she scrabbled for the door lock. She had to get out. To run!
Cowering against the driver’s door, she tried to find the handle, but the evil smile that crawled over his bruised and bloodied face petrified her. He knew she couldn’t escape.
A weak, mewling sound slipped from her throat.
He yanked the key from the ignition and opened the glove box.
Her fingers found the door handle.
She pulled.
Her door gave way, but as she dove to the left to escape the van something closed over her arm. He had grabbed her with one meaty hand.
“Not so fast,” he muttered against her ear as she fought, flailing and clawing at him. She tried to wrench free, but the sound of a metal click matched the manacle he was tightening over her wrist.
Handcuffs. He’d taken them from the glove box.
Before she could react he yanked her over his lap and twisted her arms behind her. Over her own cries, she heard the horrifying click of the second cuff locking, and she knew it was over.
He would never let down his guard again.
She was as good as dead.
C HAPTER 5
A fter a fitful night’s sleep, Brianna showered, then scraped her curly hair into a loose, dark knot before throwing on yesterday’s faded jeans and her favorite cotton tee. While St. Ives preened himself, she went to the kitchen to make coffee and clean a few dishes that seemed to have multiplied on their own in her sink.
Last night’s dreams still lingered with their disturbing images, but in the predawn hours she had convinced herself that her dreams were hers to own, period. It was silly to think that skeletons in the desert had any connection to Tanisha’s nightmares. “It’s all just some weird cosmic coincidence,” she muttered as the doorbell pealed.
She glanced at the clock on her stove.
The sun wasn’t even up yet.
No one stopped by this early.
Wiping her hands, she made her way to the front door, peered through one of the sidelights, and spied Selma Denning on the front stoop. Selma stood in a cloud of smoke, pulling hard on a cigarette.
Brianna felt a chill deep inside. Selma had given up smoking years ago, and it wasn’t like her to drop by so early in the morning. Pale as death, her graying hair pulled back into
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