red sports car. She could see the man, still at the wheel, his head slightly tilted in her direction. Part of her just wanted to scream at him to leave her and her son alone. But instead, Susan hurried around to the driver’s side of her car. Tossing the bag on the passenger seat, she scooted behind the wheel, then shut her door and locked it. Her hands were still trembling as she turned the key in the ignition and shifted into reverse. Then she backed out of the space, turned the car around, and headed out of the lot.
Speeding down Carroll Creek Road, Susan checked her rearview mirror several times. The MINI Cooper hadn’t moved. Finally she took a curve in the tree-lined road, and she couldn’t see the store anymore.
Susan started to wonder if she’d overreacted back there. The man really hadn’t done anything—except come on as overly friendly and solicitous at the Arby’s earlier. Yes, he’d shown up at the store, but fifteen minutes after her. Was he really following her? Maybe he was a local.
Something buckled under the car. Susan glanced in her rearview mirror to see if she’d hit a piece of metal on the road—or had lost some part of the car. But the road was clear behind her.
The car suddenly rocked and wobbled as if it were going over a series of potholes. Biting her lip, Susan clutched the steering wheel. It vibrated from the rough ride. She nervously glanced at the driver’s side mirror—shaking so much the reflection was just a blur.
Mattie was jostled in his booster seat. “Gimme up! Gimme up!”
Easing up on the gas, Susan steered over to the side of the road. The car seemed to be limping. It felt like she had a flat tire. “Oh, I really don’t need this now,” she muttered to herself, a pang of dread in her stomach.
She switched on the emergency blinkers, cut the ignition, and then glanced back at Mattie. “Well, that was pretty exciting, wasn’t it?” she asked.
Wide-eyed, he nodded and put his thumb in his mouth.
“I’m just going to take a look at the damage, okay, sweetheart?” she said. “I’ll be right outside where you can see me.” Climbing out of the car, Susan checked around the back. The rear tire on the driver’s side was flat; the hubcap pressed against the gravel roadside.
“Oh, swell,” she murmured. She remembered that article again: Local police discovered Matusik’s abandoned car on Timberlake Drive in Cullen. One of the rear tires was flat….
Even though she knew it wouldn’t work, Susan took out her cell phone and tried dialing Allen. Her hands were shaking. No signal available came up on the tiny screen.
With a nervous sigh, she popped open the trunk and started to unload their suitcases so she could get the spare tire, jack, and other equipment. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty road behind her.
The narrow highway curved around a wall of tall evergreens, but there was a gap between some of the trees, and she saw another little stretch of road—and a car. Susan was too far away to see the color or the make of the car.
But it was coming her way.
He watched her unload the jack, wrench, and spare tire from the trunk of her old Toyota. All the while, Susan Blanchette kept looking over her shoulder.
He stood behind a tree in the woods, about thirty feet away, snacking on a Three Musketeers bar.
He’d given her the flat tire, his way of welcoming her to Cullen—and an ominous start to this weekend he’d planned for her. Susan had no idea he was calling all the shots. He knew Susan would be coming to Cullen before she did.
And he knew she would die.
He’d been waiting for Susan and had kept a lookout for her red Toyota—license plate: MLF901. While she’d been in Rosie’s Roadside Sundries, he’d set a small device under her rear left tire. It was a foot-long spiked metal strip—a section cut from a long grid that rental car companies used at their lot exits and entrances to prevent theft. Those spiked strips instantly
Speeding down Carroll Creek Road, Susan checked her rearview mirror several times. The MINI Cooper hadn’t moved. Finally she took a curve in the tree-lined road, and she couldn’t see the store anymore.
Susan started to wonder if she’d overreacted back there. The man really hadn’t done anything—except come on as overly friendly and solicitous at the Arby’s earlier. Yes, he’d shown up at the store, but fifteen minutes after her. Was he really following her? Maybe he was a local.
Something buckled under the car. Susan glanced in her rearview mirror to see if she’d hit a piece of metal on the road—or had lost some part of the car. But the road was clear behind her.
The car suddenly rocked and wobbled as if it were going over a series of potholes. Biting her lip, Susan clutched the steering wheel. It vibrated from the rough ride. She nervously glanced at the driver’s side mirror—shaking so much the reflection was just a blur.
Mattie was jostled in his booster seat. “Gimme up! Gimme up!”
Easing up on the gas, Susan steered over to the side of the road. The car seemed to be limping. It felt like she had a flat tire. “Oh, I really don’t need this now,” she muttered to herself, a pang of dread in her stomach.
She switched on the emergency blinkers, cut the ignition, and then glanced back at Mattie. “Well, that was pretty exciting, wasn’t it?” she asked.
Wide-eyed, he nodded and put his thumb in his mouth.
“I’m just going to take a look at the damage, okay, sweetheart?” she said. “I’ll be right outside where you can see me.” Climbing out of the car, Susan checked around the back. The rear tire on the driver’s side was flat; the hubcap pressed against the gravel roadside.
“Oh, swell,” she murmured. She remembered that article again: Local police discovered Matusik’s abandoned car on Timberlake Drive in Cullen. One of the rear tires was flat….
Even though she knew it wouldn’t work, Susan took out her cell phone and tried dialing Allen. Her hands were shaking. No signal available came up on the tiny screen.
With a nervous sigh, she popped open the trunk and started to unload their suitcases so she could get the spare tire, jack, and other equipment. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty road behind her.
The narrow highway curved around a wall of tall evergreens, but there was a gap between some of the trees, and she saw another little stretch of road—and a car. Susan was too far away to see the color or the make of the car.
But it was coming her way.
He watched her unload the jack, wrench, and spare tire from the trunk of her old Toyota. All the while, Susan Blanchette kept looking over her shoulder.
He stood behind a tree in the woods, about thirty feet away, snacking on a Three Musketeers bar.
He’d given her the flat tire, his way of welcoming her to Cullen—and an ominous start to this weekend he’d planned for her. Susan had no idea he was calling all the shots. He knew Susan would be coming to Cullen before she did.
And he knew she would die.
He’d been waiting for Susan and had kept a lookout for her red Toyota—license plate: MLF901. While she’d been in Rosie’s Roadside Sundries, he’d set a small device under her rear left tire. It was a foot-long spiked metal strip—a section cut from a long grid that rental car companies used at their lot exits and entrances to prevent theft. Those spiked strips instantly
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