Torch(43)

I missed Holt because… well, because.



I wasn’t going to think about that either.



As I was walked out to the truck (I parked it on the road so I wouldn’t have to back out of the driveway) a car was driving down the street. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except for the fact someone had just tried to mow me down.



Instead of moving toward the truck, I stopped in the center of the yard and stared at the car as it crept by. It wasn’t a dark sedan like the car in the Target parking lot. It was a silver BMW.



I swear it slowed down as it passed the yard where I stood. The windows were so darkly tinted that I couldn’t see who sat inside. I waited until the car turned off the street before bolting to the truck and shutting myself inside.



At the end of the street, I stopped, making sure no one was behind me, and put the truck in park to adjust the phone books beneath my butt. One was sliding loose and it was very uncomfortable.



Once that was finished, I put the truck back in drive and glanced down the street before pulling out. The silver BMW was parked a few houses down at the curb.



Strange, I thought and pulled out. About four houses down in the opposite direction, the BMW pulled out onto the road and followed me.



Call me crazy, but this probably wasn’t good.



My grip on the steering wheel tightened; my knuckles turned white. I told myself to calm down, that it was probably someone just driving to wherever they had to be. But that didn’t stop me from compulsively checking the rearview mirror to see if they were still there every three seconds.



They were.



It was a man, if I wasn’t mistaken. He had very short hair and sunglasses on his face. I couldn’t make out anything more, and I needed to keep my attention on driving. I thought about calling Holt, but then I remembered I didn’t get a new cell phone yet.



I came to a rather large intersection and figured this would be the place he would turn. He would go right toward the more congested area with the shops and restaurants, and I would go left toward the firehouse.



But that isn’t how it happened.



I turned and so did he, getting bolder and moving right up behind me. He trailed so close behind that when I looked in the rearview, I couldn’t see his front bumper. Nerves cramped my stomach and I fidgeted in my seat. Sweat slicked my palms, making the steering wheel slippery as I drove.



Almost there.



The man following along behind me laid on his horn. I jumped and one of the phone books slid off the stack. I sat up as high and straight as I could and scooted to the edge of the seat, pressing down on the gas a little more. The large engine responded immediately and I shot forward.



The BMW shot forward as well.



When I looked in the rearview, I noted he wasn’t only tailgating me and laying on his horn, but now he had his arm out the window, shaking it at me.



His arm was covered in dark fabric.



Panic took over.



The fire station came into view, and I put the pedal to the metal. The truck ripped up the street, the tires peeling against the road and kicking up a little smoke. I didn’t care. I kept going, driving as fast as I could. I almost overshot the parking lot, but I slammed on the brakes, jerked the wheel, and drove up over the curb. I skidded to a stop in the center lane, not in a parking spot and not giving two shits.



I shoved open the door as one of the men came around a giant fire engine, confusion on his face. I jumped to the ground, stumbling a bit, my wrist taking some of the fall, and I cried out.



The BMW pulled into the lot behind me, the car screeching to a halt. The driver’s door opened so the man could climb out.



“Help me!” I cried, pushing up and rushing toward the fireman. “That man is chasing me!”



I dashed forward and he caught me by the shoulders, his gaze sharpening on the other man behind me.



“He tried to run me off the road!”



Other men were spilling out of the garage now, assessing the situation and forming a circle around me.



“Katie,” the man yelled, and I turned, looking around at the guys surrounding me. My pursuer was an older man with broad shoulders and a tan.



“Oh my God, he knows my name,” I told the man still gripping my shoulders. His dark eyes narrowed on my face and his mouth pulled into a grim line.



“He won’t get near you,” he promised.



The man rushed forward and I shrieked.



He was intercepted by several very angry firefighters. He tried to push through them, still intent on getting to me. I heard him speak but didn’t hear his words.



And then one of the men drove his fist into the man’s face and he crumpled to the ground.