That cheeky bastard had been asking to get his nose pushed out. But instead of running like a frightened rabbit once she’d got him to back off, she should have asked him for directions; demanded to know where she was and which was the quickest way out. Instead, she was driving blind again, along tangled roads which seemed to exist without rhyme or reason, still a hundred miles from home, and – she glanced at her clock – it was now almost ten.
Alex swore under her breath.
She filched the mobile phone from the side pocket in the door – but calling Joe would serve no real purpose. He couldn’t consult a map on her behalf, or even go online and try to pull off an AA road guide, because she had no reference points to give him: she’d seen occasional huddles of farm buildings, but there’d been no lights in their windows and no village signs. The net result of calling home now would be to set Joe pacing the house – and with his blood pressure that wouldn’t be good.
She slowed the Corsa and pulled in against the side of the road, before flicking on the interior light. She felt incredibly isolated, her car a glowing capsule in a sea of empty darkness. She checked the sat-nav again, but dropping it into the footwell hadn’t helped. Its screen had cracked, and now she couldn’t even activate the power switch.
The way she saw it, she had two choices: she could carry on ploughing through the night, hoping to see something that might guide her. Or she could go back and ask the Traffic cop for directions.
She didn’t like the latter option, but increasingly, it looked like her only choice. No doubt he’d be stewing in his own juice by now, getting angrier and angrier about being bested by her. But what was he going to do? Confiscate the Smartpen? In effect rob her? He might fancy himself a Lothario, but she’d seen no sign that he was violent. If anything, when she’d first turned the tables on him he’d looked like a scared little lad. But just in case. she slid the Smartpen under her seat; he wouldn’t be able to put his hands on it even if he tried. Jesus, he might be glad to see her return, might be grateful for a chance to negotiate. Either way, she’d brazened it out with the officious little wanker once, so she could easily do it again.
Unhappily, she put the car back in gear and swung it around in a three-point turn.
By her reckoning she’d come about a mile since leaving him. He might not be there now, of course – she’d told him to piss off. But after driving nervously for several minutes, the road ahead curved to the right and she recognised several clumps of trees. This was the spot. As she rounded the bend, his vehicle came back into view in the lay-by. His interior light was on, but he was standing alongside his driver’s door – or at least somebody was. Alex was about forty yards away and approaching fast when she realised that the cop was actually in the driving seat. Whoever was standing on the road conversing with him through his window must have arrived since she’d left, because now she could see the sleek outline of another vehicle parked about ten yards behind his.
Good! In fact, ideal! He won’t try anything with someone else here.
Three bright flashes inside the police car suddenly distracted her.
Alex didn’t realise what they were until she heard the belated trio of gunshots. And even then she at first dismissed the idea, or tried to. Numbness seeped through her as she drove forward. For the next few seconds she viewed events in staccato fashion, seeing the world as a procession of blurred freeze-frames:
The Traffic car and the standing figure approached on her right.
The figure was clad head-to-toe in black.
Its left arm was poked through the Traffic car’s window.
There was now no sign of the cop – had he slumped down?
The inside of his windscreen was filmed with crimson spatters …
Alex unconsciously decelerated, almost slowing to a halt as she glided incredulously past. The figure pivoted slowly around to watch her. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her approach because of the full head rapist mask he was wearing, complete with narrow slots for his eyes and a zipper where his mouth should be.
Then he was behind her, falling steadily away again.
Alex’s heart juddered in her chest. Her hands were like claws on the wheel.
They were playacting – they had to be. It was a game, some kind of rehearsal.
There was another flash and a loud report, and a massive impact on her rear window, one whole side of which spider-webbed. Even this failed to jerk Alex from her daze. She yelped and ducked, but it was pure instinct. Only when a second report followed, her right wing mirror exploding in shards and splinters, did she scream aloud and slam her foot down. The Corsa lurched forward as she worked up through the gears. At the same time she fumbled for her mobile, but her hand was slick with sweat.And as she caught a swirl of movement in the rear-view mirror, a long, sleek vehicle spraying gravel as it swung around on to the blacktop, the phone slipped from her grasp, bounced off the handbrake and landed somewhere in the darkened recess behind.
Alex screamed again, panic-stricken.
It was amazing how it concentrated your mind, knowing that one tiny slip could end your life. For all her fast driving at home, Alex had never taken hairpin bends at ultra high speed. But that was what she did now, tyres shrieking as she fishtailed around corners, a stench of burnt rubber filling her nostrils.
Her pursuer’s headlamps, like two luminous eyes, constantly swung into view behind her.
‘He killed that cop! Just walked up and shot him!’
It was absurd, but even saying those words aloud didn’t make it seem real.
WHUUUMP! Another blow struck the rear of her vehicle, swaying it on its shocks.
Good God, the bastard’s shot at me again!
The road straightened out ahead, and she floored the pedal. Darkened hedgerows rocketed by on either side. There had to be someone around here whose front drive she could park on, whose front door she could hammer down. But perhaps even that wouldn’t save her. She goggled at the rear-view mirror; he was tailgating her by only a few feet, a distance he soon closed to a few inches. His engine revved insanely; he was so close that she could see his anthracite outline hunched behind the steering wheel. He’d kept his mask on. Of course he had, because he was going to need it when he was standing over her, to create a final instant of horror as he trained his gun on her face, the zippered mouth curved in a jack-o’-lantern smile, his leather-gloved finger crooking on the trigger …
No … dear Christ, no! Don’t think like that. You’re going to get out of this! You have to! Joe’s waiting at home for you!
Her normal life would go on. This was nothing; a nightmare, a nasty interlude …
With a thundering impact, he rammed her rear end.
Alex screamed as she swerved. A glance at her speedo showed that she was doing nearly ninety. If she lost control now, she’d roll the Corsa for hundreds of yards.
CRAAASH!
He struck her again – he was definitely trying to force her off the road, and his vehicle was clearly more powerful than hers.
‘Bastard!’ she sobbed. ‘You sodding maniac bastard!’
A T-junction loomed ahead, a road-sign nestling beneath a single streetlamp. But Alex had no time to read it; she spun to the right at heart-stopping speed, her nearside wheels bouncing over the kerb, thrashing through undergrowth. The chasing vehicle copied the manoeuvre, but fell behind a little, allowing her a proper glimpse of it in the fleeting yellow light. She thought it might be an Audi Saloon, possibly black, but she didn’t waste time trying to be sure. The road arrowed on and on through her headlights. She got her foot down again, as hard as she could, and at the same time groped behind her seat with one hand to see if she could locate her mobile,