Lethal Legacy. Carol J. Post

out a week and a half, her desk would be a mess. But she’d get everything whipped into shape by the end of the day, and any loose ends she couldn’t tie up, she’d deal with remotely.

      When she stepped from the building hours later, it was dusk. She laid her laptop case on the passenger seat. She’d use public internet until she decided whether to have it installed at the house.

      For the next few weeks, she’d be right next door to Bryce. But she’d deal with that, too. She was a mature adult, not a love-struck teenager. Back then, Bryce had promised to love her with a love as big as the sky, always and forever. And she’d believed it. At the time, the words were cheesy. In hindsight, they were meaningless. In the intervening years, she’d learned there was no such thing as always and forever.

      Thirty minutes after arriving home, she was ready to hit the road. She did enough traveling on business to know how to pack quickly. She tossed the two small bags into the back seat of the Escalade.

      As she drove north on 75, then took the 575 ramp, the weight that had been pressing down on her lifted. Taking additional time off had been a good idea. So had getting out of Atlanta. She wasn’t running away; she was just... Okay, maybe she was.

      But it was about time. She’d never run from anything. She was always forging ahead, accepting the next challenge, whether in school or work or life in general. Now she was just tired.

      She made the left turn onto 60 and arched her back, working out some of the stiffness. It was the final leg of her trip. Mineral Bluff was a short distance ahead. Then she’d make her right onto Spur 60, which would take her across the state line. Ten minutes after that, she’d be lugging her bags inside and preparing for what she hoped would be a good night’s sleep.

      As she tapped the brakes for the first curve, headlights shone in her rearview mirror. The vehicle drew closer, and she squinted, waiting for the driver to dim his lights. He didn’t. Soon he was on her tail. She rounded the curve and accelerated. The other driver did the same, maintaining a distance of one car length. Judging from the height of the headlights and distance between them, the other vehicle was a larger pickup truck.

      Her heart pounded and her palms grew slick against the wheel. She was driving fifteen miles over the speed limit and approaching another curve.

      She tapped her brakes and the gap closed. A second later, a bump from behind thrust her vehicle forward. Her tires squealed and she struggled to keep the SUV on the road.

      Coming out of the curve, she straightened the wheel but didn’t loosen her grip. If she could hang on until after the last curve, she could pull out her phone and call 911.

      She floored the pedal, but the distance she gained quickly evaporated. The vehicle behind her slammed into her, snapping her head backward against the seat. She pressed the brake, but the truck pushed her into the next curve. After a prolonged squeal, her tires gave up their traction and the Escalade slid sideways. She bounced several times, her head snapping side to side.

      Then the world started a slow spin. Her seat belt tightened against her legs and the airbag slammed into her. Pain shot through her face and one arm. A high-pitched scream filled the car. A terrifying moment passed before she realized it was hers.

      The SUV came to rest at a sharp sideways angle. She pushed the airbag out of the way, her seat belt the only thing keeping her from tumbling to the passenger side of the vehicle.

      She looked around in the darkness. Had her attacker fled, or was he making his way down the slope to finish what he’d started?

      She wasn’t going to wait to find out. After a quick check for broken bones, she pulled the handle and gave the door a hard shove. Small bits of window glass tumbled downward, but the door didn’t budge. Using her shoulder didn’t work, either.

      After killing the headlights, she stared into the night. No one was approaching. The darkness wasn’t complete, but it was close. She needed to get out of the vehicle. And she needed to call for help.

      With her feet pressed into the floorboard and one hand gripping the wheel, she released the belt and eased into the passenger seat. She wasn’t getting out that way, either. Her SUV rested against a large tree. It was what had kept her from continuing her tumble all the way to the bottom of the slope.

      Where was her purse? She turned on the map lights, then crawled between the bucket seats. Both her purse and laptop were lying on the rear floorboard.

      Her hands shook as she fished out her phone. After punching in the numbers, she pressed the phone to her ear.

      As she relayed what had happened, she reached over the console to turn off the lights. She’d be safer sitting in the dark. With mobile locate, emergency personnel would find her. To make their job a little easier, she’d click on the headlights once she heard sirens.

      When the dispatcher asked, she passed on the ambulance. She’d be sore tomorrow. But nothing was broken or dislocated. The airbag had even protected her from the shattered glass. She’d be free to leave after the police report. She’d take a cab to Murphy, and tomorrow morning, a wrecker would retrieve her car and tow it to a shop.

      Meanwhile, she had time to think.

      Why had someone gone after her? Was it a case of road rage? Maybe she’d cut someone off without realizing it, and they’d followed her from the interstate, irrational anger building with every passing mile.

      If she had, she hadn’t noticed. And who would wait more than an hour to react to someone cutting them off in traffic?

      Another scenario was more likely. But it was one she didn’t want to consider—that the attack might be personal.

      A little more than a week ago, her parents had tumbled down a mountain to their deaths.

      Tonight, she’d missed a curve, too, with a little help. Had her parents’ brakes failed? Or had they gotten the same kind of nudge?

      As much as she didn’t want to think about it, the question wouldn’t leave her alone.