Chapter Seventeen
Climbing behind the wheel of her car, Isabela slammed the door shut and waited until Chris walked away before dropping her forehead to the steering wheel. This was her fault. All of it. She was supposed to be smarter than this, sharper, more professional, more in control.
She dragged in a few shaky breaths, trying to center herself, but her mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Had he kissed her just to sidestep her questions about July ninth? Was it a power play, another layer of distraction in a game she wasn’t even sure they were playing? Or worse, was it just convenient?
Every time she pushed for answers, she let Chris steer her away with touch and tenderness and those piercing blue eyes that saw too much. The worst part was that she hadn’t even fought that hard.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to keep the intrusive thoughts at bay. Stop it. Don’t spiral. She inhaled deeply through her nose, held it, then let it out slowly.
No, Chris hadn’t used her. She had seen something in his eyes. Something soft and protective. Even when he pulled away, she’d felt the hesitation, the longing. He cared. Maybe not enough to bare his soul yet, but enough to kiss her like he meant it. Enough to hold her like she mattered.
He just didn’t trust her. And wasn’t that perfect? Not only had she completely torched her professional boundaries, but she couldn’t even secure the one thing a good attorney needed most: her client’s trust. The irony of it burned deep.
With a growl of frustration, she leaned back in the driver’s seat and yelled, a sharp, wordless burst of emotion that bounced around the confines of her car. It didn’t help. It never really did.
The sharp sound of her cell phone jolted her from the storm in her head. It was Nic. She sniffed once, cleared her throat, and forced herself to pick up.
“Hey,” she answered.
“Did you fall off a cliff?” Nic teased.
A laugh almost escaped her, a bitter one. “No, my meeting just ran long. I’m in the car now.”
“Well, since you’re already out, can you grab shredded cheese on the way home? We don’t have enough for dinner,” her brother asked.
Ah. The true purpose of the call. She smiled despite her mood.
“Yes, sir,” she said, finding comfort in the normalcy. “See you soon.”
After hanging up, Isabela tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and put the car in “drive.” Pulling onto the main road, she reached down to twist the radio knob. She needed noise. Music, talk radio, static, anything to drown out the tangle of thoughts swirling through her head.
If she let herself sit in silence any longer, she might just unravel. Merging at the yield, she turned the volume up. The moment Isabela glanced up again, a jolt of alarm shot through her system. A truck loomed in her rearview mirror. Too close.
Her eyes flickered to the speedometer. She was going the limit. No way this guy had a reason to be riding her bumper unless he wanted to drive straight through her.
Her hands tensed around the wheel. “Back off,” she muttered aloud, even though he couldn’t hear her. Still, saying it gave her a fleeting sense of control. She hadn’t cut anyone off. She’d checked before merging. So why had he been so close the second she turned?
Forcing her grip to relax, she tried not to let her nerves get the better of her. Up ahead, her turn approached. Maybe he’d just keep going once she turned onto the residential street.
But as she flipped her blinker on and made the right-hand turn, the truck still followed. Her pulse quickened.
The neighborhood street was narrower, lined with tidy sidewalks, streetlamps, and rows of parked cars. It was the kind of place where kids left scooters in driveways and porch lights stayed on all night. It was quiet and safe. Except now this maniac followed her.
Her heartbeat thumped harder against her ribs as she flicked her eyes to the mirror again.
The truck didn’t fall back. If anything, it drew closer.
She could see its silver grille clearly now, menacing and wide.
Trying to get a glimpse of the driver, she squinted, but the windshield was shadowed and the person behind it wore a hood, their face completely obscured.
It was impossible to tell is they were male or female, old or young. The sense of unease twisted into something sharper. Maybe it was just a coincidence that this gray truck followed her. Perhaps the driver lived nearby. But then why not pass her?
There was enough room now. While it was residential, the road was wide enough, and there were no oncoming cars. He, or she, had plenty of chances to go around. But they didn’t.
Up ahead, the road ended in a three-way stop. To the left was the route to her parents’ house. To the right, a loop through a connected subdivision. Straight ahead: a tranquil pond with a walking path and a few weather-worn benches.
As she neared the intersection, a decision formed. She’d turn right instead of left. She wouldn’t go home. She wasn’t about to lead some potential lunatic back to her family’s front door.
As she slowed to a stop, that’s when it happened. A deafening bang sounded, the violent slam of metal colliding with metal.
No, no, no!
Her neck snapped forward. The seatbelt bit into her shoulder as her car jerked ahead, tires squealing uselessly. A scream caught in her throat as the world tilted. She was rolling forward, past the “stop” sign, past the sidewalk, and straight toward the edge of the pond.
Oh my God!
She slammed the brakes but there was no response. The impact must have jarred something loose. Panic rose like floodwater as the grass blurred past her windows, the wooden bench at the edge of the water growing closer, closer.
She yanked the wheel. The tires skidded in the damp earth.
The car spun slightly. With a splash that sent muddy water spraying up over the hood, her car lurched off the bank and into the shallow pond.
The front end dropped with a jarring thud, submerging halfway into the murky water, the engine sputtering and coughing beneath the surface.
The car rocked, the tires sinking unevenly in the sludge below.
Breathing hard, she stared ahead, water droplets sliding up the windshield like distorted tears. Her hands wouldn’t let go of the wheel. Her entire body shook. Then the silence hit. No music. No engine. No screaming tires. Just the soft patter of pond water lapping at her car.
Twisting in her seat, heart still racing, she caught one last glimpse of the truck as it disappeared around the corner without so much as a pause. No brake lights, no hesitation. It was just gone.
This wasn’t road rage. It wasn’t an accident. It was a message, and she’d heard it loud and clear.