“You sure?” the trucker asked, understandably skeptical. “You looked dead, pal. I was about to call 911. What happened?”

“I—” Riley floundered, stopped. He had no idea what had happened.

“I’m not sure. Head rush?” he suggested, thinking it was as likely an explanation as anything.

He felt odd: queasy, claustrophobic, crowded in his own skin.

Bruised. Heavier, in a way he couldn’t have defined. Kind of shocky, as if he’d been in an accident. He squinted at his car, found it undamaged and parked neatly with the hood up. Not an accident, then.

The trucker frowned. “Well, you all right now? ’Cause I gotta be in Tucson by noon and I wanna swing by my old lady’s place on the way, so I can’t hang around for long. You need anything? Want me to call an ambulance?”

Riley shook his head. He didn’t feel all that bad, not even dizzy now that he was fully awake. He hadn’t eaten in a while, though; he supposed his blackout might have something to do with that. “I’m good,” he said, then offered his hand with a smile. “Hey, thanks for stopping, man. I appreciate it.”

“Sure thing.” The trucker grinned, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Listen, maybe you shouldn’t get behind the wheel if you don’t know why you passed out. I can take you to Sonora, if you want. Drop you off at a motel.”

It was a tempting offer. Riley would’ve liked the company and the idea of taking a time out, and going to sleep in a nice, clean bed was alluring, but he wasn’t sure he could afford to stop. He didn’t think he had a tail, but it was possible, and he didn’t know how long he’d been out. He

glanced at his watch, but the display was cracked and dark. With no idea how much time he’d lost, he decided he better get moving, and he wasn’t about to leave his truck behind.

“Nah, I think I’ll be fine,” he said. “Got some trail mix in the car; that should help. Get going, I’ll be right behind you.”

“All right. You take care, man.”

“I will,” Riley promised.

The trucker walked back to his rig and climbed in after a final glance at Riley. The dark metal behemoth hissed and groaned as he put it in gear, then rolled back onto the interstate and picked up speed.

Riley watched the taillights until they were but little specks in the distance before he turned back to his car. The hood was still open and he frowned… and then he frowned some more when he became aware of the sick feeling of dread that pulsed in his stomach. He paused halfway to the truck, hesitant to step closer. Something had happened here, but damned if he knew what. He thought it was probably connected to the nagging suspicion that he wasn’t alone when he clearly was, that itchy, unsettled impression of being too full that made him want to turn himself inside out, shake out every crease and cranny until the sensation went away. He touched a hand to his belly and pressed down gently, but there was nothing to feel, no pain or discomfort, so he dropped his arm and reluctantly contemplated the Dodge again.