It felt heavier than she’d imaged. She held the pistol in her palm and ran her thumb over the textured grip. For the first time in months, the knot of fear in her stomach loosened. She’d never been brave, never in her life. But people could change.

Headlights winked into the mirror, and she glanced up. High and bright again, probably a pickup truck. Squinting, she watched them get closer and closer.

Vanessa’s nerves skittered. Was it slowing down?

Had someone followed her here? But she’d been careful. Not just careful—vigilant. She’d taken every precaution.

The truck started to slow, and an icy claw of fear closed around her heart.

Vanessa scooted across the seat and reached for the passenger door, jerking back as her sweater snagged on something. She yanked it free, then grabbed the bag and pushed open the door.

The truck rolled to a halt. Vanessa scrambled from the car, tripping as she glanced back at the headlights. Adrenaline shot through her, and she sprinted for the trees. The ground sloped down, and she ran faster, faster, losing control as she hurtled toward the woods.

Her toe caught and she crashed to her knees and elbows but managed to hold the bag. She pushed herself up and raced toward the line of trees.

Then the headlights switched off, and everything went black. She ran blindly through the knee-high weeds, huffing and gasping and clutching the bag to her chest like a football. A car door slammed, sending a jolt of terror through her. She pictured him running after her, closing the distance, grabbing her by her hair.

Thorns stabbed at her as she reached the thicket. She swiped at the branches, desperate for cover as she imagined him behind her. She couldn’t see anything, not even her hand in front of her face as she groped through the razor-sharp bushes.

The thorns disappeared as she stumbled into a clearing. Panting, she stopped and glanced up at the moon. Her heart thundered as she looked around and tried to orient herself. An arc of pines surrounded her. She could hide. Take cover. Defend herself, if she had to. With trembling hands, she fumbled inside the bag and pulled out the gun. Dear God, was it loaded? She hadn’t thought to ask.

He’s coming.

On a burst of panic, she raced for the trees.

*   *   *

Brandon almost made it home.

Almost.

His stomach grumbled, and he eyed the pizza box riding shotgun in his truck. Mushroom and pepperoni, thin crust. It wasn’t nearly as good cold, but he wasn’t picky.

His cell phone buzzed in the holder, and he tapped it.

“Almost there,” he told his partner.

“Where are you exactly?” Antonio asked.

“About two minutes out.”

“Okay. Take it easy on the curve. You’ll see a black-and-white on the eastbound shoulder near my car. That’s the best place to park.”

“Got it.”