She felt herself flying – thrown across the interior of the car – her face colliding with the passenger window, like a brick against her forehead. Her head ricocheted with a blinding jolt of pain, and then something heavy landed on her back, squeezing air out of her lungs. A fist grabbed her shoulder like a vise and spun her over. She gasped for breath.

Frank Macy was on top of her, in her face. She tasted blood in her mouth. When she blinked, she had double-vision, seeing two of him. He looked as casually sexy as a lifeguard as he choked her with one hand and pressed the blade of a knife against her windpipe with the other.

‘So who are you, little girl?’ he demanded. ‘And why are you watching me?’

Her mouth moved, but no words came out. His hand came away from her throat, and she could suck in air. His fingers dug in her pockets, front and back. He opened the glove compartment. He grabbed her purse and spotted the voice recorder, phone, and microphone inside.

‘You’re not police,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’

He pricked her with the knife, breaking skin, drawing blood. Any deeper, and he would slice her throat open. She felt saliva and acid welling in her mouth.

‘I need answers, little girl. You’ve got two seconds, or I slit that pretty neck.’

He eased the pressure of the blade a tiny fraction, and she gagged and coughed. Sweat made her whole body wet. Tears leached from her eyes. She was going to tell him anything he wanted. Everything. She knew she would die anyway; he would suck out the truth, and then he would thrust in the knife. She felt dizzy with pain and terror; she saw flashes of bright color, like the after-image of the sun. Her brain throbbed in and out with her heartbeat.

‘I work for Diane Fairmont,’ she gasped.

Macy’s face twisted in surprise. ‘Fairmont? Is that really true?’

She nodded, and he laughed. He actually laughed. His teeth were perfect. ‘All these years, and she’s still scared of me.’

Peach said nothing.

‘You know what?’ Macy went on. He nuzzled her ear. ‘She should be.’

His hand pawed her the way a lover’s would. He massaged her breasts as if he expected to arouse her. She squeezed her eyes shut. He pulled at her clothes, separating the seams, exposing her. He found her belt buckle and popped it. Her zipper snickered down.

Instinctively, she pressed her legs together. He was lean, but he was too strong for her. She tried to send her mind far away, but her mind had nowhere to go. His breath was sweet; he’d taken mints before assaulting her.

Someone screamed. It wasn’t her own voice.

‘Let her go! Get off her!’