herself as whole, rather than as parts of the people she'd loved the

best.

She looked through the gloom to the house nestled on the hill, and hoped

with all her heart she would dream of it that night. When she did, she

would open that door. She would stand, and look, and she would see.

Releasing the brake, she started down the narrow road. Six months

before, she knew, she wouldn't have had the courage to come alone, to

open herself to all those feelings. It was good, so good not to be

afraid.

The headlights flashed into her rearview mirror so close, so fast, they

blinded her. Instinctively she threw a hand up to block the glare.

Drunk and stupid, she thought and glanced for a place to pull over and

let the car pa.s.s.

When it rammed her from behind, her hands clamped automatically on the

wheel. Still, the few seconds of shock cost her, and had her veering

dangerously close to the guardrad. Dragging the wheel back, she heard

her tires squeal on the wet pavement. Her heart jackhammered to her

throat as she slid sideways around the next Turn.

"Asmhole!" With a trembling hand she wiped a smear of blood from her lip

where she'd bitten it. Then the lights were blinding her again, and the

impact of the next hit had her seat belt snapping against her

breastbone.

There was no time to think, no room for panic. Her rear fender slapped

against the metal guard as her car shimmied. The car behind backed off

as she fought her own out of a skid. She saw the tree, a big leafy oak,

and used every ounce of strength to jerk the wheel to the right.

Panting, she concentrated on maneuvering around an S Turn, pumping her

brakes to slow her speed.

He came again. She caught a glimpse of the car, b.u.med the image

into her brain before the lights glared against her mirror again. Though

braced for the impact, she cried out.

He wasn't drunk. And he wasn't stupid. In one part of her mind the

terror screamed out. Someone was trying to kill her. It wasn't her

imagination. It wasn't leftover fears. It was happening. She could

see the lights, hear the crunch of metal against metal, feel her tires

skid as they fought for traction.

The car came up on her left, punching hers toward the drop. She was

screaming; she could hear herself as she laid on the gas and tore around

the next turn.

She wouldn't outrun him. Emma blinked the glaze out of her eyes and

tried to think. His car was bigger, and faster. And the hunter always

had the advantage over the hunted. The road cut through the hills gave

her no room to maneuver, and there was no place to go but down.

He pulled up again. She could see the dark shape of the car, creeping

closer, and closer, like a spider toward a victim in the web. She shook

her head, knowing at any moment he would ram her and send her crashing

over the edge.

In desperation, she jerked her car to the left, surprising him by taking

the offensive. It gave her an instant, hardly more. But even as he

approached again, she saw the headlights gleam from the other direction.