Page 92 of Gone Tonight
“Answeryou?”
Then my daughter says, in a voice so cold it’s almost unrecognizable, “I don’t even know who you are.”
I don’t react. I don’t have that luxury. I keep checking the road behind me as I choose my words carefully.
“Right now, the only thing we’re going to talk about is how to keep you safe.”
It’s like she doesn’t hear me. “Did you set that fire? How did you even find me? Have you beentrackingme?”
“Damn it!” I bang the heel of my hand against the steering wheel so hard it hurts. “You’re in danger, Catherine! We both are now!”
Her blue eyes grow so huge they overpower the rest of her features. Did James glimpse them? Did he recognize the pieces of himself that Catherine carries?
I hear Catherine taking in measured breaths. She’s trying to calm herself.
I do the same.
“What man are you talking about?” she finally asks.
“The guy with the long black hair. You must’ve gone there to meet him. How did he contact you?”
In my peripheral vision I see her shake her head.
“He didn’t.”
A dark sedan comes roaring up behind me. I’m going almost eighty miles an hour, so it’s flying.
I press the gas down harder and feel our old car shake with effort. The sedan is practically on my bumper now.
There’s nowhere for us to go on this four-lane highway. A concrete median separates us from the two lanes going in the other direction, and there aren’t any exits within sight.
“Duck down!” I yell at Catherine, then I swerve into the right lane and slam on the brakes.
My body flies forward before being snapped back by the rigid seat belt. I gasp as some of the air is knocked out of me.
I keep my eyes fixed on the sedan, waiting for it to brake and reverse toward us.
But it doesn’t. It keeps racing ahead and disappears over the next hill as I stare at it.
A blaring horn jerks me back to reality. A truck is coming up behind us, and I’m at a dead stop on a busy road.
I press down on the gas and begin moving forward just in time to avoid a collision.
“Mom! What are you doing?” Catherine screams.
The trucker honks at me again as he veers into another lane and passes us. I see him shaking his head.
Finally, I see an exit ahead. I take it at the last second, jerking my wheel to the right without signaling. It’s only when I’m certain no one has followed us that I pull into a gas station and cut the engine.
Silence drops down on us heavily.
I lean back in my seat and exhale.
I reach to massage the area beneath my right shoulder where the seat belt strap bit into my skin, wincing.
It’s hard to think clearly. My entire being is focused on getting Catherine to safety. But I have no idea what safety looks like when James seems to know so much more than he should.
“Why are you talking about that guy in the restaurant?” she asks. “How do you know him?”
