the driveway. With a rush of relief, she put the car in drive and eased down the driveway. She glanced in the rearview mirror. There was no sign of Rory.
When she reached the road she turned right. She had no idea where she was going, only that this was the direction she’d come from. She didn’t dare fool with the GPS now. She would just drive until she could find a town. And then what? She had called the police and would have to follow up with them. But what would she say? They were on their way to the house now and would talk to Rory, of course. Rory would deny everything, would tell about Lake being with Keaton that night, would even say Lake was the one who killed Keaton.
The road was treacherously narrow and the rain was even heavier now, blowing sideways because of the wind. She still felt weak, dizzy. It’ll be okay, she told herself, just drive slowly. Instinctively she glanced in the rearview mirror. Two white headlights had appeared out of the darkness. Was it Rory?
Gripping the wheel, Lake accelerated, but she was afraid of skidding or running off the road. The headlights gained on her. They seemed to be alive, two demonic creatures bearing down on her in the night.
But all of a sudden the headlights disappeared. It was as if the car had been swallowed up by the night. Then Lake heard the roar of the car. It was coming up the road in the other lane, alongside her. Rory was preparing to ram into her, she realized in horror.
She’d barely finished the thought when she felt the blow to the back left side of the car. As her car fishtailed, Lake was knocked forward into the steering wheel and her head snapped back. There was a curve in the road and she couldn’t see what was on the other side of it. Using some old instinct, she touched the brake lightly and steadied the car as she turned the corner.
A second later Lake heard a loud cracking sound, like a tree being split in two by lightning, followed by a cacophony of shattering glass. Rory had crashed her car into something.
Lake eased her foot onto the brake carefully, wondering what she should do. As she finished coming around the bend, she spotted pulsing red lights. They were on top of a white police car, ahead of her at an intersection and about to make a turn onto the road. She had no choice but to stop.
She slowed the car and beeped the horn loud and long to get their attention. The police car pulled up parallel to hers on the road. It said Bedford Hills Police on the side. She rolled down her window, and the police car’s window slid down simultaneously. There was just the driver, dressed in a dark blue police uniform. He was about thirty, with a wide face and thick black eyebrows.
“What seems to be the problem, ma’am?” he asked.
“Did you come because of the call—the 911 call?” Her words sounded almost slurred to her.
“Are you the person who made it?”
“Yes—a woman is trying to kill me. She—she’s behind us. She tried to ram her car into mine and I think she hit something.”
The cop’s eyes shot forward, and at the same moment, he grabbed his radio.
“Call for backup,” he said. “High Ridge and Red Fox Road.” He turned back to Lake, his eyes stern.
“Ma’am, please pull over to the side of the road and put your blinkers on. Do not get out of your vehicle. I will be back to you shortly.”
She did as she was told. Once she’d shut off the ignition, she turned around in her seat, but all she could see were the red taillights of the police car curving in the road. Lake glanced down. Her entire front was streaked with glistening mud, and she knew her face was covered with it, too. She must look a fright, she realized, like some crazy person. And it would be her word against the word of someone five months pregnant. How would she ever make anyone believe her?
Inside the glove box she found a few paper napkins and used them to wipe as much mud from her face as possible. She felt a welt just above her eye—from the kick. A worse bruise was on the back of her head. She ran her hands roughly through her hair and touched a huge sticky lump.