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 pass.
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 guardrail. 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.
“Asshole!” 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, burned 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.
On a prayer, she took her last chance and poured on the speed. The oncoming car swerved, brakes high and shrill, horn blasting. She caught a glimpse of the car behind her veering back to the right at a dangerous speed.
For a second, she was alone, around the next turn. Then she heard the crash. It echoed with her own screams as she hurtled down the winding road toward the lights of L.A.
MCCARTHY HAD BEEN right. Not only did Michael feel better after a meal and an hour’s break, but he thought more clearly. As a second-generation cop, he had not only his contacts to call on, but his father’s. He made a call to Lou’s poker buddy who worked in Immigration, to his own contact in the Motor Vehicle Administration, used his father’s name with the FBI and his own with Inspector Carlson in London.
No one was particularly pleased to be called on after hours, but the meal had made it easier for him to use charm.
“I know it’s irregular, Inspector, and I’m sorry to bother—oh, Lord, I totally forgot the time difference. I am really sorry. Yes, well, I need some information, background stuff. Robert Blackpool. Yeah, that Blackpool. I want to know who he was before 1970, Inspector. I should be able to connect the dots after that.” He made a note to himself to contact Pete Page. “Everything you can find. I don’t know if I’ve got anything, but you’ll be the first—”
He broke off when he saw Emma running in, glassy-eyed, with a trickle of blood on her temple.
“Please.” She collapsed into the chair in front of his desk. “Someone’s trying to kill me.”
He cut Inspector Carlson off without a word. “What happened?” He was beside her, taking her face in his hands.
“On a road up in the hills…a