In a Heartbeat by Elizabeth Adler Read Free Book Online Page B

. . . out into the night.
    The wind slammed her back against the wall, the rain was coming down in sheets, she couldn’t even
see
the truck.
Oh, God, soon he would be
after her. . . .
    Clinging to the porch rail, bent double, she staggered down the steps. But the wind knocked her off her feet. It snatched her breath, flung the rain at her, hard as hailstones. Gasping, she dropped to the ground, slithered on her belly across the streaming blacktop.
    She had to make it, she just had to . . . think
of Riley. . . . Oh, God, she had to make it.
    Then she was under the truck, as wet as a seal and still trying to catch her breath. Sobbing with fear, she crawled out the other side, hauled herself upright, tugged frantically at the cab door.
It
must be locked . . . but she didn’t remember
locking it.
    It flew open suddenly, almost knocking her off her feet. “Oh, thank you, God, thank you,” she muttered, pulling herself up into the cab. “Thank you . . .”
    And then a hand slammed across her mouth.
    He jabbed the gun into her ribs again. “Shut the fuck up. One fuckin’ sound and I’ll kill you. Understand?”
    His hand stank of stale cigarettes. Fear and nausea swept over her and she gagged.
    Instinctively, he let go, and in that split second she threw herself at him, raked her nails down his face, jammed her thumbs in his eyes. . . .
    “Shit.” There was a sickening crack as his fist hit bone, and Mel slithered slowly to the ground.
    He stared angrily down at her. His eyes watered painfully. He put his hand to his face, felt the blood where she had dug deep into his flesh. He wanted to kill her right now, but he still needed her.
    He took the expensive Ericcson from his pocket and dialed Mario de Soto’s number. Miraculously, the call went through. He explained that Ed Vincent hadn’t shown up; that he was there in the middle of a fuckin’ hurricane; that de Soto shouldn’t worry, he would get him next time. Vincent was as good as dead. He did not mention the woman or the dead Cuban.
    “Get up.” He hauled Mel up to her feet, pushed her into the driver’s seat. “You are gonna drive us out of here.” He aimed the Sigma at her head.
    Mel stared straight ahead. Her head swam and her cheekbone felt as though it had dissolved. She had no hope of escape, she would do as he said. Trembling, she put the key in the ignition. To her surprise, the engine caught immediately.
    The gun was icy cold on her temple. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go.”
    She drove the big truck down the driveway and out onto the lane that led to the bridge.
    The bridge! Oh, God, surely it is underwater
by now. She wouldn’t be able to get across,
he would kill her then, she knew it. . . . Oh,
Riley . . . my darling daughter.
    She heard the squeak of the wipers on the suddenly dry windshield. As abruptly as if someone had turned off the tap, the rain had stopped. The wind had dropped. And there were no waves. Just a sullen expanse of black water with the submerged guard rails of the bridge poking out of it, marking its position.
    Now the sky was clear, it was growing lighter. She could hear
birds
singing. . . .
She must be
hallucinating.
    From somewhere in the past, she recalled hearing about being in the eye of a hurricane. That though the storm still swirled all around them, here in the “eye” all was calm, and the birds that had been caught up in it and carried hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles from their habitat had suddenly found themselves deposited in a strange new terrain. That is, until the circling storm caught up with them again and carried them even farther away. Or killed them.
And her.
    She stared at the sullen black ocean. There was no way to gauge how deep the water was or even if the bridge was still there. It was suicide.
    The man holding the gun pressed it harder against her temple. “Drive,” he said.

15
    “I guess you made it across,” Camelia said caustically, rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers,