“Recalculating route.”
“What?” Riley glanced at the GPS a few times. Fuck. She’d overshot her turn.
“Recalculating route.”
The Charger burned a good quarter mile of pavement before the stupid freaking GPS said “turn around when possible.”
Cursing, Riley slowed and pulled to the right, preparing to make a three-point turn on the narrow road, when flashing lights appeared in her rearview mirror.
Fuck again. The cops.
She waited until they got close, making sure it was a real cop and not the sedan with a flashy light. It was real, dammit, and she pulled over as far as she could. The cop pulled in behind her, half out into the street to provide a bit of safety for the officer. Riley leaned to check the glove box for the registration, gasping when the door opened to reveal a pearl-handled pistol lying inside. She grabbed the envelope underneath it and slammed it closed again, her heart pounding.
“Calm down, Riley.” She checked the mirror. The cop hadn’t gotten out yet. She took a deep breath and scanned the interior of the car for anything else incriminating, and pushed the shotgun deeper under the seat, out of sight.
Driver’s license. They’d want that, too. She pulled it out of her back pocket and straightened, forcing herself to sit still and breathe. By the time the officer—a female with her hair pulled up in a tight twist and her uniform without a wrinkle—reached the side of the car, Riley had managed to calm down. She didn’t smile when she rolled down her window and handed over the license and registration.
The cop checked her face, eyed her hands on the wheel, and peered around the inside of the car. “Do you know how fast you were going, ma’am?”
“Not exactly,” Riley answered, not even considering lying. “But I know it was too fast.”
The cop’s eyebrow went up, but she kept jotting information on her ticket pad. “Why were you going so fast?”
“It’s going to sound insane.” Riley slid her hands up to the top of the wheel, then back to ten and two. “Um…there was a gray sedan following me. Did you see it?” She hoped like hell the cop hadn’t seen her dump Tom. She’d be arrested and a sitting duck in some little regional jail. Well, at least there’d be easy access to the metal bars there.
“No, ma’am. You were the only car on the road.”
So the cop had been sitting around the third turn, after Riley had pulled well away from the sedan.
“Well, they followed me off the highway, pulled up next to me, and tried to get me to pull over. They scared me, so I sped up instead. This car has some muscle,” she finished, sure she’d said exactly the wrong thing.
But the cop’s lips quirked a bit. “Yes, it’s a beefy one.” She slid the license and registration card under the clip on her pad holder. “It’s not yours?”
“No, it’s a friend’s. He had to fly east, and I offered to drive the car for him so he didn’t have to leave it behind.”
“Behind where?”
“We started in Atlanta.”
The officer peered in at Riley. “You been resting?”
“Yes, I stayed in a hotel last night.” Okay, some lying wouldn’t hurt.
“Good.” She tapped the holder. “I’ll be right back.” She returned to her car, and Riley watched in the side mirror, then the rear when the cop climbed into the cruiser. She was anxiously watching still, chewing the cuticle on her thumb, when the gray car eased around the last curve and stopped well behind them. She glared as it backed up a little, then did the three-point turn Riley had planned and zoomed away.
“Yeah, you better get your ass out of here.” Speeding fine notwithstanding, maybe getting stopped had been the best thing. The minutes ticked by. A few other cars passed, three in a row, then a truck, but no gray sedan. Finally the cop returned and handed Riley her cards.
“I’m issuing you a citation for failure to obey posted traffic signs.” She scribbled something on her pad, initialed it, and ripped off the ticket to hand to Riley. “I suggest you use more caution from here on. My colleagues will be posted in various areas,” she added.
Riley smiled her thanks. “Is it okay if I turn around here? I missed my turn.”
The cop motioned ahead. “It’s safer to drive down about a quarter mile to the Dew Drop Inn and turn there. Good coffee, too.”
“Thank you.” She waited until the officer was back in her car before opening the glove compartment, tossing the Nick’s registration back in, and quickly shutting it. Then she put her license back and stuck the citation in her pocket. The cop hadn’t moved, but Riley couldn’t tell if she was watching her, talking to her dispatcher, or making notes in her log or whatever. Riley put the car in gear and pulled out, hoping the cop would follow her for a while. That would ensure the people in the sedan would keep their distance. But almost immediately, the cruiser did a U-turn, probably to go back to the speed trap.
“Safer to go forward, my ass,” Riley muttered. Fine. She’d take the cop up on her suggestion and stop for coffee and crowds.
The Dew Drop Inn appeared on the left a few minutes later, a ramshackle clapboard diner with a half-full parking lot. Riley drove around to the side and behind some cars parked in the center of the lot. The Charger wasn’t hidden from the street, but they might pass without seeing it. She eyed the empty road, hoping she could get inside before the sedan drove by and spotted her.
Since the building blocked her view down the road, she climbed out, locked the door, and jogged up to the entrance, slipping quickly inside the cozy little diner, and releasing her held breath.
“Hello, sweetheart!” The man in front of her had wild white hair and sparkling blue eyes, and he wore a threadbare cardigan over baggy khakis as comfortably as his broad grin. “Early lunch today?”
“Um, just coffee, I think. And maybe—is that peach pie?” She indicated the pie safe on the counter.
The old man beamed. “It certainly is, fresh made this morning. I’d be double-dee-lighted to serve you some.” He waved at the woman behind the counter and led Riley to a booth halfway back in the main dining area. The little place seemed to be a warren of rooms, and she thought about asking if she could be seated in one of the other areas, but they could take her by surprise back there. Here, at least, she could sit facing the front windows and see the road and entrance to the parking lot.
She thanked the white-haired man—who’d introduced himself as Curtis, the owner of the Dew Drop—when he set down her pie and filled her mug with coffee. He was chatty and seemed about to join her, something she normally wouldn’t have minded, but right now she just wanted to lurk without distraction. Luckily someone called him over to their table and he sat with them, instead, leaving Riley to slowly eat her pie and keep an eagle eye out the window.
Half an hour later, she hadn’t spotted the gray sedan, and she couldn’t nurse her coffee anymore. She paid at the cash register before returning to the car. She reprogrammed the GPS, pulled out onto the empty road, and relaxed as she approached her turn.
She’d driven a scant quarter mile when her pursuers pulled up beside her again, so suddenly she didn’t know where they came from. The passenger, no longer in silhouette, motioned again for her to pull over. He was younger and more refined than she’d expected. With sandy blond hair hanging over his forehead, he had the look of a trust-fund kid.
She drove faster. This time they were ready and surged up the road with her, pulling alongside quickly and veering right, bumping the Charger and pushing her toward the shoulder.