She hit the gas.
Her Edge jolted suddenly, tires catching hold.
The little SUV leaped forward, straightening, but not before the corner of the pickup’s front panel clipped her back bumper.
Bam!
The entire SUV shuddered! Kacey’s seat belt cinched tight. Her vehicle was sent spinning crazily across both lanes, snow and ice flying, the inky night flashing through her frozen windshield.
“Come on, come on,” she said as if the damned vehicle could understand her. She worked the brakes and the steering wheel, fighting the spin, feeling sick.
The whirling, swirling darkness eased a bit.
Frozen, snow-covered trees that had been reeling monoliths careening past her windows now became distinct.
The road seemed to straighten.
Finally the Edge stopped.
Kacey’s stomach settled. “Oh, damn,” she whispered, her heart thudding wildly, her pulse jumping. She took a deep breath and felt nervous sweat begin to dry on her skin.
Her vehicle’s nose was pointed in the opposite direction of her house, now facing oncoming traffic as she was in the wrong lane. Fortunately, there were no cars or trucks approaching from either direction. Farther ahead, the pickup had stopped, his taillights glowing a bright red and reflecting against the dirty snow packed onto the asphalt.
Her hands were shaking violently as she eased onto the gas and carefully drove forward, sliding into the correct lane behind the idling pickup. She was pointed in the wrong direction, away from her house, but now, at least, she was in the right lane as far as traffic was concerned, though thankfully there was still none.
Like it or not, she had to talk to the dark-haired guy in the pickup and explain what had happened as she exchanged insurance information with him, but as her headlights reached the tailgate of the snow-covered truck, the once-idling truck took off, snow and ice flying from beneath its tires.
“Hey!” she yelled. What the hell?
For a split second, she considered taking off after him. There was damage to her car, and potentially to the pickup. Technically, unless the driver of the car that had passed her and nearly sideswiped her was found, she was at fault. She stepped on the gas, but her tires spun and the truck was disappearing into the night, its license plate, from Idaho, smudged and dark, only the number eight—or was it three?—visible.
What was it about the driver that had seemed so familiar? His dark hair? The way he stared down at her? Something else?
Straining so hard to see the license plate of the retreating vehicle, at first she didn’t notice the woman at the edge of the road. But a movement caught her eye, and she realized she wasn’t alone. A tall, slim woman wit
h graying blond hair peeking out of a white stocking cap was walking along a trail leading from the surrounding woods. Grace Perchant. The local woman who claimed to speak with ghosts and predict the future. At Grace’s side was a huge dog, its bristly fur tan and gray, its eyes, those of a cunning predator. Part wolf, local gossip claimed, and Kacey believed it.
Grace approached her car as Kacey rolled down the window. “Did you see that?” she asked, and the other woman nodded. “I don’t know why he took off.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The wolf dog growled low in his throat, eyes as pale as his master’s fixed on the surrounding forest.
“Bane, hush!” Grace commanded, and the big animal became mute.
Kacey was still talking about the other driver. “But . . . his truck might be damaged and my car—”
“Your car is fine.” Grace glanced toward the darkness into which the driver had guided his truck.
“I should speak with him.”
“No.” Grace’s gaze returned to Kacey’s. Pale green eyes were round with concern. “You should never speak to him.”
“Why? You know him?”
Grace was shaking her head and again turned to face the stretch of icy road that disappeared into darkness. “I only know that he’s evil,” she said, her breath clouding in the air. “He means you harm.”
“He took off! And I don’t think he meant to hit me.”