weren’t available …
What a perfect decoy. Kill his competition’s development and woo the clients to his own. Conjecture of course, but with any luck, plausible enough to convince Drake to let Rick keep digging.
“So do you think the ceiling idea is too expensive?” Ginny said.
Rick pretended to study the blueprints. When he grasped on to the idea he hadn’t expected her to actually approve. “I’ll run the suggestion by your uncle. If we can make it work, I will.” Now, if he could just convince Ginny to talk to him about something other than the project, maybe he could regain a little of her trust.
Rick rolled up the blueprint and handed her one of the menus the waitress had left on the table. “What would you like to eat?”
“Was the ceiling idea your only question?” Ginny’s assertive tone dropped to an uneasy quaver as she perched on the edge of her seat, one hand on her purse. “Because you don’t have to sit through another meal for my sake.”
He reached across the table and touched her hand. “It would be my pleasure.”
The tinge in her cheeks betrayed a whisper of yearning. “I’m sure you have more important—”
Rick gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
A snigger from the booth across the aisle snagged his attention. Vic, a cup of coffee at his lips, tipped a pretend hat.
Ginny drew in a sharp breath, her gaze fixed on the snake tattooed to Vic’s muscle-bound arm. The same kind of snake worn by the creep who’d latched on to Rick that night outside the restaurant. The same kind of snake that slithered into her dreams and turned them into nightmares.
Ginny twisted her hand free of his grasp.
“Wait. Ginny, please.”
She didn’t look back. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
Ginny sped away from the diner, tires squealing.
How could she have let herself be lulled into thinking Rick had changed? Wasn’t Mom’s downhill slide proof enough that people never really changed?
No wonder Rick refused to discuss the investigation. If he still met up with his old pals, it was only a matter of time before the police turned their sights on him.
Ahead of her, the traffic light turned yellow.
She stomped on the brake. The car slowed, but not enough. Giving the car more gas, she blasted through the intersection on the red.
In seconds, she caught up to the line of traffic ahead of her and touched her brakes to keep from eating a Mustang’s rear end. The car didn’t respond.
She veered into the passing lane, but closed in on another car too fast.
Her heart jammed in her throat as she leaned on the horn.
Move!
The Mustang turned at the next side street, and Ginny swerved back into her lane. She pumped the brakes. Nothing. She had no brakes.
Shop fronts blurred past her window.
Terrified by the speed the car picked up on the meager decline, she careened around the corner at the next side street.
This new street was empty, and flat, and with her foot off the gas the car began to slow.
She blew out a breath and, yanking on the emergency brake, angled toward the curb.
A blue ball punched the car’s side window. A flash of pink darted in front of the car.
Ginny veered, automatically stomping on the brake, only to hit the accelerator. No. No. NO.
The car’s back end swung wide.
Heart pounding, Ginny checked her rearview mirror as she fought to regain control. The girl stood frozen in the middle of the street.
Oh, God, I almost killed that little girl. And I can’t stop. Show me how to stop.
Suddenly Lake Erie loomed on the horizon.
A cold chill slapped Ginny’s body. The shadows shrank away. The sun became blinding.
Oh, no … Oh, no …
As the road sloped toward the water, the car gained speed. She threw the shifter into neutral. But if anything, the car raced faster.
Ginny wrenched the steering wheel. Oh, God, please, I don’t want to die.
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