the next crossroads she turned again. Once more the car followed. Her attention became focused on the car behind her as much as the road in front. Surely the car wasn’t really following them. Surely this was some stupid coincidence.
It didn’t feel like a coincidence.
It felt menacingly deliberate.
Contrary to her assertion that she trusted only what she knew, she couldn’t bring herself to pull to the side of the road to let the car pass. She couldn’t have said why she was certain the car would stop, too. Then what? she wondered. Distressing images of murder and mayhem filled her mind. “You’ve been watching too much television, Jensen,” she muttered.
“Pardon?” Jack asked.
“Just talking to myself.” She turned at the next intersection, then watched for the car to appear behind her. From the corner of her eye she could see that Jack was also looking behind them, harsh lines bracketing his mouth.
The car whizzed through the crossroads without turning.
Shaking, and more relieved than she cared to admit, Dahlia slowed the van. The car continued on its way, a rooster tail of dust tracking its progress long after she could no longer see it.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
Dahlia straightened. “Yes.”
“You’re shaking,” he commented.
That he had noticed unsettled her even more. She had been in the field with students hundreds of times. Storms were sometimes dangerous. Nothing else. Not ever. “Like I said, I’ve been watching too much television.”
“I think you should consider calling it a day.” When she scowled, he tacked on, “Maybe.”
She tore her gaze away from his and wrapped her hands around the steering wheel. “I’ve never let flights of imagination determine my work schedule.” She put the car into gear, pulled back into the road and finally returned her attention to the storm. She pressed her foot harder on the accelerator. “And I’m not about to start today.”
“Then let me drive,” he said. “You just ran a stop sign.”
“I know where we’re going.”
“So do I,” he countered, motioning toward the storm directly overhead. “We’re following your storm.”
“I’ll drive,” she said, feeling as though she was repeating herself. “I asked you before if you were new in town.”
“I am. Actually you asked if I was new to CMU.”
“Are you?” She took her eyes off the road to look at him.
“I’d have to be if I’m new here, wouldn’t I?” He smiled. “You wanted the answer. Feel any better?”
“No.” She massaged her hand across her forehead. This wasn’t the first or second or thirty-fifth time she had people ride with her she didn’t know. “This is nuts.”
“Agreed.” He sighed. Taking off the sunglasses to rub the bridge of his nose, he met her gaze, his eyes a brilliant turquoise blue that seemed to settle right into her. “You know, we haven’t gotten off to a very good start here,” he said.
“That’s true.”
“What do I have to do to make it better?”
“Be honest with me. Did you sign up because you wanted the thrill of seeing a tornado?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not…” The laugh dissolved as though he had changed his mind about what he intended to say. “Chances are we could chase storms all summer without seeing a single twister.”
“That’s right,” she stated flatly, motioning toward the flat landscape ahead of them. “This is about as thrilling as it gets most days. If you signed up to see tornadoes, you’ll be disappointed.”
“That’s not high on my list of priorities.” He put the glasses back on, his attention again roving over the scenery.
“That’s good because what we’re interested in is lightning.”
“Lightning?” He motioned toward the equipment in the back of the van. “All this is to study lightning?”
As if to punctuate his statement, the cloud overhead flickered and thunder rumbled.
“Why did you sign up to be one of my assistants?” she asked.
“I…” His voice faded away, while his attention fell on a car which was stopped at the crossroads they just went through. When they passed it, he turned around and looked at the vehicle.
“Is that the same car?” she asked.
“Could be,” he said, his voice tight.
“Are you sure you don’t know them?” She studied the vehicle that turned onto the road behind them, hoping he was wrong, having the awful feeling he was right.
“Positive.”
“This is stupid,” she muttered. “Nobody is following me. Nobody has reason to follow me.” Mentally reviewing all the legitimate reasons a car had for being on this same stretch of high plains road, she slowed the van and steered toward the right shoulder, giving the other vehicle plenty of opportunity to pass.
For a moment it followed, then pulled up alongside the van. Good, she thought. It was going to pass. She had intended to let it go by without glancing over, but she had to look, had to reassure herself.
The only person in the car was the man driving it. He met her gaze, then pointed a gun at her. A big gun.
Dumbly she stared at the weapon, her mind blank.
“Holy crap,” Jack snapped. “Step on it! Drive. Go!”
His abrupt command shocked her out of the stupor. She floored the accelerator, and the van shot forward.
From the corner of her eye she watched Jack unzip his pack, his expression taut. A lethal-looking gun appeared in his hand.
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,” she muttered, her foot easing on the accelerator.
“Don’t slow down,” he commanded.
She drove faster. “You have a gun.” The shakes were back, worse, much worse than they had been before. And the car behind them was close. Too close.
She didn’t know people who carried guns. She didn’t want to know people who carried guns.
She pressed harder on the gas pedal. The van shimmied as it clattered over the washboard of the graveled road. The steering wheel became slick beneath her sweaty palms.
A reverberating ping echoed through the van, sounding like a single huge hailstone striking a hollow can. Boo yelped.
“Oh, God, they just shot at us,
