Everything You Have Is Mine (1st of the Lauren Laurano series) by Scoppettone Sandra

Author:Scoppettone, Sandra [Scoppettone, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2011-03-30T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

IS THERE ANYTHING in movies more boring than the obligatory car chase? I hate it. But now I wish I'd paid more attention, picked up a trick or two, because there's no way I'm going to shake whoever's on my tail. And soon, I guess, the Honda will try running me off the road. One thing's in my favor: the snow.

Spiraling down in thick nuggets, it strains my wipers, impairs my vision. I assume the same is true for my pursuer. Have I ever seen a film where a car chase takes place in the snow? I must have. But my mind can only focus on what's happening in the present.

Navigation is hell. Nothing comes toward me. The roads here curve and wind, one bend after another. In my rearview I can see the headlights, sometimes drifting off like fireflies, sometimes so near I'm sure the Honda's going to crash into me.

Rivulets of sweat streak my face and stream down my sides under my heavy coat and sweater. I turn off the heater.

But this is ridiculous! Why should I think this car is following me? I'm becoming paranoid. Becoming? There must be hundreds of blue Honda Accords in New York. And maybe I imagined that there was one behind me coming to Pennsylvania.

Wherever I go, I almost always subliminally file in my mind the cars near me. I try to recall the trip here. The roads were almost empty because of the ensuing storm, so this should be easy. There was a tan Buick, but it turned off for Morristown. A Ford, two Chevys, a Jeep, and the blue Honda. It was there all the way. I didn't imagine it; this isn't paranoia. Why didn't I realize it? Denial. Why was I in denial? What switch did I pull, and why?

While I'm thinking about this, the Honda has crept up on me, and I feel the bumper touch mine. I swerve to the left. There's nothing coming toward me, and I manage to get back over to my side of the road. The Honda's headlights, like owl's eyes, appear in my rearview again. I try to see the license plate. By the color I can tell it's a New York plate. I see a letter: F. But then I must look at the slippery road in front of me so that I won't go off it. The last thing I want now is to get stuck in a snowdrift.

A blustering wind sweeps across the terrain, and I have to slow down, but so does the car in pursuit. I check and see that the wind has cleared the license plate; I'm able to get all but the last number. FXX61.1 say it over and over, burning it into my mind. I can't tell whether the driver's a man or a woman, can barely see a face.

Who knew that I was coming to Hurley? Ursula. She certainly would've told Mark, even if they're not in on this together. And Helena knew too.

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