Chapter 2

 

The car knifed through the storm. Ruth peered out the rain-swept windshield, her fingernails digging into her palms.

“I know who you are.” Fear flattened her words, and her throat constricted. She fought for air, clamped her lips to hold the breath for a count of ten. Again. Again. Until she was able to exhale with a degree of control.

Every Canadian old enough to watch the news knew this man’s face. Harry Silver. Rapist. Murderer. A national hero, fallen hard.

Grief over Susan had driven Ruth to read every article, follow every online thread. First in hatred, then in prayer.

She’d known who he was before that. Most Canadians did. You didn’t have to follow car racing to admire Canada’s best, and as a fan of the sport, Tony had idolized him.

Then that idol had murdered their niece—and others. What he’d done to those young women... the torture, broken bones, the mutilation. Horrific details ricocheted through her mind now, freezing her thoughts and filling her stomach with bile.

If she couldn’t distract herself, she’d go crazy. Think. They were on the main highway southbound from Halifax. He had to be heading for the Atlantic, or to a small private airfield. There was no other way to get out of Nova Scotia in this direction, and why would he stay?

She had to pay attention to where he was going, know their location. Get away somehow when he stopped, and get help. Concentrate on the sights, the sounds. Anything but the screaming in her head.

The darkness was more intense away from the city’s nightglow, and the headlights turned some of the raindrops to crystal shards. The windshield wipers slapped double-time in an endless battle with the rain. Old cigarette smoke and stale body odor thickened the air.

Another, unfamiliar, element tainted the mix. Ruth wrinkled her nose to stop a sneeze. She’d heard it said one could smell fear...

The man beside her swore and gunned the engine. What was he doing?

A flash of light caught her eye as she turned to look at him. She glanced behind them. Headlights—getting nearer. Her heart thudded. Police?

“Sit still.” Harry sputtered his words through clenched teeth, battling the steering wheel. His profile set, his thin lips a grim line. The engine roared as he demanded more power.

His racing career gave him an edge over whoever followed. How could she distract him without causing an accident? The other car had sped up too. Ruth held her breath. Roof lights. Siren. Please—now.

Harry’s car lost traction, shot to the right. He pulled back into the lane just in time and surged forward, but the approaching headlights overtook them. An SUV shot past. Its tires slapped a sheet of water against their windshield with a sharp splat. Ruth screamed. The spray hung there, an opaque curtain, isolating them from the world outside.

“Lunatic.” Harry let loose a stream of profanity. He held the wheel steady, driving blind. As soon as the windshield cleared, their speed increased again. The taillights of the vehicle ahead vanished, swallowed by the storm.

Ruth stared into the night. Her throat ached, and she could barely see through her tears. Wind and rain lashed the car, stronger and louder until her ears rang. She covered them, but the worst of the storm raged inside her own head. Her thoughts whirled, too fast now to pray. God was out of reach.

There must be a way out. Could she put them off the road? They might both be killed, but she was going to die anyway... She lurched for the steering wheel.

A strong hand clamped hers for an instant, gouging her wedding band into her flesh. “Try that again, and I’ll break your wrist.”

Ruth cradled her aching fingers. She took another deep breath, held it, and tried to slow her careening thoughts. Please, God... get me out of this somehow.

“Make yourself useful.” Harry’s voice made her jump. “Get me a cigarette out of that bag in the back. But don’t touch your purse. I don’t want you taking a swing at me.”

She reached between the bucket seats for the plastic bag from the convenience store. It was half full of cigarette packages, potato chips and cello-wrapped sandwiches. She took out a pack of cigarettes, but her fear-numbed fingers couldn’t catch the plastic tear-strip. When she finally succeeded, the wrapper slipped off and the cardboard box fell under her seat.

“I hope you’re not going to be a complete waste of time.” Harry groaned the words like a teenager to a tag-along little kid.

He probably rolled his eyes, too. His contempt brought the blood to Ruth’s face, and the injustice only heated it more. As if she’d asked to come.

She pulled another pack from the bag, opened it more carefully, and handed him a cigarette. His fingers brushed hers, and she jerked away. He fumbled with the dashboard lighter, and the inside of the car filled with the acrid smell of smoke. Ruth choked and turned her face to the window.

“Bothers you, does it? There were no women in prison—I had to find something to pass the time.” His tone hardened. “But don’t worry. Second-hand smoke isn’t going to shorten your life span any.”

As if she were a commodity to use and throw away. Ruth’s skin went cold. Death didn’t scare her, not with the promise of heaven. But to die at the hands of this killer?

Ruth bit down on her tongue and clamped her lips against the screams that fought to get out. She twisted her wedding ring. By now Tony must know. What would this do to him? First his niece, now his wife whom he’d accused of being obsessed with Harry Silver. The air froze in her lungs. Surely he wouldn’t think she’d gone looking for the man?