Deadly Setup. Annslee Urban

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       ONE

      Am I being followed?

      The thought circled through Paige Becker’s brain and sent her pulse skittering. She darted a glance in the rearview mirror, squinting against the rain-pelted windshield. The fall storm had picked up, making visibility almost impossible. But behind her, in the distance, the low white glow of headlights burned up the fog and darkness as a vehicle came careening around a bend in the road.

      Suddenly Paige was frightened. A pickup had been riding her bumper down Highway 321 in Boone, North Carolina. She’d breathed relief when the light turned red as the driver pulled off at the exit behind her, forcing him to stop. Had the same mysterious vehicle caught up with her?

      Lightning flashed, and a burst of thunder shook the Jeep. Paige jumped, and for a moment she lost control of the vehicle. The rear of the Renegade started to skid, fishtailing on the rain-slicked asphalt toward the shoulder of the road. Toward the steep bank.

      Panic rioted through Paige’s chest. She yanked the steering wheel to the left, muscles clenching, and managed to steer the Jeep away from the edge and back into her lane.

      Thank You, Lord.

      Chest heaving, she worked to catch her breath. Bright lights reflected in her side-view mirrors. The truck had caught up with her and was back on her bumper. An empty, nauseated feeling erupted in the depths of her stomach.

      Was this a case of road rage? Or had her return to Boone incensed someone, fearful of what evidence she might dig up?

      A chill needled her bones. Okay. She yanked her handbag from the seat beside her and riffled for her cell phone. It was time to call the police.

      Fear. Anger. Frustration. A tangled mess of emotions churned in her gut when her search came up empty. As she tossed her bag on the seat beside her, she spied a small blinking light on the floor by the passenger door. Her cell phone.

      On a sigh, she dug her nails into the wheel and glanced at the steep winding curves ahead of her. Oh, no. She darted a look between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. The truck was still there. The rain had eased up a little, allowing just enough light for her to make out a silhouette of a man inside the cab. Is this lunatic planning to run me off the road?

      Before the frantic thought fully penetrated her brain, the roar of an engine hit her ears, and the driver barreled into the lane beside her.

      Heart thumping, Paige nailed the accelerator to the floor and held her breath, praying her car wouldn’t lose traction again. If she could only make it a couple more miles, she’d be in view of a gas station and well-lit shopping area. Please, Lord.

      But instead the truck matched her speed, edging to the right, encroaching into her lane.

      Sweat slickened Paige’s palms as she clenched the wheel and veered right, precariously hugging the edge of the pavement. Her Jeep was now halfway up the steep incline and beginning the curve. She just needed to get over the hill. Just one more mile.

      Her faint glow of hope extinguished a split second later as the truck swerved sharply and slammed into her door, sending her vehicle hurtling off the roadway and back onto the shoulder.

      No! She gritted her teeth, trying to gain control. Brakes whined and tires spun, churning up mud and gravel.

      Thunder rumbled and growled. Rain came down in sheets.

      Sucking in a sharp breath, Paige jerked the wheel to the left, bringing the vehicle bouncing back onto the asphalt. But instead of gaining control, the Jeep started to hydroplane. With brakes squealing and tires screeching, the Renegade skidded like a pendulum from one side of the road to the other.

      Fear sent crushed ice through her veins as the Jeep’s back end struck a tree just before sailing over the edge of the embankment. It rolled several times before finally coming to a dead halt. Paige’s head hit the steering wheel, and the air bag deployed on impact.

      Everything went dark.

      * * *

      Deputy Detective Seth Garrison turned his headlights to high beam and accelerated down the long stretch of highway. He’d finally made it back to Boone. In another fifteen minutes, he’d be home, kicking off his boots and plopping down in his old leather recliner. After a week away in Raleigh painting and making repairs on his mom’s house, he was ready for a little R & R.

      Around a tight bend in the road and in the distance, flashing lights burned up the night fog. Red. Blue. White. Watauga County rescue vehicles.

      Welcome home. Seth released a long breath. Not even ten miles into the county and work was there to greet him. So much for that R & R.

      Seth arrived at the scene. Fire, police and rescue vehicles were scattered across the two-lane highway, their blinking lights reflecting off the icy road. He pulled his hat on and grabbed his jacket and a flashlight. There was a damp chill in the air as temperatures continued to drop. All around him residual puddles from the earlier storm had started to freeze.

      Ice creaked and splintered beneath his boots as he hiked up a slight incline and navigated his way to a small company of police and rescue workers congregated at the edge of the embankment.

      Before he could ask, Officer Ted Hanson swung his grim face toward him. “We’ve got a car in the ravine. A local resident on his way home saw the vehicle spin out and slide off the road.”

      “Casualties?” Seth swept his flashlight around the wooded area at the bottom of the ditch, stopping when his light caught on the Jeep resting in a thicket of small pines and scrub. The roof of the vehicle had been sliced off. The rescuers had put the Jaws of Life into action, and now four firefighters were working the scene.

      “Amazingly, no.” Ted stuffed his hands in the pockets of his police-issue bomber jacket. “Single driver. A woman. EMS radioed up a few moments ago to say she had come to and her injuries didn’t appear life threatening, but no update on her identity.”

      “She’s fortunate, whoever she is.”

      “We’re coming up,” one of the rescuers announced over the radio in a scratchy voice, almost lost in the static.

      Ten minutes later two firefighter paramedics emerged from the scene with the victim strapped on a backboard. Other rescue workers rushed over and helped get her on a gurney.

      Battery-powered floodlights lit up the scene. The woman was in full spinal precautions. A trail of crimson trickled down one cheek from a gash on her forehead, and long strands of her dark curls spilled over the edge of the wooden backboard. She was shaking uncontrollably, her teeth chattering, her breathing unsteady.

      Everything inside Seth froze as his heart slammed to a disturbing halt. He knew that face.

      Paige Becker.

      Automatically, he took a step, then stopped, summoning every ounce of control he could muster, and still he had to force himself not to go to her. He would be the last person she would want to see right now.

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