Chapter nineteen

GRACE CHAMBERS

The illuminated gas light on the dashboard is mocking me. The needle rests stubbornly over the “E.”

I’m running on fumes. Literally and figuratively.

The adrenaline from my previous encounter has waned and I just feel nauseated.

My hands are nearly numb from the tight grip I have on the large wheel and for the millionth time I regret forgetting my phone at home.

Vowing to stop for gas when I pass another exit, I breathe deeply and try to calm myself.

I have no idea where I am or where I’m headed but I can’t go back.

Even in the dark interior of the car, I can see the blood smeared on my hands.

Had I really stabbed a man in the face?

Granted, the blade was small and left much smaller wounds than a typical knife. But still…

Drawing in another breath, I watch the dark road ahead of me.

Lights are scattered sparingly along this route and cars pass even less frequently.

Several miles later, I finally spot an exit sign boasting a fuel station symbol.

Only four more miles to reach it.

Relief radiates through me, relieving some of the tension.

If I have gas, then I can put more distance between myself and that psycho.

In the rear-view mirror, blinding headlights flash at me in quick succession.

Annoyed, I frown.

The jerk has ample space and opportunity to pass me on the deserted road but would rather ride my ass.

When the lights flash again, I tap the brakes. It’s almost a dare for the driver to hit me.

I’m not in the mood for games tonight.

The flashing finally stops but the car remains on my tail, even after I take the exit.

What the hell?

Is it Brick?

Because of the darkness enveloping the highway, I can’t make out what kind of car it is.

Still, fear constricts my throat but I’ve already taken the exit and don’t see a way around it.

Deciding to abandon those worrying thoughts, I resolve not to stop the limo until I’ve reached the well-lit gas station.

Pulling into the station, I stop at a pump near the door to ensure that there will be plenty of witnesses should the driver behind me try something.

Searching the side panel of the limo, I look for a lever to release the gas tank cover.

Just as I find it, I tug it and push the driver’s door open having retrieved my wallet from the backseat.

A car pulls up beside me and the driver opens the door as soon as the tires halt against the pavement.

Someone’s in a rush, I muse.

Shoving my debit card into the slot, from my peripheral vision I see a shiny, black shoe exit the car first.

When the man stands to full height and fully exposes himself, I cry out in relief and drop the gas pump in my hand to throw myself at Jameson.

*****

Jameson practically has to pry my arms off him after our embrace stretches on, me sobbing into his chest.

“Grace, let me see you,” he says hoarsely, emotion clouding his voice.

Reluctantly, I release my hold on him and step back.

Gasping, I realize for the first time that there’s blood splattered on his white jacket.

“Who hurt you?” I shriek, horrified.

This isn’t how I imagined seeing him in his uniform for the first time.

“Don’t worry about me, I want to make sure you’re okay,” he states, eyes roaming over me carefully.

His honeyed orbs land on my neck and he swears savagely.

I know then that my attacker’s hand must have left a noticeable mark around my neck.

A roughened thumb reaches up to wipe away the tears pooling on my cheeks.

I savor his touch, finally feeling a semblance of normalcy and safety.

His presence has anchored me.

“How did you find me?” I wonder aloud.

Still examining me from head to toe, he answers off-handedly. “The car service has tracking devices on each of their vehicles.”

“How did you know I was in trouble?”

The questions are just flowing.

I’m thrilled that he’s here but there are a ton of gaps to fill in.

His brow quirks, testament to his annoyance.

Had Brick sent someone to derail him as well?

“We’ll discuss that later. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Before I can reassure him, sirens blare as three cop cars skid into the parking lot of the gas station.

Trepidation seizes me even though I’ve acted purely out of self-defense all night.

“Don’t worry, the limo service sent them,” Jameson assures me, expertly reading the horror on my features.

*****

An hour later, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Jameson’s Porsche as we head back toward his home for the evening.

Exhaustion weighs me down and my head droops as my body tries to submit to slumber.

In the last hour I’ve learned that Brick is in custody for breaking and entering with an armed weapon. And the driver I stabbed is in the hospital, mending from the wounds I inflicted.

The driver I stabbed.

Jesus Christ.

After garnering that information, we talked with the cops for an hour and they took an initial report from me. They’d urged us to come into the station tonight but Jameson had shut that down.

He promised that we’d be there tomorrow morning after we both got a good night’s sleep.

And the police relented without any further questions.

Not for the first time, I wonder just how much power Jameson had in this town.

He seemed like a god.

Interrupting my reverie, Jameson’s hand wanders over to my side of the car and rests in my lap as we near his property.

“We’re here, baby.”

The endearment fills me with warmth, replacing the icy fear that had previously coursed through my veins.

I love the thought of being his baby. His actions certainly demonstrate his obvious affection for me.

It’s a comforting feeling.

Gravel crunches under his tires as we journey towards the garage.

Parked, Jameson turns to me and exhales heavily as a somber expression clouds his face.

“Let’s go inside. We need to talk.”