Keeper of the Bride. Tess Gerritsen
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watched her mother take another deep swallow of her drink. “How did it go?” she asked. “With you and that detective?”
Lydia shrugged. “What’s there to say? He asked questions, I answered them.”
“Did he tell you anything? About who might have done it?”
“No. He was tight as a clam. Not much in the way of charm.”
Nina couldn’t disagree. She’d known ice cubes that were warmer than Sam Navarro. But then, the man was just doing his job. He wasn’t paid to be charming.
“You can stay for dinner, if you’d like,” said Lydia. “Why don’t you? I’ll have the cook—”
“That’s all right, Mother. Thank you, anyway.”
Lydia looked up at her. “It’s because of Edward, isn’t it?”
“No, Mother. Really.”
“That’s why you hardly ever visit. Because of him. I wish you could get to like him.” Lydia sighed and looked down at her drink. “He’s been very good to me, very generous. You have to grant him that much.”
When Nina thought of her stepfather, generous was not the first adjective that came to mind. No, ruthless would be the word she’d choose. Ruthless and controlling. She didn’t want to talk about Edward Warrenton.
She turned and started toward the door. “I have to get home and pack my things. Since it’s obvious I’ll be moving out.”
“Couldn’t you and Robert patch things up somehow?”
“After today?” Nina shook her head.
“If you just tried harder? Maybe it’s something you could talk about. Something you could change.”
“Mother. Please.”
Lydia sank back. “Anyway,” she said, “you are invited to dinner. For what it’s worth.”
“Maybe some other time,” Nina said softly. “Bye, Mother.”
She heard no answer as she walked out the front door.
Her Honda was parked at the side of the house, where she’d left it that morning. The morning of what should have been her wedding. How proudly Lydia had smiled at her as they’d sat together in the limousine! It was the way a mother should look at her daughter. The way Lydia never had before.
And probably never would again.
That ride to the church, the smiles, the laughter, seemed a lifetime away. She started the Honda and pulled out of her mother’s driveway.
In a daze she drove south, toward Hunts Point. Toward Robert’s house. What had been their house. The road was winding, and she was functioning on automatic pilot, steering without thought along the curves. What if Robert hadn’t really left town? she thought. What if he’s home? What would they say to each other?
Try: goodbye.
She gripped the steering wheel and thought of all the things she’d like to tell him. All the ways she felt used and betrayed. A whole year kept going through her head. One whole bloody year of my life.
Only as she swung past Smugglers Cove did she happen to glance in the rearview mirror. A black Ford was behind her. The same Ford that had been there a few miles back, near Delano Park. At any other time, she would have thought nothing of it. But today, after the possibilities Detective Navarro had raised…
She shook off a vague sense of uneasiness and kept driving. She turned onto Ocean House Drive.
The Ford did too. There was no reason for alarm. Ocean House Drive was, after all, a main road in the neighborhood. Another driver might very well have reason to turn onto it as well.
Just to ease her anxiety, she took the left turnoff, toward Peabbles Point. It was a lonely road, not heavily traveled. Here’s where she and the Ford would surely part company.
The Ford took the same turnoff.
Now she was getting frightened.
She pressed the accelerator. The Honda gained speed. At fifty miles per hour, she knew she was taking the curves too fast, but she was determined to lose the Ford. Only she wasn’t losing him. He had sped up, too. In fact, he was gaining on her.
With a sudden burst of speed, the Ford roared up right beside her. They were neck and neck, taking the curves in parallel.
He’s trying to run me off the road! she thought.
She glanced sideways, but all she could see through the other car’s tinted window was the driver’s silhouette. Why are you doing this? she wanted to scream at him. Why?
The Ford suddenly swerved toward her. The thump of the other car’s impact almost sent the Honda spinning out of control. Nina fought to keep her car on course.
Her fingers clamped more tightly around the wheel. Damn this lunatic! She had to shake him off.
She hit the brakes.
The Ford shot ahead—only momentarily. It quickly slowed as well and was back beside her, swerving, bumping.
She managed another sideways glance. To her surprise, the Ford’s passenger window had been rolled down. She caught a glimpse of the driver—a male. Dark hair. Sunglasses.
In the next instant her gaze shot forward to the road, which crested fifty yards ahead.
Another car had just cleared the crest and was barreling straight toward the Ford.
Tires screeched. Nina felt one last violent thump, felt the sting of shattering glass against her face. Then suddenly she was soaring sideways.
She never lost consciousness. Even as the Honda flew off the road. Even as it tumbled over and over across shrubbery and saplings.
It came to a rest, upright, against a maple tree.
Though fully awake, Nina could not move for a moment. She was too stunned to feel pain, or even fear. All she felt was amazement that she was still alive.
Then, gradually, an awareness of discomfort seeped through the layers of shock. Her chest hurt, and her shoulder. It was the seat belt. It had saved her life, but it had also bruised her ribs.
Groaning, she pressed the belt release and felt herself collapse forward, against the steering wheel.
“Hey! Hey, lady!”
Nina turned to see a face anxiously peering through the window. It was an elderly man. He yanked open her door. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m—I think so.”
“I’d better call an ambulance.”
“No, I’m fine. Really, I am.” She took a deep breath. Her chest was sore, but that seemed to be her only injury. With the old man’s help, she climbed out of the car. Though a little unsteady, she was able to stand. She was shocked by the damage.
Her car was a mess. The driver’s door had been bashed in, the window was shattered, and the front fender was peeled off entirely.
She turned and glanced toward the road. “There was another car,” she said. “A black one—”
“You mean that damn fool who tried to pass you?”
“Where is it?”
“Took off. You oughta report that fella. Probably drunk as a skunk.”
Drunk? Nina didn’t think so. Shivering, she hugged herself and stared at the road, but she saw no sign of another car.
The black Ford had vanished.
Chapter Three
GORDON GILLIS