Run, Tate, run. Her muscles screamed with pain and exhaustion.
To stop was not an option—not now. She had to get away from
whoever was chasing her.
Run, dammit, run. White-hot pain engulfed her lungs, and the
dryness in her throat made her tonsils feel swollen. She curled her
tongue and squeezed her mouth to create saliva, then swallowed. She
ran up the hill and down the other side. The dirt shifted under her feet.
She slid but managed to stay upright.
The wind kicked up, and Tate coughed to expel the dust she’d
inhaled, never letting up on her pace.
“Where the hell am I?” She screamed, unable to see what lie
ahead. Her parched throat burned with every breath, yet she continued
to run. She pushed the thought away.
His raspy breathing and the thunderous pounding of his feet told
her he had gained on her. She must have slowed down without
realizing it. The intensity of pain in her legs grew stronger, and she
willed them to move faster, but they refused to cooperate. “Oh, God.
Please help me.”
She turned her head to look over her shoulder and saw him a few
feet behind her. A surge of adrenaline took over, and she sprinted
forward, then tripped over the uneven terrain and fell to the ground.
She tried to stand, but a sharp blow to the center of her back caused
her knees to buckle and sent her sprawling forward. Pain shot through
her nose when her face struck the hard surface. She squeezed her eyes
shut to block out the pain. Blood gushed down her face. The
nauseating taste of copper made her gag.
When his evil laughter echoed in her ears, she knew it was all over.
He was going to kill her. Fear, thick as the blood running down her
face, froze her to the spot. She lay on the sparsely grass-covered
ground helpless, and released a low, tortured sob, afraid to fight back.
He reached for her arms and pulled them behind her back. She
could feel the sharpness of a rope cut into the skin on her wrists. A
trickle of fluid ran down the side of her hand. Blood? Was it her
blood? Or was it his sweat? The latter disgusted her and made her
want to heave again.
“Oh God,” she gasped; her heart hammering out of control, so
loudly she could feel the reverberations throughout her body. She
whispered a silent prayer hoping whatever was about to happen would
be swift.
He jerked her to an upright position, whirled her around, and
forced her onto a large boulder. The black hooded cape he wore
concealed everything except his piercing eyes. She focused on them
trying to identify her assailant; if not for the police, for herself—so
she’d know who was stalking her—know who wanted her dead.
The click of the hammer echoed in the still night. If Tate hadn’t
already been sitting, her legs would have given out when he pressed
the cold steel of a gun barrel against her cheek. One last chance for
someone to hear me, she thought, and screamed at the top of her lungs.
Detective Tate Kensington jerked and sat upright in bed, drenched
in sweat. Her hand clutched to her chest as she gasped for air, unable
to breathe from the suffocating sensation that gripped her. She scanned
the dark room as she gulped in mouthfuls of air. This was a dream,
wasn’t it?
