Page 62 of Acting on Instinct
Whew! That was a bone-chilling thought.
That took Kira’s breath away.
Did Uncle Nadir’s people plan to take her to another country?
Maybe bringing her passports was a bad decision.
She’d give them to someone in Washington for safekeeping.
Heading west on the highway toward Charlotte, Kira was distracted by the intensity of the tinnitus, which made it impossible to hear the radio.
The tip of her nose buzzed.
Kira wasn’t the only one on the road. Eighteen-wheelers were taking advantage of the open highways. Traffic would start soon enough.
But there was a car that had caught her attention.
Kira was driving slowly. It wasn’t really a choice. Her foot was shaking so hard that pressing the gas took a lot of focus. She didn’t trust herself not to drive hurky-jerky and put others in danger, so she stayed in the slow lane.
The car behind her stayed in the middle.
It went as slowly as she did.
It felt wrong.
Kira searched her memory for a story she’d heard the Echo brothers tell that would instruct her next moves, and nothing helpful came to mind. She thought of movies she’d seen when she lost the coin toss, and she and Ty went to a thriller.
Then she remembered something her father had done when she was little, back when everyone was mad at people from the Middle East and considered them suspect; they often foundthemselves running for safety into a public space or off the side of the highway.
She’d try it. Why not? At least she’d know.
And Christen had given her permission—not permission but a command—to drive like a lunatic.
Kira tapped 9-1-1 into her phone and set it in her cup holder, ready to press the button if necessary—not that she thought anyone could get to her if things went badly. But at least they could record her as she told the operator as much as she could before anyone got to her door.
Especially that she loved, loved,lovedTy Newcombe.
She had a plan, and somehow that steadied her nerves.
Kira checked the mile markers so she could tell the 9-1-1 operator where she was, beyond just saying she was heading west.
She read the sign telling her the next ramp was a mile ahead. Glancing up the highway to memorize what lay beyond the ramp, she saw what she needed: a break in the trees was just a short distance ahead.
As she came to the white dotted line to the off-ramp, Kira took a quick mental picture, then shut off her lights. She knew not to put her foot on the brake as she slid into the ramp lane. Using the differences in the shadows between the thick trees and the light gray of the roadway, Kira navigated up the ramp.
The crunch of gravel under her right-side tires reassured her that she was properly lined up as the incline slowed her progress. As the curve straightened out and Kira could see the streetlamp shining on the stop sign ahead, Kira pulled all the way to the side until the tall grass brushed against her paint with a high-pitched scratch and came to a stop.
Moments later, another car sped up the ramp, roaring to the stop sign ahead, where it braked and paused.
Kira’s hands gripped her wheel as she whispered, “Turn. Turn. Keep going.”
But, instead, the car brightened with backup lights.
Kira flipped her high beams on to blind the car backing toward her. Spinning her wheel, taking the tight U-turn, praying that her tire wouldn’t slide down the gully as she tipped and tipped and tipped before she came out upright.
She swung herself onto the highway with the blare of a truck horn just behind her, and the shriek of its brakes, as she slung her car from the right lane all the way to the left, and slammed her lights off, protected from sight by the truck that continued to punish her with its horn blasts.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Sorry.”
