The Nobody Girls (Kendra Dillon Cold Case Thriller Book 3) Rebecca Rane (ereader for comics .TXT) 📖

The car behind her surged forward. It couldn’t be any closer. She sped up in response. If he wasn’t going to take the opportunity she’d presented to pass her, then she’d leave him in the dust. Kendra accelerated, slowly pressing her foot on the pedal.

The car closed in again. The highway up ahead was an incline that curved at the same time. Signs cautioned drivers to approach the overpass carefully.

Okay, so what to do? Slow down again?

The driver behind her seemed bent on terrorizing her. Kendra wanted out of this situation. She took the rising road and curve faster than her normal comfort level. Her Jeep Wrangler was tough and handled any weather Mother Nature tossed under its four-wheel drive. But this was a high-speed curve. She gripped the wheel and navigated as the car behind her gave her no space.

If she made it through this portion of road without crashing, she’d call the cops. This maniac was trying to kill her. The treacherous curve navigated; Kendra continued to grip her steering wheel. She felt a tap on her back bumper. Her Jeep fishtailed left and right. She kept her head and didn’t slam on the breaks or overcorrect.

The car behind her had rammed her, which had caused the fishtail. But if she slammed on the brakes or yanked the wheel one way or another, she’d roll the Jeep. She maintained control. That was key. Don’t crash, don’t crash, thought Kendra. Her vehicle was her armor against this sicko behind her.

She wanted to be able to identify the car and the driver, but she couldn’t risk pulling her eyes from the road in front of her.

A new set of headlights appeared. Finally, there were other vehicles on the road. It wasn’t just Kendra and this psycho driver.

The tailgater dropped back as cars merged on, and other travelers filled in the gaps. She continued with her death grip on the wheel.

She lost sight of the car that had pursued her.

Kendra took a breath. The steering on her Jeep seemed sluggish.

She looked at the gauges on her dash.

The left rear tire pressure had plummeted from the normal 35psi to 25, and it was sinking rapidly. Her tire was flat. She slowed her speed. She’d likely blown it when she’d fishtailed.

Luckily, there was an exit up ahead. She eased out of traffic and into the exit lane. Her tire deflated with every inch she drove.

If this keeps up, she’d be driving on the rim, Kendra realized.

There was a decently lit travel Flying L Travel Plaza at the exit. Kendra just hoped to reach it before her tire was a pancake.

She pulled into a parking spot with a hard pull on the steering wheel, which now felt like she was dragging it through thick mud.

Kendra was terrified to get out of the car. The maniac behind her had shaken her to her core. Had he followed her from a distance when she got off the highway? Was he waiting out there somewhere for her? She’d been close to too many madmen to believe in coincidence. What had happened to her out on the highway felt deliberate.

She had to get out, had to deal with the tire. And she had to get a grip on her panic. It felt like her heart wanted to gallop out of her chest.

She looked around. She didn’t think she saw the car that had terrorized her. Things here looked safe enough. She got out of her Jeep, keys in hand, and walked around the back of her SUV. The tired was totally flat at this point.

One great thing, among many great things, about her Wrangler was the spare tire. It was mounted on the back hatch. There was no struggle over how to find it.

But Kendra had work to do. She had to get this tire changed in this parking lot, at night, by herself. It wasn’t the ideal situation for a single woman, and she was keenly aware of it.

She wondered if men ever thought this way.

She’d faced down Mad Max out there on the road and survived, but here, in a parking lot, she was exposed merely because she was a woman. Just like Linda Kay and Sincere. Single women and vulnerable girls were prey to a class of predators who stalked rest stops and truck plazas. She’d learned more about this aspect of crime since she started this story. She’d also learned that human trafficking was on the rise along I-75 since those days in 1983. She’d been studying the perils of being vulnerable out here.

Kendra swallowed the fear. The sooner she changed this tire, the sooner she’d be home safe. She was an adult, she was tough, and she’d handled herself in way worse situations than a creepy highway parking lot. She also didn’t want Kyle to be right. She didn’t need backup.

She located her jack from under the panel in the back. She positioned it so she could work on lifting the back end of her Jeep. Kendra Dillon knew how to change a tire. Big Don had made sure of it. He’d forced Gillian and her to practice, and almost any time anyone in the family had a flat, he insisted the girls be field-tested.

She started to crank and watched the Jeep slowly lift off the pavement.

“I was going to offer to help ya out, but it doesn’t look like you need it.” The deep voice of a stranger didn’t surprise Kendra. Rather, it was the doom she’d expected, finally ending the suspense and showing itself.

Kendra gripped her keys. And she turned to see that a bear of a man, in head to toe black denim, was standing several feet away, hands up in the air, in surrender, as though she’d just told him to stick ‘em up.

He wore a ZZ Top-style beard and ball cap with the Peterbilt logo on the front.

“Stay back. I’m not in the mood for it right now.” Kendra decided to act tougher