A Chance Encounter Rae Shaw (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📖

pocket, he produced a handgun. With no hesitation, he aimed it at the stricken man, who held up his hands in self-defence. The gesture proved futile. The shot rang out and he jerked in a death throe. The silhouetted Zustaller headed towards the cellar door and disappeared out of sight.

Julianna reached for the clutch. She scowled; she needed absolute control over the car and she wouldn’t have it if only the tips of her toes rested on the pedals. Whoever last drove the car had gigantic legs. She wasted precious time adjusting the seat.

‘Stay down. Whatever happens, keep down,’ she told the other two before strapping on her seatbelt. ‘Defensive driving course, you better be worth it.’ She hit the start button for the engine and it roared into action: the cacophony that erupted into the quiet countryside was an unfortunate alarm bell. She shifted into first gear and the wheels squealed. First, she manoeuvred past the pickup truck, which was a challenge, there wasn't much space in the yard. Then there was the Audi, which Zustaller had arrived in. He had dumped it in the middle of the lane. More time ticked by while she drove up an embankment and steered around it.

She might have the keys to the shackles in her pocket, but there was no reason to believe it was the only set. As she turned the car down the unpaved road, the only route away from the farmhouse, in the rear-view mirror two men emerged from the house. Zustaller and his sidekick, Stazki; he had recovered sufficiently to give chase. Perhaps, she should have killed him.

Zustaller raised his weapon.

‘Fuck.’ Just as she floored the gas pedal the bullet hit the rear of the car.

The dirt track wasn't a good surface for grip and the rear-wheel drive BMW wasn’t a great vehicle for off-road speed and stability. But neither was the sporty Audi being used by her pursuers. She bumped the car over potholes, willing it on, but the gap between the two cars shrank.

‘Why not a bloody Land Rover!’ She slammed her fist on the wheel, then switched on the fully functional satnav; the GPS displayed the vehicle’s location on the fringes of western Kent, close to neighbouring Sussex.

The ensuing car chase unfolded across country roads, lanes and sometimes an open field. Julianna paid no heed to the silliness of the situation, how she, a desk bound intelligence officer, had finally achieved the kind of excitement a field officer only ever dreamt of experiencing. It wasn't fun. She was terrified and surviving on her instincts, especially her training in evasive car handling. Another car careered straight at the BMW, unaware of the danger, and she had to play chicken with it, causing the opposing vehicle to swerve and drive into a shallow ditch.

It didn’t matter; Julianna wanted to infuriate other road users. Phone calls would be made to the police. Alert bulletins would be announced over car radios – a high-speed car chase across the Kentish countryside and she was the cause.

Why did Zustaller want to catch her? Was she that important? What had she witnessed that made them pursue her so remorselessly? The women in the back of the car clutched each other. Perhaps they were the reason for the pursuit. They had been in captivity longer than Julianna and might know significant information about their abductors: identities, trafficking routes, and the network of houses, ones like the farmhouse. Or perhaps it remained simple revenge, an ongoing reprisal without conclusion. She had beaten her adversary the first time with her fists, then strangled him, and now she was baiting them with a high-speed chase. Their repulsive sexual habits showed how little they cared for women. Julianna’s strengths and her guile must epitomise that hatred in all its glory.

Her pursuers caught up with her and the rear-view mirror reflected their faces. Zustaller, the man behind Ellen's grooming and the target of Jackson's war on trafficking, was completely bald. The reason for the balaclava was apparent – a mottled red scar puckered one side of his face below his eye, as if a bullet had entered his cheek and left its mark. He wore a determined expression.

Approaching a sharp bend, she stamped on the accelerator. Braking hard, the rear end of the car slid sideways around the corner, almost spinning the vehicle around one hundred and eighty degrees. Turning the wheel in the opposite direction, the car clipped the hedge on the other side of the road. Julianna made use of heel-to-toe gearshifts, something she had been taught to do, but even with the seat close to the pedals, her foot slipped, the cogs ground and she missed a gear change. The action cost her a few metres of advantage over the pursuing car, and when the Audi slammed into the back of the BMW, her chin struck the steering wheel. The women screamed.

Locking her elbows straight, and ignoring the pain in her jaw, Julianna pressed her right foot down again. A stretch of road opened up before her. But that wasn't where she aimed the car. There was an open gate to the right and, with a last second change of direction, she squeezed the car between the posts. The satnav showed another minor road on the other side of the field. Skidding across the field of barley, she prayed there was another gate there. The Audi had turned too, continuing its relentless pursuit.

Flintstones flew up underneath the car and rattled against the chassis. Something hit the windscreen and chipped the glass, and she ducked instinctively. Straightening up, she spotted a wooden gate hidden in the hedgerow and picked up speed, intending to ram it. The wooden struts of the gate splintered over the bonnet and snapped off the left-hand mirror. Julianna braked hard and turned the car down another narrow lane.

She had re-evaluated her romantic view of car chases: they