Page 66 of No Place Left to Hide

“Brooke!” Jena says again, her voice thick with tears.

I look over at her, surprised. Tears stream down her face. Has she been crying the whole time?

I hit the gas and peel out, around the pink mask by the side of the road and onto the empty highway again. The speedometer climbs alarmingly fast, but I can’t take my foot off the gas. We whip around a few more turns and a long, long straightaway, but no headlights appear behind us.

I knew they were too smashed up to follow us.

It’s over.

“They’re not coming after us,” I say, trying to calm her down. “Take a breath, okay? He can’t get to us now that he smashed his own car to bits.”

She’s eerily silent, and stares straight ahead.

I point forward. The horizon is a few shades lighter than behind us. “Those are the lights for Dallas. We’re probably less than ten miles away. I’ll have service soon and we can call for help.”

She bursts into tears. Not the trickle that’s been falling down her face all night, but full-body sobs. Maybe it’s a rush of relief? She’s not the one who’s been peeling offensive stickers off her car and replacing slashed tires for months, so why is she the one crying?

She drops her head into her hands, and I reach out to rub her back while keeping my other hand on the wheel, but she pulls away from me and takes a ragged breath.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Her volume startles me in the confines of the car. I glance between her and the road. “I know. You keep saying that, but sometimes people do fucked-up things—”

I don’t even think she hears me. “It doesn’t make any sense! Why would he attack you?”

“What do you mean? Whoever’s in that car has been trying to run me off the road all night. Why are you so surprised by this?”

“He’s out of his damn mind.”

Okay. She’s not even engaging at this point. I need to get her home where she can calm the fuck down and we can process this whole shitty night. She looks one stressor from a full mental breakdown.

I focus on getting us home. My phone still says No Service, but I’ll be able to call for help any minute now. I glance at the dashboard.

12:10 a.m.

Shit, I probably have a dozen missed calls from my parents already, demanding to know why I missed curfew.

“None of this is right,” she says, getting quieter at least. My ears were starting to ring. “Why would he take it this far? That wasn’t part of the—”

My blood runs cold.

“Whatdid you just say?”

Thatshe heard. Jena looks over at me, horrified.

“Jena.Whowasn’t supposed to takewhatso far?”

She stares at me, tears slipping down her face.

“Do you know who that is? Do you know who’s behind the masks?”

The guilt on her face tells me more than anything she could have said out loud. I feel like I’ve been punched straight in the chest, like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me a second time.

Everything she’s said to me tonight comes flooding back.

Do you think about what happened?

It has to be about that party, then, right?

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