Page 38 of No Place Left to Hide

Of course they’re calling right the fuck now.“Don’t worry about it.” I hit the decline button on the steering wheel and try to swipe the phone back from her without careening the car off the road. She holds it to her chest. “Jena, seriously. Call for help before we lose service, okay?”

“Why is someone calling you from a blocked number? Is this why you’ve been on edge all day?”

My hands clench on the wheel. “Give me my phone.”

“Who’s No Caller ID?”

“I don’t know!”

“Then why do you look so terrified?”

We hit a bump where old pavement turns to new pavement and my ass lifts about an inch off the seat before I plop back down. My eyes fly to the rearview. The Bronco swerves for a second and we gain a few feet on them.

“Brooke!”

I force myself to look at her again. “It’s nothing, really. Let it go.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to!” I practically scream at her.

I grab for the phone again, but she holds it over by the window and starts scrolling through my call log.

“Jena, stop it! I mean it. I want my phone back right now.”

She ignores me entirely. “Why the fuck do you have twelve voicemails from this blocked number? How long have they been calling you?”

Twelve? Why are they suddenly leaving me so many messages?I can’t make sense of it, but I know letting Jena listen to them is not a good idea. There’s no telling what they might say.

Damage control time.

I readjust my grip on the steering wheel and take a second to focus on the road and calm my voice. I need to be flippant, not panicky. The Bronco is the problem, not the calls. If I can get her to refocus, I can salvage this. “It’s a stupid prank, absolutely nothing to worry about. Can you please just call the police? I think we have bigger fish to fry.”

As if on cue, the Bronco taps my back bumper again and surprises us both. They’ve made up the distance between us and I can’t even see their headlights anymore. They’re too close.

My headlights catch on a pothole ahead. I swerve into the oncoming lane and press the gas pedal to the floor. Thank god the road is still empty. As soon as we’re past the pothole, I swerve back into the right lane.

I hold out my hand again. “Come on, Jena. We have to call for help before we lose service. Either dial or give me my phone.”

She hesitates, and I think she’s going to cave—until the phone starts ringing again.

INCOMING CALL FROM NO CALLER ID

She levels me with a long, slow stare, then glances behind us again. I can almost see the moment she puts two and two together. Before I can protest, she hits accept and the call connects through the speakers.

“It’s rude to ignore someone’s calls, Brooke,” the robotic voice says.

I can’t breathe. It feels like the car is closing in around me.

“Who the hell is this?” Jena demands.

“I didn’t call for you,” the voice says. “I called for Brooke.”

“Yeah, well, you gotme. Congratulations. Now who the fuck is this?”

The voice doesn’t respond, but the Bronco does. Their front bumper nudges the back of my car a third time. This one is harder than the last two, and the front of the Subaru swerves left, and then back to the right. I grip the steering wheel with both hands and fight to get us straightened out and back in the middle of the lane. I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

This wasnotpart of driver’s ed.

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