Malice Read Free

over and over as she drove out of the subdivision and onto the main highway, melding into the thick traffic. Her heart pounded and her head throbbed. Blood from her hand smeared the steering wheel. She checked her rearview often, searching for a vehicle following her, looking through the sea of cars for one that seemed intent on chasing her down. Metal glinted in the sunlight and she cursed herself for not having her sunglasses with her.
    Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Tons of cars heading east: silver, white, black sedans and sports cars, trucks, and SUVs…at least she thought that was the direction she was going. She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t paid a lot of attention and she was starting to relax, starting to think she’d eluded whoever had been after her. If anyone really had.
    Just another Southern California day. She spied a dark blue SUV coming up fast and her heart jumped, but it sped by, along with a white BMW on its tail.
    She flipped on the radio, tried to steady her nerves, but she was sweating, her finger still bleeding. The miles passed, nothing happened, and she began to breathe easier…really relax. She drifted a bit, nearly sideswiping a guy who hit the horn and flipped her off.
    “Yeah, right, whatever,” she said, but realized she shouldn’t be driving, not in all this traffic in her altered state. At the next exit, she turned off…dear Lord, where was she?…in the country? She didn’t recognize the area, the sparseness of the homes, the stretches of brush and farmland. She was inland somewhere and the Valium had kicked in big-time. Blinking against the sunlight, she looked in her side-view mirror and saw another big blue SUV bearing down on her.
    The same one as before?
    No!
    Couldn’t be.
    She yawned and the Explorer behind her stayed back, following her at a distance on the two-lane road that led into the hills.
    It was time to turn around.
    She was so damned tired.
    The road before her seemed to shift and she blinked. Her eyelids were so heavy. She’d have to slow down and rest, try to clear her head, maybe drink some coffee…
    There was a chance no one had been in the house. Jeez—God, the way she was imagining things, the way her nerves were strung tight these days, the way guilt was eating at her, she was probably letting her mind play tricks on her. Her thoughts swirled and gnawed at her.
    She saw the curve in the road and she braked. As she did, she noticed the dark Explorer riding her ass.
    “So pass, you idiot,” she said, distracted, her eyes on the rearview mirror. The rig’s windows were tinted and dark, but she caught a glimpse of the driver.
    Oh, God.
    Her heart nearly stopped.
    The driver stared straight at her. She bit back a scream. It was the same intruder she’d seen in the upstairs window of her house.
    Scared out of her wits, she tromped on the accelerator.
    Who the hell was it?
    Why was whoever it was following her?
    She saw the corner and cut it, hoping to lose the SUV, but her judgment was off and one of the van’s tires caught on the shoulder, hitting gravel. She yanked on the wheel, trying to wrestle the car onto the road, but the van began to spin.
    Wildly.
    Crazily.
    Totally out of control.
    The van shuddered. Skidded.
    And then began to roll.
    In slow-motion certainty, Jennifer knew she was going to die.
    More than that, she knew she was being murdered.
    Probably set up by her damned ex-husband, Rick Bentz.

CHAPTER 1

    “T alk to me in six weeks.” Melinda Jaskiel’s voice was firm. Clear. Propped on his good leg on the back veranda, his cell phone nearly stuck to his ear in the sweltering bayou heat, Rick Bentz realized his boss wasn’t going to budge. Sweat dripping off his nose, he balanced on one crutch, the thick rubber tip wedged between two flagstones. His back ached and walking was a strain, but he wouldn’t admit it to a soul—especially not to Jaskiel. As head of the homicide division in the New Orleans Police Department, she had the