Page 25 of The First Hunt (The Final Hunt)

HOLLY

H olly shivered as she moved through the darkened parking garage, reflecting on what Andy had told her.

Given Jared’s supposed alibi for last night, and the fact she hadn’t seen the man’s face in the Albertson’s parking lot, Andy didn’t think she should file a restraining order—yet.

Although, unlike Andy’s surveillance guy, Holly wasn’t convinced Jared had been the one he’d seen inside that house.

She dug a hand into her purse in search of her keys, cursing herself for not cleaning out her bag after last night. She took a cursory glance around the parking garage before climbing into her Civic and locking the door. On the drive home, her mind reeled, thinking of Jared.

Instead of continuing toward Tacoma, she found herself exiting off the interstate and heading for the Green River.

It had been years since she’d come down here, but she knew the area well from the time she used to spend combing the woods nearby in the years after the first Green River Killer victims had been discovered, hoping she might see something, or someone, that could lead to finding her sister’s killer.

The industrial area was more built up than it was in the mid-eighties, but even still, it was quiet this time of night.

Passing cars became less frequent the farther she got from the interstate.

As she neared the Green River, she imagined Jared driving these same streets in the middle of the night with a dead body—or two—in his trunk.

A pair of bright headlights shone in the rearview mirror, interrupting her dark thoughts.

The car encroached closer on her tail, its beams flooding her mirror with a blinding light.

“Just pass me already,” Holly said over Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation” playing on the radio.

There were no cars in the oncoming lane. Instead of passing her, the car flicked on its high beams and surged closer to her bumper. Holly lay on the gas as she passed the sign for the Strander Boulevard Bridge over the Green River.

She squinted from the blinding lights shining in her mirror. “What’s your problem?” A part of her was tempted to brake check them, but she had no desire to ruin her car, or to be forced to get out in the middle of nowhere with some road-raged maniac. It was Friday night, and they were likely drunk.

Finally, the car swerved into the oncoming lane as Holly sped toward the bridge. Glancing out the window, she saw the vehicle move beside hers, but, of course, it was too dark to make out the driver. She eased up on the gas, but the car slowed to match her pace.

At first, she thought he was drunk or a weirdo, but now she realized she might be in real danger.

She dared another glance, expecting the car to accelerate, but it stayed beside her.

As she took in the sedan and the hooded figure behind the wheel, a cold certainty ran down her spine.

This wasn’t a drunk driver. This was her stalker from last night.

The hairs pricked up on the back of her neck.

The driver looked in her direction, but it was too dark and rainy for her to make out the face. With both hands gripping the wheel, Holly returned her attention to the road as she crossed onto the bridge. She forced a deep breath into her stiff lungs. Just stay calm.

A metallic screech erupted from the side of her car as the sedan slammed into hers, forcing her toward the short, concrete barrier to her right.

She jerked the wheel to the left, but it was too late.

Her scream was drowned out by the guttural howl of twisting steel and the high-pitched shriek of her tires clawing at the asphalt as she stomped on her brakes.

Despite her white-knuckled grip as she turned the wheel to the left, her Civic careened toward the low barrier at the bridge’s edge.

The passenger side smashed through the concrete, busting through the barrier.

The force of the other car pressing against hers propelled her front tires over the side until her headlights shone through darkness.

Holly lifted away from the seat, feeling momentarily weightless until the front of the car dropped, pulling her against the seatbelt.

The rear tires slid off the bridge, and her weightlessness returned.

Out the windshield, the river blurred as she soared toward it.

Her headlights reflected on the dark, flowing surface.

Holly opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out as her undercarriage hit the water with a deafening splash.

Holly’s temple smacked against the steering wheel.

She shot out her arms to brace herself against the dash as water enveloped the windshield.