Available Darkness Season 2

herself, Greg, and whatever his plans were for her.
    What was he going to do to me?
    She thought about listening to the rest of the recording, to see if she could glean any more information from it. She would have to wait to listen to it, though. It was too dark, and the roads too unfamiliar to be messing around with her phone now. While nothing made sense, her fear was as real as any other instinct. Hannah now knew Greg was a danger, and maybe even a threat to her life, the same way she once knew she loved him.
    Loved him?
    Is it now past tense?
    Hannah wished her other inner voice would return to ease her mind, and tell her she was doing the right thing. She felt like a rocket sent into space without any destination. Along with the fear, a small part of her also felt an undeniable tingle of exhilaration along with a welcome, much-needed freedom. That feeling made her nervous more than anything, causing her to wonder if she hadn’t just imagined Greg’s imminent danger to justify running from a great relationship growing too serious, and too fast to stop.
    No, that’s not it. Yeah, I could see me getting into a fight with him or thinking he was cheating, both of which did happen, yes, but I wouldn’t be this creative.
    Hannah wasn’t sure what to do next. Maybe forget Ashford, flip the car around and head back home? If she spun it now she could probably still beat Greg, unless he left immediately. She could go home and pack her bags. Then what? Abandon the life she’d made for herself? Hannah’s Bucket Boutique and everything else? And all for what? A suspicion that Greg might do something to her?
    That’s stupid! I can’t run away based on a hunch!
    At the same time, Hannah didn’t think she should go home. Greg could find her there, would find her there, then what? If she was right, and he was working for someone who wanted to hurt her, as outlandish and Jason Bourne as it all sounded, it wasn’t like she could defend herself from him. But if he was crazy and acting out of some sort of paranoid delusion, or something worse, then perhaps she could call the police.
    No, not the police. I should call Sergei. I need to see him, to see if he recognizes me. If so, that means I’m right, and there’s something weird going on. If not, then maybe I’m the paranoid one.
    Hannah looked down at her speedometer — 95 mph, 35 miles over the posted 60 mph limit. She started to decelerate, but it was too late.
    Bright blue lights from a police car flashed in her rearview.
    Shit!
    The inner voice was back in her head. “Don’t stop.”
    What?
    “Keep driving! Don’t stop.”
    No way I’m running from the cops!
    That was the final straw. Hannah had listened to her inner crazy long enough. In the space of a day she’d gone from being on a romantic getaway with the love of her life to stealing his car and considering a run from her life and the law.
    Enough is enough.
    Hannah took the Ashford Canyon exit, then pulled to the side of the road, hoping the cop car would fly on by on its way to chasing someone else instead of her, but her luck wasn’t good enough to keep the cop from following her off of the highway, or from pulling up right behind her.
    “What are you doing? The cop is going to run your plates, find out the car is stolen, then throw your ass in jail. Go! Go!”
    I’m not outrunning a cop! I doubt I even could if I tried. This isn’t some stupid movie. Real chases don’t end with people getting away. They end in arrest or horrible wrecks. There are trees everywhere and I can’t even fucking see.
    Hannah kept both hands on the wheel, her fingers shaking around her palms as she waited for the cop to either get out of the car and come to her window, or say something over the car’s speakers. She stared into her rearview, trying to see through to the inside the cop car’s window, but couldn’t see anything beyond the high beams, flashing light rack, and blankets of black.
    What’s taking so long?
    “He’s probably being told over the radio that he’s dealing with a nutcase who stole her boyfriend’s car.”
    Shit. Shit. Shit.
    “I told you to run.”
    I’m not running.
    Suddenly, a stern woman’s voice called out. “Get out of the car with your hands on your head.”
    Oh, shit.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 2 — John

    Duncan’s dying message came just as the sun set, adding an urgency for John and the others to drive to Bob Cromwell’s house sooner rather than later. Time was running out. They