White Diamonds (Capitol Chronicles Book 2)

by Shirley Hailstock

  He dragged her backward. He was trying to pull her into the van. She twisted and turned, digging her feet into the ground, fighting against his superior strength. Her heart raced, pounding blood through her system. Who was this? What did he want with her? His gloved hand was in her mouth. She bit down on it hard. The surprise made him yank his hand away, as she'd expected. In the split second before the surprise wore off she balled her hand into a fist, and—concentrating all her strength in one elbow—she delivered a punishing blow into the soft flesh of his stomach.

  Twisting away, she yelled for help. He wore a ski mask, and his hair was concealed behind a blue and white knitted cap. Fear ran through her at the alien effect of him. His entire body was dressed in black, as if it were night and he'd wanted to blend into the darkness. He wore tennis shoes. Aurora wished she had hers on. She'd worn a navy blue silk jumpsuit and high heels. It was all part of the impersonation. Marsha Chambers was taller than she was, and the heels gave her more of the image she'd wanted to have today. Now she was sorry.

  He came after her, grabbing for her. Aurora screamed, running away. Looking over her shoulder she saw him coming, getting closer and closer. He was going to catch her. She filled her lungs with air and rushed forward, trying to reach the building, trying to get to the door, where there would be help.

  Hands closed over her shoulders and she was pushed to the ground. They rolled over and over on the unyielding concrete driveway. Contact with the ground tore through the thin fabric protection of her suit and ripped the skin on her shoulder. Pain shot through her arm. She kicked herself free and tried getting to her feet. One of the heels of her shoes broke, and she couldn't get her balance before he was on her again. Frightened, she fought him, kicking and screaming, using her hands as weapons, but he wouldn't be thwarted.

  "Marsha!" she heard someone shout. Instinctively they both looked in the direction of the voice. A man ran toward them. The masked man jumped to his feet. Quickly he looked from her to the van. He was breathing hard. He headed for the vehicle. In the time it took for the Good Samaritan to reach her the van roared out of the driveway, tires squealing and spitting gravel in its wake.

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