Golden Filly Collection Two

by Lauraine Snelling

  He shot her a look that made her skin crawl. With one finger, he flipped the electric door locks.

  Where had her charming dinner companion disappeared to?

  Trish bit the inside of her cheek. The commercial “Never let ’em see you sweat” jangled through her mind.

  After crossing the I-5 bridge over the Columbia River, Taylor turned left into Vancouver instead of right onto Highway 14 heading home.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You thought you’d get away with it, didn’t you?” Venom dripped from his tone.

  Trish closed her eyes. What is going on?

  Chapter

  15

  What in the world are you talking about?” Her heart thundered in her ears. “Where are we going?”

  “You don’t need to worry. You won’t be coming back.”

  God, help! Trish felt the bitter taste of panic coat her tongue. “Taylor!” Her voice squeaked. Never let ’em see you sweat. What a crazy thing—crazy, that’s right. Taylor’s gone round the bend. God, how do I deal with a crazy man?

  Knock it off, Trish ordered her mind. Calm down. You can’t think in a panic. “Taylor?” Good, her voice sounded somewhere around normal. “This isn’t making any sense. You’re joking, right?”

  “No joke, Miss Perfect. You remember Kendall Highstreet? The man you ruined?”

  “I did n—”

  He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “You did!” The words cracked like a rifle shot. “You destroyed him, and he’s my uncle. I swore I’d get you for it and now I am.”

  “Taylor, he’s the one who—”

  “You! You did it. If you’d have left well enough alone—now his life is over. No wife, no kids, no money, no business, and he’s in jail. For two years.”

  Each word pounded into her as if he were hitting her instead of the steering wheel. The Corvette lurched to the side. Taylor put both hands back on the wheel.

  “Taylor, I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did.” The words ricocheted off the windows of the speeding car.

  Don’t make him madder, her nagger whispered gently in her ear. Be calm. You can calm him down. Words came back to her from a Pe class they’d had on self-protection. Talk gently. Agree with him. But keep him talking.

  “I’m sorry your uncle is in such trouble.”

  “It’s all your fault.” Taylor turned and smiled at her, a grimace so full of hate that Trish shivered and wished she could melt into the seat. “But I’m taking care of you. When I’m finished, you won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

  “You—you must love your uncle very much.”

  “I was going to wait till after the prom, but when you decided to go with that baby Doug, I had to find another time. You almost wrecked my plans.” His voice rose again. “Like you wrecked my uncle.”

  The Corvette swerved on the curving river road. “You’ll just disappear. Maybe someday your body will be found in the river by a fisherman. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Nice? Nice! Trish stifled the urge to laugh. If she started, she might never stop. God, where are you?

  “You know when your stupid dog got so sick?”

  Trish gasped. “You? It was poison.”

  “Right you are. He should have died, but I only wanted to scare you some more.”

  “The letters? Flowers?”

  “And the phone calls. It was all so easy.” His face in the shadow looked like an evil mask. “And you didn’t have time for me—hah!”

  The headlights cut the darkness, lighting first the trees on her side of the road, and then the grass bank between them and the river on the other. If he didn’t slow down, they might both end up in the drink.

  The thought of the dark waters closing over the car sent Trish into another burst of panic. Her hand crept to the door handle. But she couldn’t jump out at this speed. She’d get killed in the fall.

  The car lurched again and so did her stomach. Trish felt a sheet of warmth drive the icy fear away. It was as if her mind suddenly tuned to laser-beam frequency. The dashboard, each tree—everything stood out in perfect clarity, as if lit by a super spotlight.

  The smell of sweat filled her nostrils, not her own but that of the man beside her. Dank and heavy. She raised her hand to her nose to shield it. Her light perfume, smelling of apple blossoms, filled her senses. A song filtered through the fragrance of spring.…I will raise you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of God.… Her song. Her verses.…Hold you in the palm of His hand.

  The car lurched again.

  “Taylor, please slow down. I’m going to be sick,” she pleaded, both hands over her mouth.

  “No, you can’t be. Don’t you dare throw up! Not in my car.” Taylor hit the brakes.

  Trish flipped the lock on the door with one hand. She gagged into the other. She slipped her high heels off, ready to run.

  The car slid from side to side, tires screeching like an animal in agony.

  Trish made a retching sound. She leaned forward, pretending she was about to heave all over his leather interior.

  Taylor swore, each word more vicious than the last. The Corvette skidded toward a stop.

  Before the complete stop, Trish unsnapped her seat belt and threw the door open. With a mighty heave she rolled out, tight in a ball so he couldn’t grab her. One bounce on the pavement and she rolled to her knees. Like a distance runner exploding from the marks, she was on her feet and running. Down the asphalt. Back the way they’d come.

  She could hear the car behind her, engine roaring, tires screaming, as Taylor turned the Corvette around. The horn blared.

  Trish threw a look over her shoulder. He’d turned. He was coming after her. Trish dove for the edge of the road. The rush of air from the fender, the heat of the engine, told her how close he’d come.

  Trish rolled again. All her years of training in how to fall stood her guard.

  The taillights of the Corvette fishtailed in the dark. Headlights cut out across the river and back around.

  Behind her—a canal filled with water. Across the road—the river…and a steep bank with trees to hide in before the river itself. Trish ran through the alternatives while the car turned. Could she make it across the road? How deep was the waterway behind her? Crushed rock bit into the bottoms of her feet.

  Above the thundering of her heart she heard a new sound. Police sirens wailing in the distance.

  The Corvette roared toward her again. Too late to cross the road. The car hit the gravel on the shoulder and screeched to a stop.

  Trish thought she heard “I’ve got a gun” from Taylor, but she wasn’t sure. She swung around and hit the canal in a racing dive.

  When she surfaced, red and blue flashing lights turned the scene into a carnival.

  “Trish! Trish!” Amy’s voice rose to a scream.

  “I’m here.” Trish tried to find the bottom with her feet, and when she couldn’t, she swam to the bank. Feet down, she stood, water streaming down her body. Her teeth had already begun to chatter. A flashlight beam struck her full in the face.

  Trish threw up her hand to protect her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Officer Parks’ deep voice had never sounded so welcome.

  “I’m fine.” Her teeth clacked together again. The breeze sent a shiver clear through her.

  Amy and Parks reached her at the same moment. He wrapped his jacket around her, turning the action into a hug.

  “Did he hurt you?” Amy wrapped her arm around Trish’s other side.

  “N-n-no.” Trish could hardly talk around her chattering teeth.

  “Can you walk?” Parks’ voice felt as warm as his jacket.

  “I—I left my shoes in the car.” Trish could feel the sting of her bleeding feet.

  Parks swung her up in his arms and carried her to the squad car. “Get a blanket out of the trunk.” He set her on the seat and crouched in front of her. “Thank God you’re all right.”

  “Wh-where’s T-
Taylor?”

  “He took off. They’ll catch him.”

  “H-how’d you find us?” Trish let Amy wrap the blanket around her. Now that everything was all right, her mind seemed to go into reverse.

  “The cellular phone in his car. It has a device that lets the area cell know his location. We tracked you by coordinates using that system.”

  “How’d you get him to stop?” Amy asked, her hand on Trish’s knee.

  “Said I was going to throw up. He has a thing about his new car.”

  Amy’s laughter pealed forth like joyful church bells. Parks started to chuckle and Trish, never one to be left out, joined in.

  “Throw up on his fancy upholstery—what an idea!” Amy could hardly talk for laughing.

  On the way back to Vancouver, Trish thought to ask, “But how did you know to look for us?”

  “Your mother called. Kendall Highstreet called her.”

  “Highstreet called my mom?”

  “That’s right. Seems Taylor bragged to him about how he was going to get even with you.” Amy, sitting in the backseat with Trish, tucked the blanket more securely around the shivering girl.

  “Highstreet called my mom?” Trish felt like a parrot.

  “You know all the praying you’ve been doing?” Trish nodded at Amy’s question. “Well, it worked. Highstreet, being brought low—”

  “Very low,” Parks added.

  “Decided to turn his life around—you know, like ask Jesus in—and when he realized what Taylor was planning, he just couldn’t let that happen.”

  “So he called your mother, who called us, who called the restaurant, and you’d already left,” explained Officer Parks.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  “Seems like you had things pretty well under control.”

  “That water is awful cold.” Trish could feel the warmth of the blanket, Amy’s arm around her, and the full-blast heater doing its work. The shivers only ran up her muscles now, instead of shaking her entire body.

  “All I can say is ‘Thank you, heavenly Father.’” Amy hugged Trish again. “And thank you, my friend, for leading me to Him.”

  By the time they arrived at Runnin’ On Farm, they’d heard from headquarters that Taylor had been arrested. He’d wrapped his Corvette around a tree in the high-speed chase, and though he was injured, it wasn’t life threatening. His car was totaled.

  “Guess there’s some justice in this world after all,” Trish mumbled as she tried to disentangle her blankets.

  “You wait. I’ll carry you,” Parks ordered. “Silly kid. You should have gone to emergency for a once-over.”

  “Mom can bandage my feet. Besides, they only sting now.”

  By the time she was bathed, bandaged, and tucked into bed, Trish could hardly keep her eyes open—until she saw the prom dress hanging on the closet door.

  “How am I gonna be able to dance tonight?” she wailed.

  “We’ll worry about that tomorrow—or rather, later.” Marge hugged her daughter one more time and whispered their old words, “God loves you and so do I.”

  Trish nodded. “Me too.” Her eyes fluttered open. “Tell Amy and Parks thanks for me.” A pause. A whisper this time. “And please call my agent. I don’t think I’ll make it to the track this afternoon.”

  “You’re right, you won’t. I’ll call.”

  Trish, in a crimson robe and mortarboard with a gold tassel, stood with her partner in the line. The band struck up “Pomp and Circumstance,” and the march into the Prairie High gym began. Graduation night.

  Trish turned and waved at Rhonda, two couples behind Doug. Both of them waved back. Doug winked and gave her the round-fingered seal of approval.

  Trish looked forward again. She and Doug had had fun at the prom after all, even though her feet were too sore to dance. She couldn’t even wear the sexy heels Rhonda had bought to go with the dress, so she wore some sandals and limped a lot.

  Her turn came. She and her partner each started out with their left foot as they were supposed to. The line paraded forward and she turned into the row of seats saved for them.

  She kept her mind on the program only through sheer willpower. Her brain kept wanting to play back the last few weeks. Taylor had been released from the hospital into custody at the county jail. His father had refused to pay his bail and his uncle had no money left, so Taylor awaited arraignment.

  Trish had learned more legal terms than she needed for a lifetime. The funny thing was, she could even pray for Taylor. She felt a grin tug at the corners of her mouth. Her song had sure helped—eagle’s wings. She could use some right now. Without God’s help, that night would surely have turned out differently. A shudder ran up her spine.

  The speeches done, the principal began calling names. One by one, all the seniors took their turn up the steps, shook hands with the principal, Mr. Patterson, crossed the flower-decorated stage, took their diploma, shook hands with the superintendent, smiled for the camera, started down the steps, and at the bottom flipped their tassel to the other side.

  She could do that. They were on the D s now.

  Dry mouth attacked her. What if she stumbled?

  Their row stood and walked in a line to the side of the stage. The person in front of her moved forward one step. Trish turned to look at the audience in the bleachers. Her rooting section included David, her mom, Brad, and Patrick. Four tickets—that’s all they’d been allowed. If only her father were here to see her. Trish bit her lip against the if only’s. Her father was here. He wouldn’t miss it.

  “Tricia Marie Evanston.” Head high, Trish took in a deep breath. She mounted the steps, shook hands and smiled at Mr. Patterson, and crossed the stage.

  “Congratulations, Trish.” The superintendent handed her the crimson folder.

  “Thank you.” She smiled at the camera, stepped forward, and down the stairs. My own winner’s circle. She clenched her fist and gave a triumphant pump at her side. Then head held high, she flipped the gold tassel to the other side.

  She felt like dancing. Shouting. “Look out world! Here I come!” The ovation echoed off the rafters.