A Chance Encounter by Rae Shaw (e manga reader TXT) 📗

weren't glamorous. They were physically demanding and extremely uncomfortable. The car jolted every time it hit a pothole or rut, and the vibrations travelled through the steering wheel and into her aching arms. The combined effect of extreme braking and accelerating filled the cabin with the stench of rubber and fumes. The rev counter was stuck in the red and the angry engine wanted to change up when she changed down, but she was grateful she wasn’t in an authoritarian automatic with its pre-programmed expectations of urban driving.

The girl was sick in the footwell. Julianna couldn’t blame her; she was unwell, injured.

‘He’s right up against us,’ Rita yelled into Julianna’s ear. ‘Do something.’

‘I fucking know!’ She had a good view of the stubble on their chins.

The two cars continued to tear up a network of poorly maintained minor roads. They shot through one small hamlet, sweeping up the roadside dust into a cloud, which prompted the postman to flatten himself against the door of his red van – a confetti of white envelopes flew up in the air.

How much longer? Julianna’s headache was back with a vengeance and the rising sun dazzled her sensitive eyes. Exhausted, she struggled to make the quick gear changes and the car kangarooed across the country road: it too was giving up.

Where were the police, those comrade-in-arms she had once called her colleagues?

Turning a corner, she almost collided with a cyclist. Swerving, she was forced to crash through a fence and drive into a steeply inclined meadow that led down towards a creek. The wheels spun and slipped on the morning dew. It was like driving on an ice pan. Behind her, the Audi followed, but they were encountering the same problem with their vehicle.

It was her only chance. She put her foot down and accelerated.

‘Do it. Go on!’ she yelled. ‘Chase me.’

The Audi picked up speed behind the BMW.

Julianna had boasted to Hettie's friends about her handbrake turns in a confined space. However, she had never done one in a field of slippery grass with molehills and invisible ruts.

The creek was directly in front of the car. ‘Hold tight.’

She flung the steering wheel into a full lock. The car wouldn’t answer at first. Julianna dare not look ahead and braced herself for the impact of landing in the stream. The car suddenly responded, almost tipping itself on to its side. It teetered for a moment on the edge of the creek, then the tyres discovered some kind of grip. The BMW’s wheels spun for a second, before beginning the climb up the grassy slope. Black smoke billowed out of the exhaust.

The Audi carried on straight past her and at the last minute Zustaller attempted to make the same manoeuvre. The wheels locked and the engine shrieked. In the rear-view mirror, Julianna witnessed the Audi fly across the ditch. It pitched forward onto its bonnet, flipped over and missed the creek altogether. Instead, it somersaulted and smashed into a tree on the opposing bank.

Julianna wasn't going to hang around to see the outcome. They still had guns and for all she knew, given their scars, the two men were invincible and likely to walk away from the crashed car uninjured. She re-joined the lane at the top of the field. The cyclist was gone. Nobody was pursuing her, yet she couldn't stop driving like a maniac. The adrenaline rush refused to abate, and it created a strange euphoria. She laughed uncontrollably.

Coming in the other direction was a blue lit police car, its siren wailing.

‘Please stop!’ Rita hammered on the back of the driver’s seat.

Julianna slammed both feet on the brake pedal; the engine stalled. She clutched the steering wheel, and panted, as if she had been running not driving. The police had finally arrived. She shut her eyes. For the first time in hours, she allowed Mark to creep back into her thoughts – the look of relief on his face, the smile he would give her when she walked into the house. She would carve that reunion into her heart.

‘Armed police! Put your hands where I can see them.’

Julianna's eyes sprung open. Instead of walking towards the car, the policeman had ducked behind his vehicle. He held in his hands an automatic gun and wore a bullet proof jacket and helmet. Drawing up behind the BMW was another police car, blocking the road. The occupants scrambled to surround her car. One of the guns she had taken lay on the passenger seat, the other had tumbled into the footwell.

More demands for her to comply, and they weren't friendly shouts. The police officers were aggressive and jittery. The one in front was aiming his weapon directly at her head. She had just manufactured a high-speed chase – hardly the actions of a feeble victim. They thought she was part of the gang.

‘Oh dear,’ she muttered. Her tense hands ached so much they had glued themselves to the steering wheel.

Relief was replaced with a peculiar sense of disappointment. She turned to apologise to the women. She had let them down.

  42

Mark

SATURDAY 6 a.m.

Mark crashed out on a sofa in the lobby of the top floor, the same spot where a few months ago he had waited with Neil. He lay on his back, stretched out with the crook of one arm blanketing his eyes. Jackson's office door was wide open. There was no news about Julianna. Mark was overhearing one half of Jackson’s phone conversation with a member of his security team. What puzzled Jackson was the same thing that Mark wanted answering – who had betrayed her?

‘Tess, have you compiled the list?’ Jackson asked. ‘Who’s at the top of the pile?’

Jackson said something; Mark thought he heard, ‘Ex-coppers.’

The security team was an amalgamation of vetted ex-coppers, army veterans and career security experts.