Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [72]
As he leaned into a curve, he noticed a reflection in the rearview mirror. Since the trees heavily lined both sides of the road, with leaves still half-clinging, the afternoon shadows were long and in heavy contrast. At first he thought it was just a trick of light. But the distraction kept catching his eye.
Finally, on the last curve, he noticed what kept pulling his attention: a black truck. It hung back, nearly out of range of his mirror. Generally, he wouldn’t even pay it mind. Only, the memory of the truck being parked up at the drive-in when it was closed came to mind.
Prickles rippled up his spine.
Tommy, what’s he doing?
Asha’s grip on Jago’s waist tightened as the voice filled her brain. Not now, she prayed.
Before, when she’d been assailed with the memories of Laura Valmont at the pool and the drive-in, she had totally zoned out. At the pool Jago had been there; he would’ve caught her if she’d fallen. In the car, she had faced no physical danger, but here, losing consciousness, and slipping into a past that happened over four decades ago, could be costly. She might fall from the bike, or cause Jago to lose control. The prospect was scary. She gritted her teeth and tried to fight the images.
Oh, please not now. Her mind tore in two. Part of her was on the back of the motorcycle with Jago. Another part was channeling images from Laura and the 1960s.
Tommy, I’m scared.
Asha was scared, too. She faintly shook her head as if she could dispel the overpowering recollections of Laura, but the insular feel of the helmet made it harder to fight the flashes. The narrow, winding road Jago had taken seemed familiar, though she’d never been on it before. However, Laura Valmont had, in a fire-engine red Ford Mustang.
Pulling back from the past sucking at her, she grew aware Jago had picked up speed. The sense of everything zooming by in a blur was dizzying. Her arms tightened about him and held on for dear life. Please, stop! Oh, bloody hell, please stop! She wasn’t sure if the thoughts were hers or Laura’s.
She tried not to squeeze Jago too tightly, yet it was hard to judge. Instead of bringing the motorcycle to a halt, he gunned the engine. The bike almost jerked on the back wheel. She gasped as the Harley roared down the road. They were nearing the cliffs. Have mercy, Jago surely wouldn’t take the old abandoned road? Glancing up, Asha caught sight of the reflection in the review mirror; she then risked turning her head to see. A dark truck bore down on them, keeping pace with the motorcycle’s flat-out speed. As the pickup gained on them, Jago again goosed the Harley, nearly causing the back wheel to spin on the wet pavement. The monster leapt forward, keeping them out of harm’s way.
Asha held her breath as the truck inched closer and closer. Her heart racing like the motorcycle engine, the sound of the tires on the wet pavement, the roar of the Harley—all blended into part of the nightmare from the past. She swallowed her own panic. It doubled, as she tasted the terror of Laura Valmont.
A scream ripped through her brain as she struggled for the last vestiges of reality. She could not lose consciousness at this high velocity. She would die. Jago would die.
We’re together. We’ll always be together. Just like the song, our love will never die.
Never die. Never die. Never die.
Just as Asha opened her mouth to let her scream meld with Laura’s, Jago cut the bike to the left and shot down a narrow side road, barreling down the dilapidated lane. The truck roared on past. Jago skillfully spun the bike in a 180-degree turn, so that he sat, legs braced, facing the mouth of the small road. He waited, gunning the Harley, clearly fearful the idiot driver might come back.
Shocked by the experience, and still being drawn into the