Puncture

Chapter 1

Paige tightened her hold on the gun inside her trenchcoat pocket. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed the old Ford Bronco in her vicinity, but it was the first time she had allowed it to get so close. In the darkness, it seemed to hover like a quiet predator there on the other side of the street, the solitary headlight beaming not quite directly upon her. She couldn't identify the driver, or even tell if there was a driver at all, but if there was someone inside it she knew they would be able to see her more clearly than they would have during their last few visits.

She didn't know for exactly how long they had been observing her. The earliest she could recall seeing the Ford was at least several weeks before. Even then, it took an additional few sightings before it occurred to her that she herself was the common denominator each time. The vehicle or its occupants had never outright threatened her, but their presence in itself was inherently threatening, and tonight was the first time Paige had carried a weapon with her. It wasn't much—a single-shot pistol—but it was a weapon nonetheless. She was a decent shot, and more often than not the sight of a gun alone would scare off any would-be attackers. Inwardly, that was what she was hoping for tonight. She removed it, holding it in front of her waist with both hands.

Glancing both directions, Paige stepped down off the sidewalk and onto the wet asphalt of the road. Her eyes were fixed on the windshield, straining through the glare of the headlight to see if there was anyone inside. When she reached the passenger side, she peered through the dirty glass.

There was no one there, and the truck wasn't running. When the headlights dimmed and abruptly clicked off, and Paige realized it must have been sitting there for a while. She felt her pulse quicken and her guard rise. Behind her, a vehicle passed, spraying rainwater off the road and close to where she stood.

"You're sharper than you look."

The woman pivoted on one heel to face the voice that had broken through the sound of the fizzling bubbles in the settling water. She had raised her pistol so that the barrel pointed at the head of the stranger now standing about two meters away. At his side he carried what looked to be a small piece of an engine. He stood very still, but didn't raise his hands or even show her his palms.

"Why have you been following me?" she blurted out, her finger hovering over the trigger but not yet actually resting upon it. Her brows knitted into a severe line.

The man, his face and any truly identifiable details obscured in the shadows of the night, seemed to stiffen. Paige thought she saw the hand holding the engine component twitch. For a moment, she almost thought he looked confused.

"Why are you standing between me and my truck with a gun in your hand?"

"Answer the question," demanded the woman.

"In case you haven't noticed, miss, my truck is in need of a little TLC at the moment. I couldn't follow anyone even if I wanted to."

"I've seen this truck before," Paige retorted, distrusting. "Many times. And always in my vicinity."

"And you think that means I've been following you?"

"I find it hard to believe it's a mere coincidence that I've seen this truck every day for weeks."

Across from her, Paige heard the man sigh. She tensed as his free hand moved, but relaxed a bit again when she saw it was only to wipe once at his forehead.

"I'm sure there's more than one of these trucks in this town, miss," challenged the stranger as his fingers moved to rub at his temple now. Paige, defiant, cocked the gun with a resounding click, and his stance quickly grew serious once again.

"This thing's practically museum-worthy," the blonde snapped, gesturing with her head at the Bronco behind her. "Ancient history. Hell, there hasn't been a juicer on these roads in 50 years. You don't exactly blend in."