Pitch Black (Romantic Thriller, Completed)

Chapter 1

Author's Note:

If you're reading this note on any site other than W*ttpad, then you're reading a pirated copy of this book. Please choose to read on a reputable site rather than one run by thieves. Writers put in a lot of effort to bring you stories - the least you can do is allow them control of their own work.

I (Elise Noble) do not have an account on the NovelHD site - the people who run it have created a fake account in my name.

And if you are reading on W4ttpad, thanks so much for giving my story a try!

***

As I sped along the highway, the rain fell harder than the last man I shot with my faithful Walther P88.

Ahead, a fork of lightning lit up the sky, closely followed by the angry growl of thunder. I accelerated around a truck driving slowly, or as normal people would say, sensibly, and kept the pedal flat to the floor. The drive to Dulles International Airport usually took two hours, but at this rate, I'd do it in just over one. Either that or end up wrapping my car around something solid.

At that moment, I didn't particularly care which.

A bend came up, and the back end of the car broke loose, swinging from side to side in a wild fishtail. I grappled with the steering wheel, knuckles white, and managed to keep the vehicle pointing in the right direction. My Dodge Viper didn't like the weather any more than I did. Metallic black, with an 8.4-litre V10 engine, it looked mean and sounded meaner.

Not exactly your typical girl's car.

But, as my husband had pointed out when he handed me the keys on my birthday, "You're not a normal girl, Diamond." The nickname he gave me on the night we met had stuck through the years.

Fuck, I missed him.

Soon the road evened out, and the car settled back into a more-or-less straight line. The highway was almost empty. Only long-distance truck drivers and a few desperate souls crawling along in the slow lane were crazy enough to be out in this storm. Fortunately, all the cops were most likely tucked up in their squad rooms too, munching on donuts and mainlining coffee, far too busy with the important things in life to worry about little old me, merrily barrelling along I-95 at twice the speed limit.

I flicked through the radio stations until I found one playing rock. Bon Jovi belted out "Livin' on a Prayer," which seemed quite appropriate given how fast I was driving.

By the time I hit the outskirts of Centreville, the rain had slackened to a steady drizzle. The road was mirrored with puddles, the rippling reflections of the streetlights twinkling up at me. Just in case a stray cop was hanging around, I slowed down to somewhere near legal as I drove through town.

I'd kept a careful eye behind me on the way, and I was confident nobody had tailed me, especially with the speed I was driving. Even so, I made four consecutive right-hand turns to be on the safe side, doubling back on myself and driving through a residential area. Only once I was satisfied I was alone did I make my way back to the main road and continue on to the airport.

The long-term parking lot stretched out before me, and I carried on to the back. I didn't want my vehicle to stand out, although I appreciated that was wishful thinking with the Viper. Still, it wouldn't have to remain unspotted for long. I only needed a day or so's head start to disappear, and I figured it would be a couple of hours before anyone even started looking for me.

I opened the minuscule trunk and climbed out to collect the leather travel bag that lived in there, then threw it on the passenger seat while I slid back into the driver's side. Once I'd closed the door, I unzipped the outside pocket and pulled out the wallet I'd stashed there several months before.