Every Second Counts

Chapter Thirty Two

I'M STILL SAVOURING SEX with Carter Johnson as I squiggle down into the car seat, far enough down not to be noticed, but still being able to keep a close eye on the entrance to Houston's apartment block. My head flits between 'OMG who would have thought that when I ambushed the uptight suit-clad do-gooder in the taxi that night could end up being a man I now know I'm head over heels in love with,' and 'the man from Mississippi is going down!'

My laptops in my hands and when my head is full of Carter Johnson and that magnificent naked body moving rhythmically with mine, I'm staring at the screen in a daze. Fortunately, when Houston arrives home in his car it jettisons me back into the real world. I stare at the screen and within minutes I see the door to his apartment open. He switches on his light and he walks into his dining room with a bag slung over his shoulder. There is something wary about his demeanour tonight. Hesitating. Looking left, right, then he switches the lights back off. I can't see him now, but the words I hear coming from my laptop strangles me in fear.

'Fucking hell. You fuckers. Wait till I get hold of you bastards.' His voice is pure evil. He switches the lights back on, strides toward the window, above which is the pelmet. In seconds his face covers my whole screen and he's shouting at me, AT. ME. 'I know who you are.'

I drop my laptop like it's on fire. Shit.

He knows it's me.

He knows it's me.

I am so fucked!

Self-preservation takes over and tells me to get the hell out of here. I'm about to start my car and flee for my life. Fortunately logic kicks in before I do anything. More than likely, Houston will be at his window by now. Looking down, scanning the street and if I start up my car, he's bound to put two and two together, come after me. I sit for an agonising ten minutes with all sorts of things going around in my head, mainly how I'm gonna die. I'm really thankful I've updated 'What happened to my parent's' document, even to the extent I have talked about the surveillance of Houston and his supposed client with the money and the fire. It's when horrors of imminent death are racing through my head I start to reason that Houston cannot know it is me. The Hulk said the camera device was untraceable.

His lights go out around eleven o'clock and I'm not that stupid to think he's gone to bed. So, I wait. It is in the early hours of the morning when I start my car and drive slowly down Houston's street past the houses and apartments shrouded in darkness.

I have made it!

The streets are empty. Just me. As I take a right and head toward the highway I see car lights behind me. Is it him? I flick the wave of paranoia that is about to engulf me, but the car rounds the corner following me. A glint from the street lights and I can see a .

Hell's teeth he'll have a gun.

He'll do a drive by shooting!

The highway is less than 100 metres away. I can see vehicles belting along in both directions. I have to make the highway and merge into traffic. Every second counts and I notch up a gear, slam my foot onto the accelerator wishing for all the world I was in my BMW. I'd leave the fucker in dust! But, this old banger? I'm so dead!

It's like his car is flying. One minute he'ss 30 metres away, now he's screaming up behind me. I slink as low as I can. I don't want a bullet in the back of my head.

CRASH! He rams his bumper into the back of my car. My car judders forward. I jerk. Fuck, my neck hurts. This is not what I thought he'd do. Damage his fancy car? My knuckles are locked onto my steering wheel and I swerve to the right onto the footpath. In a screech of brakes Houston's car comes to a standstill in the middle of the street.