Layla ran hard, feeling exhilarated and by the end of it, very tired. And it was then that she saw the big man with the mop of flying red hair coming from the edge of the park towards her, running towards her. And the set expression on his beefy face told her his intentions were unfriendly.
For a moment she froze in total shock.
Then, gasping in a startled breath, Layla turned on her heel and fled.
‘Hey!’ he shouted.
She didn’t stop. Her muscles were aching, her chest was aching with effort, but she kept her legs pumping, making for the end of the park that led out on to the road that would take her home. She could hear his heavy footsteps pounding the ground behind her, could hear his breathing. He was gaining on her.
Shit.
What the hell was happening here?
Panic made her step hard on the gas. There was no one about, no one to help. She had no option but to keep running. She could feel herself flagging though. Could feel her energy draining away. Too much heavy food and too much alcohol last night. And fear was making her chest tight. She was struggling to breathe. Fighting to draw oxygen in, feed her aching, exhausted muscles.
Run. Just run dammit.
She was fit. She was young. She was strong.
Come on. You can do it.
Layla glanced over her shoulder – and felt a bolt of terror shoot up through her entire body.
He was only a couple of metres behind her, and accelerating. He was reaching out to grab her.
Layla jinked like a thoroughbred refusing a fence, swerving left, out of his reach. He stumbled forward, swearing, wrong-footed.
She ran on, fear giving her extra speed, a voice inside her head repeating, I can’t keep this up.
Would she make it home, get to her front door?
And – oh Christ – where was the door key? It was in her trainer where she always put it. She was going to have to stop, get it out, stick it in the lock, open the door… and he was so close. Too close.
Her pulse was hammering. She was sweating and straining and her legs felt like lead. She was tired. Nearly done for. And having been wrong-footed once, he had stepped up the pace, determined not to let her escape him next time.
This was what happened to people, they were snatched and never seen again.
A memory stirred: a cellar, a knife, hostile strangers who had hurt her.
No. Not again.
He was close behind her as she tore out of the park and on to the pavement, so close that she could hear his every breath. Any minute now, and he would make another grab for her. The road they were on was lined with parked cars. If he succeeded in dragging her into a car, that would be it.