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thoughts, the van, which had been gaining on McCall's motorcycle bit by bit, drew even with him, pulled slightly ahead, and then slowed. |
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Without conscious thought D.J. pushed harder on the accelerator of her truck in an effort to catch up. Her heart thudded faster, and she could hear the rasp of her breath in the closed cab of the pickup. |
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"Shit," she muttered right before the van cut back into the right lane too soon and clipped the front of the motorcycle, sending McCall and his bike skidding into the gravel at the side of the road. |
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D.J. slammed on her brakes and pulled over. She jumped out of her car and raced toward the still, black lumps of McCall and his bike. The drone of an engine made her glance up. The van idled several yards away. D.J. squinted into the darkness, waiting for the driver to get out and offer assistance. The back-up lights flared, white against red. |
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"This man needs help!" she shouted. |
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The van, which had begun to roll backward toward McCall, a little too fast for D.J.'s liking, jerked to a stop at her shout. The back-up lights went off as the driver shifted into gear and drove away. |
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She hadn't been able to see well enough in the dark to get a license plate. D.J. took a few steps forward, as if to run after the disappearing van, then thought better of such stupidity. Instead, she ran to McCall and knelt at his side. |
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He'd been thrown clear of the bike, which was in sorry shape from the looks of the twisted metal. As D.J. reached him, McCall groaned and sat up. Thankfully he'd worn a helmet, heavy wool pants, |
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