She’d made it three blocks, a good three-quarters of a mile, before I finally found her keeled over with her hands on her knees, panting. I doubted she’d stopped because she was tired. It was more likely because she didn’t know where to go. But she kicked it back into overdrive when she saw my car round the corner. I gassed it, passed her, and slammed on the brakes, hoping I’d given her enough room to stop. I didn’t have time to kill the ignition. She was already accelerating in the opposition direction. I gave chase and never would have caught her if she weren’t already gassed. “Get the hell away from me,” she screamed as I approached. “Val, please listen to me.” She punched my injured shoulder, which made me moan. She winced apologetically for a moment when I grabbed my shoulder, but then she turned angry again once she could tell I was okay. “Val, please. It’s not what you think.” “I don’t care what it is, it’s wrong, Milo. It’s wrong.” “Please come back with me.
