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a game we’re playing.”
    He seized her arm, jerked her back into the automobile and leaned across her to slam the door. He glared at her as he fastened his own seat belt, then reached over to buckle hers. The clasp clicked with finality. Mallory dropped her head to avoid eye contact. What if she looked into his eyes and saw madness gleaming back at her? What if there weren’t any hoodlums in the parking lot? What if the priest had been just that, a priest who had visited Keith by mistake?
    The car engine leaped to life and Mallory leaped with it. Her head shot up and she fastened a terrified gaze on Mac Phearson’s taut features. He threw an arm over the seat and craned his neck to see behind them as he backed the Volvo out of the parking space. Despite the mustard-stained sweat suit and tousled hair, he was an extremely attractive man. Were madmen good-looking? She remembered seeing the infamous Ted Bundy’s photograph, remembered thinking how incredible it was that he’d murdered so many women. The police claimed he had convinced some of his victims that he was a police officer and coaxed them into his car. Like Mac Phearson had just coaxed her?
    As the car surged forward, she turned to look back at the parking lot, not sure whether or not she wanted to see a carful of men pursuing them. Either way, she was in a mess. He was driving too fast and the slanting sun reflected off all the windshields. “May I see your ID now, Mr. Mac Phearson?” she asked as calmly as she could manage.
    â€œNow?” He threw her an incredulous look. “It’s there in the backseat, but I’d really rather you didn’t undo your belt. As soon as we’re someplace safe, I’ll get it for you.”
    Someplace safe? she thought. Safe for who? Him or her?

Chapter Two
    For an endless moment, Mallory stared at Mac Phearson’s profile, acutely aware that their car was picking up speed, heading west. Buildings flashed by. Air whished in around her door. She inched sideways in the seat to face him. He was too busy driving and checking his rearview mirror to notice her.
    â€œI can’t see anyone following us. Why should it hurt if I unfasten my seat belt?”
    Distracted by the question, he glanced her way. “Give it a few minutes so I can be sure they aren’t coming. Right now, ID is the
least
of our worries. Where’s your daughter staying?”
    Mallory gnawed the inside of her lip, a bad habit of hers when she was upset. His act was convincing, she had to admit, but there didn’t appear to be any villain on the scene. “Mr. Mac Phearson, I want to see some ID.
Now.
”
    He ignored her, his mouth pressed into a grim line.
    Mallory unfastened her seat belt and turned as if to get out of the car. “Either you come up with some ID or I’m taking a quick exit.”
    His hand shot out to grab the front of her jacket. “Damn, are you crazy? Don’t you
dare
open that door.”
    â€œTake your hand off me.”
    â€œWe’re doing forty-five, in case you haven’t noticed.” He checked his mirror again, then narrowed his eyes. With a curse, he released her and grabbed the wheel with both hands. “That’s them. Hold on.”
    He floored the gas pedal. She stared through the windshield at the heavy traffic, horrified, as he switched lanes and cut off the car behind them. Brakes squealed as he swung across an oncoming lane to reach the north 405 exit ramp.
    â€œYou’re going to kill somebody!”
    â€œI’ve got to make the exit.”
    A blue Lincoln swerved into the guardrail to miss them. Mallory had a death grip on the dash. “We’re going to crash!”
    â€œThey’re on our tail.”
    They? She couldn’t tear her eyes from the brown Bronco that bore down on them. Its steel bumper and winch seemed as formidable as a tank. More brakes squealed. The Bronco skidded sideways and brought the exiting