“Four million dollars, Emma,” Ryan laughed. “And another two million when your life insurance clears after tonight. Travis was cheap. Brooke was smart. And you were a naïve ATM.”
“You cut my brakes just like you had Travis cut the van’s tires.”
“I didn’t need Travis this time,” he boasted. “I cut them myself twenty minutes ago. There’s no surviving this hill.”
The road straightened ahead, ending near a concrete barrier.
“I accept it,” I said, dropping the panic from my voice. “But I think you’ll have a harder time accepting your future.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I asked you to confess,” I said. “And you did. Live.”
A third voice cut through the call.
“Ryan Hayes, this is Detective Sergeant Miller. Your confession is being broadcast on a law enforcement channel. Pull over now.”
Ryan gasped.
But I still had no brakes.
“Miller, I can’t stop!”
“Runaway truck ramp on your left! Two hundred yards!”
I saw it.
