Winding In

Urquhart raced into the long unbroken curve on West Main, studying the rearview for any sign of Madden. No flashers, no headlights, no shadows moving under the streetlamps. He took his foot off the gas, let the car coast through the better part of a mile, braking to a stop finally at Chickamauga, the first cross street. The light was green.

He put his head out the window and scanned the road. The night was quiet; nothing stirred. Looking in the mirror, trying to sort out the tumult in his head. Watching the empty road, knowing somehow it wasn't over, that if he went on watching long enough he'd see those Federal headlights pop up over the rise, coming for him.

He put the car back in gear, hung a sharp right, then another right, then another, moving off the main streets and into dark silent drives, shorter and shorter streets, tighter turns and spirals. He drove up a dead-end street and stopped, switching off his headlights.