Class Act
by
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The late afternoon sun provided ample windshield glare for the operator of a mud-splattered Ford truck to remain unobserved, a discreet distance behind Bob Clark's newer sedan. Its black-clad driver spoke into a voice-activated microcassette.
'Cat and mouse . . . so much more enjoyable when the mouse has no idea the game is being played . . . '
***
A twisting, two-lane tongue of asphalt commonly known as Highway 67 hugged the mountain on one side and framed empty space with the other. Spectacular vistas of aspen and pine on their carpets of red earth, tempted even the locals to take their eyes from the road. The infrequent guardrails, however, demanded diligence to negotiate the road's many switchbacks.
Bob never failed to appreciate the view on his way home. Mountains framed in fiery gold promised yet another breathtaking sunset. He drove with his window cracked open just enough to let the cool, crisp air sting his face. That habit annoyed his wife when they drove together, but for him it added to the exhilaration of living in the high country of Colorado.
Despite the scenery and hazardous road, he found it difficult to concentrate. A nagging headache stretched from temple to temple as he reflected upon a therapy session he'd had earlier in the day. Weeks of careful rapport-building unraveled the moment Bob told his patient about his conversation with a specialist.
It wasn't a breach of confidentiality, but had it been an error to reveal the call? Would it be a mistake to keep his second-opinion meeting with colleague Angie Nolan tomorrow?
God, his head hurt!
Unanswerable questions competed with an ominous sense of danger that he'd somehow underestimated the explosive nature of his patient. The rage-blotched face and venomous stare had been but a preamble to the spew of vile names. He'd witnessed the lightning switch from normal dialogue to verbal violence with professional detachment, but the recollection brought a shiver to his spine.
Necessity forced his focus back to the road as he approached the sloping, hairpin curve at Dry Horse Gulch. A beatup old truck materialized behind him and pulled beside his car as if to pass.
What a fool, Bob thought. The red gravel shoulder to his right would never stop a vehicle from sliding toward its edge if the driver misgauged either speed or approach.
The truck slowed as it drew parallel in the curve. Bob flashed an uneasy glance to his left, concerned with how the motorist would maneuver the angle. His momentary glimpse of the driver's hostile face confused him.
Recognition and resignation dawned a split second before the Ford rammed Bob's car.
A shower of pebbles followed the sedan into space.
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About the Book
Class Act is a fictional suspense thriller, written in the Hitchcock tradition of slowly building the viewer's apprehension, while engaging his innate fear. The heroine, Dr. Angie Nolan, a psychology professor, is stalked by a killer whose identity is eventually revealed through a series of demented actions.
Whoever stalks her has access to her office, her classroom, and her private life. She agonizes over the question of whether the predator is a student, staff member, or friend. No aspect of her existence remains untouched, including the terror of her dreams each night.
She confides in Jake Yeager, the new Director of Security, who has demons of his own. His previous career as a US Marshall, provides him a comprehensive understanding of what the 'hunted' suffer. Years of work with the witness protection program sharpened his suspicion of everyday occurrences. In an effort to provide her protection, he unwittingly sets into motion an escalation and acceleration of violence.
Angie knows time is running out when the stalker leaves a calling card of burned animals and a whispered message on her answering machine, 'I wanna touch you as you die.....I wanna touch you as you die...'
Not until the final chapters of the books, does Angie fully comprehend the complexity of the predator. By then, her life and the lives of her friends depend upon her ability to engage the arrogance of the killer long enough for help to arrive.
About the Author
Jan Blankenship is a licensed psychotherapist in Texas and maintains an active private practice. Although no patient histories went into this story, her respect and fascination for the resilience of the human spirit shows though in her writing.
In addition to her therapy practice, she consults with various businesses on topics such as conflict management, negotiation skills, and team building. She also is a frequent guest speaker for various civic organizations and churches.
In order to balance the demands of her work, she enjoys reading, traveling, horseback riding, and staying in touch with friends and family throughout the country.