The night rushed by at a speed that made Katelina sick. She hung over Verchiel's shoulder like a sack of rags and, though she kicked her legs, he seemed no more aware of her than he was of the biting wind. He moved through the snowy landscape at an alarming speed, winding past farmhouses, barns and white fields dotted with hay bales.
He turned onto a lonely gravel road and gradually slowed to a stop. A canary yellow sports car waited for them. The vehicle reminded her of him; too bright and too conspicuous.
With his free hand he produced a remote that unlocked the doors with a beep. He jerked open the passenger door, threw the suitcase in the back and then stuffed her inside, despite her protests. The door snapped closed and she grabbed the handle, intending to open it and jump back out,
