Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
His phone rang a few times before he answered, “Yes?”
“Something weird is going on.” I licked my lips. “I think I’m being followed. No, I know I am.”
“Followed?” he echoed, his voice dropping.
“Yes.”
“How sure are you?”
“Positive,” I stated, firm. “When I was leaving my grandparents’ house, I noticed a bronze Chevy parked nearby. That same Chevy caught up with me and has been on my ass ever since. And I mean on my ass.”
A soft curse floated down the line. “Can you see the driver?” he asked, the sound of a door closing in the background—possibly our front door.
“Not very well. He’s male. Has a slim face and dark, scruffy hair. He’s kept enough of a distance between us that I can’t get a good look at him, but he doesn’t seem familiar.”
“Where are you?” Dax asked above the bleep of a car unlocking.
I gave him my location.
“You’re not far from CCC. Go there. Park in the lot. Stay in the car. Keep the doors locked.” A car engine began to purr. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Okay.”
He hung up without another word.
I exhaled heavily, flexing my hands around the steering wheel. And it occurred to me how instinctive it had been for me to reach out to Dax. Not my dad or Ollie or the cops. No, I’d sought Dax’s help without thought, wholly trusting that he’d know what to do; that he’d come to me no matter how busy he might be; that I could rely on him to keep me safe.
It was one thing to trust someone. It was another thing to feel that you could rely on them. It said a lot about how far he and I had come that I would so easily turn to him.
I flicked my rearview mirror another look. The Chevy was still close.
Who the hell would tail me? Why tail me? My movements wouldn’t be of interest to anyone. I highly doubted I had a stalker or anything like that.
Could someone be doing it to screw with me? I supposed so, but I didn’t see why they’d do it. There were some people who weren’t fans of mine, but none looked like the driver.
It was possible that this person was dicking with me in an effort to piss off Dax. But … I’d told Dax there was a bronze Chevy following me. That hadn’t seemed to clue him in, so maybe this wasn’t anyone that he knew. At least not well.
It was mere minutes before I arrived at my destination. In the lot, I picked a spot that was surrounded by enough cars that my little follower wouldn’t be able to park close to me. Just as I was about to turn off the ignition, my phone rang.
Dax.
I accepted the call. “Hey.”
“Are you at CCC yet?” he asked, his voice all business.
“I just got here.”
“Maverick is on his way; he lives closest. Are your doors locked?”
I pressed a button to secure them all shut. “Yes.”
“Keep it that way.”
I scratched at my head. “Do you have any idea who this person could be?”
“No. But I’ll find out who they are.”
Catching movement in my peripheral vision, I turned my head to find someone standing right there. The driver. “Uh … he’s at my window. He’s gesturing for me to lower it.” All while wearing a big “I’m harmless” smile.
“Don’t,” Dax commanded.
Like I’d had any such intention.
“I just want five minutes of your time,” said the stranger loud enough for his words to reach me through the glass.
Sadly for him, he wasn’t getting those minutes. “I don’t recognize him,” I told Dax. “He’s in his early to mid-fifties. Double-chin. Mustache. Acne scars. He’s definitely had a broken nose at some point.”
Dax muttered a quiet curse.
I tensed. “You know who he is.”
He sighed. “Yes. He’s a local reporter. His name is Lennie Fowler.”
My jaw clenched. Another goddamn reporter?
“Five minutes,” repeated Lennie, a plea in his tone. “I’ll pay you for your time.”
“Why would he want to talk to me?” I asked.
“He’ll be hoping you can give him something interesting to print about me or my family,” replied Dax, his voice flat. “He likes to do that.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So he’s done articles about you in the past?”
“Yes,” replied Dax with a grunt. “Mostly when I was a youth.”
Ignoring the knuckles wrapping on my window, I asked, “What stuff did he write?”
Dax hesitated. “Let’s just say the articles weren’t in my favor.”
Feeling my lips press into a thin line, I glared up at Lennie. He was likely one of the assholes who’d repeatedly snapped pictures of Dax back then and written shitty stories about him that painted him as a killer in the making.
Exasperation flashed in Lennie’s eyes. “I mean you no harm. I just wanna talk.”
I was tempted to tell him to fuck right off, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of having something to print. Your words could be used against you, but your silence couldn’t be misquoted.