twenty-five

Larry Conti slid back from the steering wheel of his old blue pickup and waited to start the engine. Karen was a block down the street, parked along the curb around the corner from William’s house. She said she was going out for lunch. But the closest restaurant or her apartment was five blocks away.

What was she doing? And why hadn’t she included him in on whatever it was?

He started the truck just as Karen’s coupe pulled from the curb and made an immediate right down a side street. He pulled out so fast he nearly sideswiped a school bus dropping off kindergartners after morning classes. The bus driver swerved, gave him a long, angry horn and a few silent expletives through the bus door window, and continued to the corner.

“Dammit, move.”

The bus’s emergency lights were on and four small children stumbled down the bus stairs to waiting parents on the corner. The entire departure took three minutes—the driver waited while one little girl returned to the bus for some forgotten refrigerator art. Finally, after more hugs and more waves, the bus lights turned off and it moved down the street.

It was too late.

Larry stomped on the gas and slid around the corner trying to find Karen. Had there been dry streets instead of slush, he could have squealed his tires. Instead, he slid halfway across the road, recovered poorly, and fishtailed another half a block to a stop sign.

She was nowhere to be seen.

“Dammit. Stupid kids.” He stomped on the gas again and kept straight, hoping to catch her ahead. Three blocks later, he cursed louder and banged his fist on the steering wheel. “Jesus, Karen, you better not be doing something with Thorne.”

He dialed her cell number but she didn’t pick up. Stranger yet, it didn’t go to voicemail.

What was she up to?

Larry slammed his cell phone down into the console between the front seats and cursed to himself. His temper blinded him from anything around him. Had he simply looked in the rearview mirror, he might have caught the gaze of the tall, dark-haired woman behind him. She hadn’t done anything unusual—not for the five blocks she’d been following him since leaving William Mendelson’s neighborhood. But he might have noticed that she’d also been watching Karen Simms. He might have also noticed her pull out to the intersection and wait until he’d made the right and fishtailed down the street trying to catch up to Karen—she stayed back three car lengths and easily kept him in her sights.

But he hadn’t noticed her. And during his entire trip to Karen Simms’s apartment, he failed to notice that the woman remained faithfully behind him, following his every move. Had Larry simply realized that while he followed Karen, someone was following him, the fear William had shared with him might not have seemed like just the paranoia of an old man.

It would have made him afraid, too.