Chapter 33

It wasn’t that I chickened out on contacting Joe. It was that I couldn’t decide precisely how to do it. He had office hours until five o’clock, and although I tried several times to come up with a brief yet meaningful text message, all my attempts at wording came out sounding lame. And leaving a voicemail or a message with his receptionist felt wrong.

Truth was, I realized as I made my way to the parking lot adjacent to Joe’s medical office, even though Flynn had corroborated his story, I wanted Joe to know that I’d been willing to take a leap of faith without it. And I wanted to tell him so in person.

I found an empty spot in the lot and leaned against the side of my car to wait. It was five minutes to five. I knew better than to expect him to pop out the door at the top of the hour. Patients didn’t suddenly disappear when time was up.

Medical personnel began drifting out at about five fifteen. A couple of them gave me a curious glance before getting into their cars and driving away. One woman said hello and smiled.

After the departing staffers dwindled and my car and Joe’s were the only ones left in the lot, I glanced at my phone. Five twenty-seven.

Maybe I should have called first. What if he planned to catch up on paperwork for the next three hours? I could be in for a long wait.

I walked a few steps one way then another, considering whether I should text him after all, when movement in the greenery fifteen feet away caught my attention.

Giant yews lined the eastern edge of the parking lot. A person, or perhaps a large dog, crouched behind one of them. Now that I looked more closely, I could tell it was a man wearing dark pants, a dark jacket, and a baseball cap. In this late afternoon warmth, he had to be uncomfortable.

I was uncomfortable because it was clear he was watching me.

I took a few steps closer to confirm my suspicion. Yep. The same man who had been taking photos outside the Granite Building the day Virginia had been killed. The man who’d sat near me when I had lunch with Neal Davenport. The man I’d spotted at the bar when I went to dinner with Joe. I’d been so sure it had been Craig following me all this time that I’d forgotten about my mysterious shadow until now.

“Come out of there, you,” I called out. “If you think you’re being discreet, you’re failing miserably.”

While I spoke, I pulled my phone out again and navigated to Rodriguez’s number.

The man took the long way around the line of yews and emerged at the far left end. I was right. Same guy. He held his phone up at about eye height and made no disguise of taking pictures.

We were about thirty feet apart now. Too far for him to grab me. Nonetheless, I positioned myself behind Joe’s car in case I needed cover. Holding up my phone, I wiggled it for emphasis. “Tell me why you’re following me and you’d better make it good; otherwise I’m calling the police.”

“I’m not following you, honey,” he said. “I’m following him.” He gestured with his elbow.

I turned to see Joe coming up behind me. No cane today. “Grace?” he said. “What are you doing here?” He pointed at the man snapping pictures. “Who’s that?”

“I came to see you,” I said before turning back to the man. “Who are you?”

He pulled a business card out of his pocket and tossed it toward us. It fluttered and fell to the ground. I left it there.

“I believe you met my associate, Yolanda,” he said. Hoisting the phone again, he aimed. “Say cheese,” he said, and clicked. “The two of you get a little closer, okay? You know, snuggle up a bit?” He lowered the phone long enough for me to see his smug grin. “I get paid big bucks to deliver results. I want to keep this gravy train running full speed.”

“Get out of here,” Joe said. “Get away from me.”

“You can’t keep me off public property,” he said.

“This is private property,” Joe said as he advanced on him. “You want to argue the point?”

The man smirked. He made his way to a section of the lot that faced the street and stepped over the concrete divider onto the sidewalk. “Better?” He lifted the phone again and squeezed off more shots. “Come on, smile for the camera.”

“I’m sorry, Grace,” Joe said. “Is this the guy you saw at dinner the other night?”

Nodding, I came around the car to join him. The two of us were careful to maintain a respectable distance while the man at the sidewalk grabbed more photos and jeered.

“That’s him all right,” I said with a rueful laugh. “All this time I thought he was following me.” I gave a sad laugh. “I sure sound full of myself, don’t I?”

“Not at all, Grace. Completely understandable.”

Joe turned to face the guy. Grinning hard through gritted teeth, he pointed to himself. “This a big enough smile for you?” Turning back to me, he sobered. “I have no idea how long this will keep up. Until the divorce is final, at least.”

I waved and smiled at the would-be photographer. “Which is my best side? This,” I asked, turning to my right, “or this?” I turned to my left.

The guy must not have enjoyed our attention. He pocketed the phone.

Joe rested a hand on the hood of his car. “You came here to see . . . me?” he asked.

“I did.” I smiled. “I knew where to find you.”

He started toward me, then stopped himself, tilting his head toward the man at the sidewalk. “Are you willing to put up with this guy shadowing us for a little while?”

“This guy and his partner, Yolanda,” I said.

“Yes, Yolanda,” he said. “How could I forget?” He took a half step closer, his eyes bright and warm. “You know I’d like to kiss you right now,” he whispered.

“You know I want you to,” I whispered back.

“Hey, you two. A little louder. I can’t hear from this distance.”

We both glanced back at the investigator. Still watching us, he ran the back of his hand against his forehead and shifted his weight.

Joe turned to me. “What do you say? Are you free for dinner? Or drinks?”

“How about both?” I said with a smile.

“We could probably give him the slip, but that would just play into his game, wouldn’t it?”

“It would.” I shrugged. “If he intends to be our chaperone, why not invite him along?”

Joe laughed as he dug out his remote and unlocked the car. “We’re going to grab dinner now,” he shouted to the man.

The guy jerked in surprise. “Smart aleck,” he shouted back.

“Not kidding,” Joe said. “Feel free to join us. Not at the same table, though. You’re on your own for that.” Turning to me again, Joe said, “Where do you want to go?”

“Hugo’s?”

He gave me a wink and shouted again. “Better get moving, buddy. We’re leaving now. Stay close. I’ll try not to lose you.”

Still looking skeptical, the man trotted over to a compact car parked on the side street. “You better not,” he shouted back.

“This ought to be interesting,” I said.

“Interesting.” Joe shook his head. “That’s one word for it, I guess. I’m just sorry to drag you into my troubles.”

“Nope.” I squinted in the direction of the investigator, who was squeezing behind the wheel of his small car. “No dragging involved. I’m here because I want to be.” I met Joe’s eyes. “We’ll face this together.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “Thank you.” He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” I said as I opened the passenger door. “Let’s go.”