What’s happened?” Patrick said, picking up on the third ring. It was twenty minutes after midnight. Why else would I be calling? I was sure he could hear the panic in my voice.
“Patrick, they found me!” I said, my heart pumping as furiously as when I’d driven away from the boatyard only minutes before. “I was at my father’s boatyard on Long Beach Island, and this man . . . He must have followed me there somehow and gotten in. He was trying to kill me, Patrick.” I held my phone with both hands, trying to keep it from shaking. “He chased me. I can’t believe what I had to do. I can’t believe I was able to get away.”
“Who?” he asked me, his voice suddenly completely alert and ready.
“I don’t know!” I tried to catch my breath. “I only know I was lucky I woke up and heard him outside or I would probably be dead.”
“I want you to tell me everything, Hilary. But right now where are you?”
I looked around. “At a gas station somewhere in Queens. I can’t believe what I just had to do. He had a gun and I couldn’t make a run for the door. I had to—”
“Hilary, listen, you can tell me all about it when we’re together. In the meantime, are you sure that you’re safe where you’re calling from now?”
“Yes. Yes. I’m in my car. I left him back at the yard.”
“You’re absolutely positive of that? There’s no way he could have followed you?”
“No. My lights are off. The station’s closed. There’s no one around. But there’s a boathook through my window where the guy tried to stop me. Glass everywhere!”
“Hilary, listen . . .” His voice was steady and comforting. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to give you an address. In Brooklyn. It’s my house. But I don’t want you to drive there yourself. I want you to leave your car on the street and find a cab. Are you in a position to do that?”
“Why?”
“You said this guy found you at the boatyard. You don’t think you were followed there?”
“No, no. I thought of that when I left you. I did my best to make sure I wasn’t.”
“I’m thinking there might be a tracking device attached to your car somewhere. So just leave it on the street and find a cab. Are you up to that? Or else you can sit where you are and I’ll come get you. But that’ll take some time.”
“No, I can do it,” I said, sucking in a breath. “A tracking device?”
“I don’t know. But I just want to make sure he doesn’t follow you anymore. Do you know Brooklyn? The address I’m going to give you is in Bensonhurst.”
“I’ll write it down.”
He told me the address: 3371-60 Crescent Avenue. I scrawled it on a grocery receipt I found on the dashboard. “You said that you’re in Queens?”
“Yes. Near the Rockaways. On Atlantic Avenue.”
“Good. That’s only about fifteen minutes away. Now, listen, do what I told you, quick. Get away from your car. And you have to make absolutely certain before leaving that this guy’s not around, waiting for you to make a move.”
“No, I’m positive. I made several turns. The streets are empty. He’s not here.”
“Okay, then go. But keep your phone on. You can talk to me. Wait in the driveway on the side of the house. I’m at my dad’s house in Staten Island. I’ll be there in about half an hour.”
“What about my car?”
“Don’t worry about your car. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Patrick.” I was trembling. “I was just so scared and I didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”
“It was right that you called me. But, listen . . . you said there’s a boathook sticking out of your car?”
“That’s right. The window’s shattered. He smashed it through and it missed my head by inches.”
He paused. “What do you say you give some serious thought to maybe taking it out before you put that car back on the street?”
He gave me a bolstering chuckle.
“Yes. Yes, I will. Of course!” I said. I actually laughed myself. “It was terrifying, Patrick! And you have no idea how close it came.”
“You can tell me about it soon. I’m on my way. And, Hilary, if you feel even the slightest nerves or danger, you holler in that phone, okay? I’ll be there.”
“Okay, I will. Thank you, Patrick. I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I’ll see you soon.”
We hung up. In the dark of the station I pulled out the hook and left it next to the garage. I looked around and parked the Acura along the darkened street. There were a few cars left out there. It seemed safe.
Then I spotted a cab coming down Atlantic Avenue. I ran out after it and flagged it down. It pulled over and I blurted out Patrick’s address. The cabbie pulled away and I looked behind me. I didn’t see anyone following us.
Only then did I start to breathe easier.
We headed west on Atlantic, toward Brooklyn, putting a lot of distance between me and whoever was after me. Shaken, I pressed my face against the window. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. I couldn’t believe what had happened.
Then something wormed into my mind.
About the conversation I’d just had. I stared at my phone.
I’d just told Patrick that someone had tried to kill me and he said he would come get me if I was in danger. He worked for the NYPD.
Never once did he mention a thing about calling in the police.