The glowing yellow light over the bay buzzes as I walk by it, picking my way through uneven grass and pebbles. I move slowly, surveying everything, including the dark path at my back, because it continues on past the warehouse.
He could be down there.
I turn to face the pitch black trail.
Should I?
The warehouse behind me is foreboding, making my body tense, my mind panicked when usually its sharp steel.
And I’ve already peered on this side of it.
There’s no hidden WRX.
He could’ve driven it inside, but I’d have to try the doors to confirm and I don’t want to get that close.
I squeeze the grip of the gun in my hand.
Then I march into the woods. Fox would kill me if he could see me now but luckily for me, he can’t. He can’t even track my location if my phone won’t connect to a cell tower.
I hold my head high and examine every inch of the forest I can see. Briefly, I contemplate ducking closer to the trees themselves, but truthfully, I’m worried about the critters in there. It’s not the highest activity month for bears, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t around.
One bullet would do little damage to a black bear and depending on whether or not they were hungry, I might not get a chance for more than one shot.
I hunch my shoulders close, something I’d never do in the light of day with people watching. When I’m visible, I have to beon.Lydia Flynn is not to be fucked with. Lydia Flynn doesn’t give a man the time of day. Lydia Flynn once shot a guy in the balls because he shorted her shipment. (And that’s the truth).
In my world, you have to be the fucking bear, and that’s especially true for women.
But walking here in the dead of night with dubious plans to possibly kill a man depending on how our little talk goes, I’m nervous. If you don’t admit it sometimes, you’re too cocky, and the cocky ones get killed.
I glance over my shoulder when I hear the crunch of a leaf, finger now on the trigger.
My body is perfectly still and I hold my breath to hear better.
But there’s nothing but the warehouse in the distance. The single bulb. My car parked at an angle.
It could’ve been an animal or the light breeze curling through the night. I inhale the scent of the mountains; fresh, crisp fall drenched in my lungs. There’s nothing that smells like this in the world. The familiarness of it cloaks me like a blanket worn through and I face the direction I’m going and take another step. Another. I go slow but keep pace.
Then, when the warehouse has disappeared behind me, I hear the unmistakable sound of an engine.
I dart into the woods, behind a tree, then peer around it, gun in both hands now. I won’t shoot his tires out or anything because tonight is not the night he dies, not yet, since Lele’s fate still hangs in the balance, and I can afford to let him get away. But I watch as his vibrant LED lights bounce on the path, filtering through the trees. I squeeze a little tighter to the wide trunk of the one in front of me, waiting for his car to go past.
But…it doesn’t.
It slows to a crawl just before it comes into view.
I see the side view mirror. The matte black paint, like the night itself in the dark. The engine hums, and the tinted windows—as dark as mine—are rolled up.
My breath catches in the back of my throat, but I don’t dare move. Did he see me? Why else would he stop? But he won’t shoot a bullet through his own window, right?
I stay still, the gun down by my hip, aimed at the forest floor, but fingers from both hands are on the trigger. How could he have seen me? I got into the woods before his car rounded the curve up ahead, before his headlights were even visible.
It’s not possible.
Not unless he, like me, has high-powered cameras strung up around this place. I didn’t see any though, and I have an eye for spotting surveillance.
We seem to be waiting each other out, but I like to think he’s looking ahead, toward the warehouse, trying to gauge if I’m there or not.
Surprise, motherfucker. I’m right beside you.
