“Shit,” Sterling muttered, already standing. “You want to call Dawson?”
Buddy shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s see if it’s watching or just passing time.”
He grabbed his holster and snapped it in place. “We’re heading out.”
Dove smirked. “Finally, a little fun.”
Buddy stepped into the humid slap of Florida air first, Sterling and Dove flanking him, all three scanning without drawing attention to themselves.
The Charger was exactly where it had been when he saw it through the blinds—backed into the convenience store slot across the street, angled like it was waiting for permission to pounce.
Buddy didn’t break stride. “Eyes open.”
Dove stuffed her cell in her pocket. “Let’s see if our friend wants to play.”
They piled into Buddy’s truck—Sterling taking shotgun, Dove behind him. Doors shut solidly, three clicks of readiness. Buddy started the engine and eased into traffic like it was any other Friday morning.
The Charger pulled out two cars behind them. Not aggressive. Not shy.
Just there.
Sterling watched the side mirror. “He’s not really hiding it, but he’s not making an announcement either.”
“That’s a statement all by itself,” Buddy said. His knuckles tightened around the wheel. “The only question is whether or not he’s gonna make a move or just watch.”
Dove clicked her seat belt. “Nobody makes themselves known unless they plan on doing something. Not unless they’re dumb fucks.”
They made the turn onto Main Street, then a quick right onto Union Route, before taking the second right onto old Calusa Cove Drive. It ran parallel to Main and looped back onto Cypress Street before merging into Union Route, a couple of miles outside of town, where there was nothing but road.
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you're leading us to our deaths,” Dove whispered. “This street is creepy.”
“That’s the old theatre that Decker’s going to eventually restore. He’s also filed a proposal with the town to turn that old warehouse into a combo museum honoring local heritage, along with a wildlife learning center for locals, scouts, and tourists. Trent’s all over that, and he’d be a great teacher.”
“Of children?” Dove asked. “That man is a lot of things, but not sure he should be allowed near kids.”
Buddy glanced at the review. The Charger followed.
Adrenaline unfurled in his veins, dark and cold and welcome. He took another right, deeper into the warehouse grid.
“Trent might surprise you,” he managed as he pressed his foot on the gas.
The Charger closed the distance.
“You seeing this?” Sterling asked.
“Oh yeah,” Buddy said.
The road narrowed after the theatre and the warehouse—nothing but empty space and echo.
The Charger surged forward.
“Here we go,” Buddy said. “Be ready for anything, and someone can text Dawson now.”
“Already did.” Dove waved her cell. “I’m not too stupid to live. This road is clearly where clowns come to die. And in the horror movie world, clowns don’t fucking die.”
The Charger slipped into their blind spot on the left, pacing them, matching their speed within inches.
“What the fuck are these assholes doing,” Sterling muttered.
