“Now you’re just being paranoid.” I sensed the eye roll in her tone without even looking at her, and I hoped she was right.
“Can you snap a picture of their license plate?”
She scoffed. “I only have one good arm, and it’s my non-dominant one. You want me to turn around in the seat and hold the phone steady to get a good picture?”
“Can you take the wheel then?”
Her eyebrows shot up high on her forehead. “Are you serious?”
I glanced in the rearview just as the car sped up, getting a little too close to the bumper of my car for comfort. Would he try running us off the road like he did the ambulance? No way would I let that happen. I made a sudden right and breathed out a sigh of relief when the car didn’t follow.
Lyla glanced over her shoulder. “You really think it was the same car?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
We were both quiet as I drove the rest of the way to the hospital. She kept looking around, seeming uncomfortable. That made two of us.
Maybe she was starting to realize that Kyle was right, and wascoming to terms with what I also believed. Whoever ran them off the road actually meant to do them harm.
LYLA
The whole ride to the hospital felt weird. Adam was sure we were being followed, and by the time we arrived, my gut screamed at me that something wasn’t right. Almost like that feeling of being watched…or, well…followed.
Maybe Kyle was right.
But the drive home was uneventful, and I was determined to dwell on the positive note from the afternoon. The doctor had given me the all clear—or mostly—to slowly resume normal activities. But only to the point I could handle. I obviously still couldn’t use my shoulder yet, not until physical therapy started. But I could start reading and watching TV again. Even take short walks if I felt up to it.
I leaned back against the railing of Adam’s balcony, glancing over at him cooking a few burgers on the electric grill he had out there. His outdoor setup was so much nicer than the one at my apartment.
A cooing sound came from above me, and I glanced up, spotting a pigeon sitting on the edge of the balcony above us. I didn’t even have a chance to wonder why it was fluffing up its feathers, and, as usual, my reflexes failed me as I watched something drop toward me and land in my hair.
My body finally moved and I jumped away from the edge with a squeal of disgust.
“What’s wrong?” Adam stared at me with concern in his eyes.
“I’m pretty sure a freaking pigeon just pooped in my hair.”
“Seriously?” He stepped toward me as I bent my head forward so he could look at the offended spot. “Only you could have a bird poop in your hair. I’ll grab you a wet paper towel.”
He chuckled and I whipped my gaze up. “Eww, no. I need to wash it.”
His lips lifted into a smirk. “You know they say it’s good luck.”
“That’s great.” I rolled my eyes, stalking toward the door and yanking it open. “Doesn’t mean I’m leaving it in my hair all night.”
I had already showered for the day, but there was no way I was leaving bird poop in my hair for another second, let alone minutes or hours, and a wet paper towel was not going to cut it for me. I didn’t want to risk washing it too close to bedtime, either. Going to sleep on wet curls meant waking up to disaster. And a rewash.
Maybe I could handle a quick wash with my good arm before he was finished with the burgers. It didn’t hurt to try.
Picking up an old T-shirt from my room to wrap my curls, I headed into the bathroom, feeling more confident in my abilities than I probably had a right to a week post-concussion. Plus, it was no secret Murphy and I were on a first-name basis, that wonderful law of his creating havoc in my life far too often. Still, I’d washed my hair thousands of times in my lifetime. This was the easy stuff. What was the worst that could happen?
After removing my shirt and bra, I grabbed the handheld sprayer and sat on the edge of the tub. I didn’t want to put too much pressure on my shoulder by leaning over the side, so this way seemed like a better choice.
Well, until I sat back up after wetting it down.
Reaching out to grab the shampoo, the room started to spin as I was hit with a wave of dizziness. I felt myself slippingoff the edge, but there wasn’t anything I could do to stop the inevitable. Fortunately, I was already sitting down, so I didn’t have far to go.
The sprayer slipped from my hand and banged against the wall. At least I had the foresight in the moment to protect my bad shoulder, spinning my body so I landed on my back in the tub.
