“I thought you were already nervous.”
“You’re making memorenervous.”
Beth patted her arm, then squeezed it. “I’m just teasing, Lauren. You know that. Just teasing.”
That was what Lauren told herself when, later that night, after the movie had let out and she and Beth had gone their separate ways on the streets of Boston, she had the uncanny sensation of being followed.
Chapter Seven
The sensation was vague at first, and Lauren wondered if her imagination was simply working overtime. She glanced over her shoulder, then faced forward again. There were people around—she wished there were even more—but none appeared to be suspicious. At least, no one had ducked into a doorway when she’d looked back.
She had walked a bit farther and turned a corner when the sensation intensified. A prickling arose at the back of her neck, accompanied by a frisson of fear. Instinctively she quickened her step, mentally charting the course she’d have to take to reach the garage. It consisted of main streets for the most part, with a single alleyway at the end.
She darted another glance behind her and saw the same outwardly innocuous people—several couples, a handful of singles, all staggered at intervals. If someone grabbed her, she’d yell. There were plenty of bodies to help.
She walked on. Fewer people were ahead of her now; some had turned off toward the subway stop. She assumed the same was true for those behind her, and the thought added to her unease.
She turned another corner. There was no one ahead of her now, and she didn’t dare look back. Unbidden, she recalled her childhood. There’d been a dog in the neighborhood, a large German shepherd of which she’d been terrified. Her mother had always instructed her to walk calmly past it on the theory that dogs could smell fear. Could people smell fear? Lauren wondered now. She was sure she reeked of it.
Imagination. That was all it was. Imagination getting a little out of hand. The sounds she heard not far behind weren’t footsteps. They were the knocking of the air-conditioning unit in the building she passed … or the creaking of heat as it escaped from the engine of a newly parked car alongside the curb … or …
Eyes wide, she shot a frightened glance over her shoulder and gasped. There was a man. He was very tall, large-set, dressed in black, and he was not twenty feet behind and gaining steadily on her.
Uncaring if she was jumping to conclusions, she began to run. She turned another corner and ran even faster. Her heels beat a rapid tattoo on the pavement, merging with the thundering of her heart to drown out all other night sounds of the city.
She passed another long—agonizingly long—building, then reached the alley, in actuality a single-lane driveway. At its end stood her salvation, a guard booth.
She was breathless and shaking, terrified of looking back and losing time, tripping or slamming into the wall. She cursed her side, which ached; cursed the shoes she wore and the heat that seemed to buffet her and slow her progress. By the time she reached the booth, she felt as though she’d run a marathon.
“Thank God,” she whispered, panting as she sagged against the thick plastic enclosure. Then, with a burst of energy, she scrambled to the booth’s opening. The guard, a young man with a punk hairstyle at odds with his uniform, sat balanced on the back legs of his chair. A dogeared magazine lay open on his lap. The heavy beat of rock music thrummed from the stereo box by his side. He was chewing gum; the vigorous action of his jaw only enhanced the indolence of his stare.
“Someone was following me,” Lauren gasped and darted a frantic glance toward the alley through which she’d run.
Looking thoroughly bored, the guard followed her gaze. There was no one in sight.
“He must have turned away when he saw me heading toward you,” she explained, trying to calm herself enough to think clearly. “Listen, I need a big favor.”
The young man blew a bubble, popped it and licked the gum back into his mouth. “Depends what it is.”
“Could you walk me to my car?”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m on duty.”
“I know, but there aren’t many cars leaving the garage now. With the gate down, they’ll wait. It won’t take you long—two, maybe three minutes. Just until I lock myself in.”
He fingered his earlobe, which sported a crescent of multiple studs. “I’m not supposed to leave this booth.”
“But I’m in danger!”
Slowly, his head nodding in time with the music, he looked back toward the street. “Don’t see anyone.”
“He may have taken the stairs. Please! I need your help!”
After what seemed forever, the front legs of the chair hit the floor. “So. Chivalry calls.” The guard stood up, yawned, then pushed his shoulders back.
The show was wasted on Lauren, who saw right through it to the scrawniness of his physique. Not much to protect her with. But he wore a uniform. There was safety in a uniform.
“I’m the new guy on the block,” he drawled. “I was given specific instructions—”
