I glance at the road. I was headed back to Big Sur, but… no. No, I need her. I needElenalike oxygen and tequila.
I stab at the screen and flip the GPS like I’m flipping off my entire sense of responsibility.
“Diverting route. We’re meeting. I don’t care where. Just tell me you’re not in LA.”
“Nope, I’m in Carmel. Took a detour to avoid my ex and shop for overpriced moisturizer I don’t need.”
“Bless you. Text me a pin. I’ll be there in twenty.”
I make the turn, tires slicing clean against the pavement, and my GPS gasps like I’ve personally offended its sense of order.
“Rerouting,” it chirps, polite but smug.
Yeah, well. So is my whole life.
I tap to open Elena’s pin—some bougie café in downtown Carmel, probably selling lavender-infused espresso and gluten-free existential dread. Just as the map resets, something flickers in the corner of my eye.
A black SUV. Sleek. Big. Windows tinted so dark I could use them as a mirror.
Not unusual. Not in this area.
Except… it was behind me at the last light. And the one before that.
And maybe—maybe even earlier, outside Elite Properties?
I can’t be sure. I wasn’t looking. But now that I’m paying attention, it feels like it’s been there. Lingering. Unbothered. Like it has nowhere better to be than exactly where I am.
I grip the wheel tighter.
Konstantin?
Would he—? No. No, he wouldn’t need to follow me. Not when he could just have Timur ping my location through some terrifying Russian tech that probably hasn’t been legal since the Cold War.
Still… my spine prickles.
I glance again.
Still behind me.
Same distance. Same speed. No turn signal.
I press the accelerator a little harder, not enough to make it obvious. Just enough to feel like I’m still the one in control.
My phone buzzes again. Incoming call.
Aunt Peggy.
My stomach sinks like it’s been shot.
I debate ignoring it. Letting it rot in voicemail hell. But I know her. If I don’t pick up now, she’ll just try Lila’s school. Or Julian’s dorm. Or call every damn office listed under my real estate license like she’s hunting for blood.
I swipe to answer, already bracing.
“Hello?”
“Oh, so you do still answer your phone,” she says, voice sharp as bleach.
I say nothing.
