“Alright.” My stomach knots with unease as I hear the soft hum of the engine through the phone.
“You know, Princess, I’m proud of you for going to therapy today. How was your first session?”
“It was good.” I’m no therapist, but I know he’s trying to distract me from the real danger that’s feet away fromme. What if this guy has a knife or a gun? Wouldn’t he have used it against me by now if he did?
“Tell me about it,” Tristan encourages.
“It went by fast,” I say. “An hour sounds like a long time, but once you start talking, it’s like you can’t get out everything you want to say, so you end up rambling. Lunch is a good idea. I should eat something anyway.”
“Google says I’m four minutes away.”
“Good.”
A bell rings behind the counter, and the elderly Chinese woman slides the bulletproof glass panel aside. “Lunch specials,” she calls out and pushes my bag onto the counter before sliding the glass back in place.
“I’ll call you back,” I say as I stand up. “My lunch is ready.”
“Two minutes. Order an Uber now and stay in the restaurant until you see me.”
I hang up, fighting the words tripping on the edge of my tongue, things I want to say in case this goes badly, and I don’t see him again. I pick up the white plastic bag in one hand and loop it around my forearm. I go back to the table and type to order an Uber.
A black sedan stops right in the middle of the lane closest to the shop and flicks its hazard lights on.
I dash outside without looking back, grab onto the back seat handle, and open it. I launch myself into the car and flick the door’s lock closed.
Through the rear windshield, my stalker makes his way around the back of the car like he’s supposed to get in with me. Tristan drives off. The man chases after us for a few feet before giving up.
“Are you alright?” Tristan asks, watching me in hisrearview mirror for a few seconds before tearing his eyes back on the road.
“No,” I admit. “Not even a little bit.”
Was that the guy who tried to shoot me? Who left that package for me?
If it’s the same guy, then how does he know I’m in Maryland?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
TRISTAN
I’m forcingdown chunks of sweet and sour chicken, but I have no appetite. Someone followed Daphne out of her therapy appointment and tried to follow her into Tuck’s car.
I got a good look at the fucker—and he’s next on my hitlist.
Daphne’s calmed down, and that’s what matters. She’s safe and scarfing down egg foo young like she hasn’t eaten in days.
“So, you don’t know this guy?” Tuck asks as he slurps his beef lo mein.
Daphne’s messy bun whips around the back of her head. “No, I haven’t seen him before. Just in the elevator, then he was following me.”
“Shouldn’t you go to the cops?” Tuck asks.
I shake my head at him. “We could, but they won’t do anything. When someone shot at her last week, we were in D.C. Since this happened in Baltimore, they’ll say it was unrelated and won’t take it seriously.” I know it’s the same guy. My gut is sure of it. I should have backed up over theprick when I had the chance, but the thought hadn’t occurred to me. All I could focus on was getting Daphne far away from that asshole.
I wasn’t thinking straight. I hope my stupidity won’t come back to bite me in the ass.
“What about the Secret Service?” he asks.
Daphne doesn’t hold back a sarcastic laugh. “Please, my parents want something like this to happen. Do you know how much sympathy Dad would get if another dead daughter turned up before the election? It would be even better for him if I were found dead in a dumpster before voters start sending in mail-in ballots.”
