Page 51 of You Saw the Best In Me

“Oh, my god,” I turn, and Maverick is behind me.

“What is it?” he asks, a puzzled look on his face.

I haven’t told him about my safety precautions, but when I point at the paperclip on the ground, explaining what it means, he ushers me into his truck.

He starts it, immediately driving away from the complex, stopping once we reach a gas station.

“Let me out, Maverick,” I say, but he shakes his head.

“Talk to me, tell me everything about the last time —” he starts, but I have to stop him.

“Let me out, or I'll throw up all over your fucking truck,” I yell, which makes him finally pull over.

A few minutes later, Maverick's lovely breakfast is all over the bushes, and I feel weak again.

“I’m sorry. I lost it for a minute,” I say as I climb back in his truck.

He faces me, concern spread across his face, and I know he’s waiting for a better explanation.

“I have a couple of safety measures. That way, I know if anyone’s been in my car. I never get in without checking and never get out without setting the paperclip,” I tell him, staring out the window and avoiding his eyes.

He probably thinks I’m insane, and I don’t want to see what that looks like on his face.

“That’s smart, Karina. It’s quick thinking like this that could save your life,” he says quietly, and I’m in awe.

We get to the station, and I ask him if we can sit for a minute so I can calm my nerves.

I felt so good before we left, thinking that this could be what changed my life, and it was instantly stolen from me.

“Come here. Are you okay?” Maverick says, lifting the middle console so I can be next to him.

I tuck under his arm, feeling safer and stronger already.

“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at the weird thing hanging from his windshield.

“Oh fuck. Fuck!” he yells, pulling out his phone and freaking me out.

I let him do his thing, not breaking his focus by distracting him.

Finally, he hands me his phone, and my jaw drops.

“Is this?” I ask, the rest of the words failing to come out.

I watch the video, taken from what I assume is a camera inside Maverick’s truck, and I see Asher checking the handle on every door. To my surprise, the passenger door opens after he does something to it that I can’t make out on the grainy video.

He gets inside my car, poking around my glove compartment, and after six minutes, he emerges from the driver’s side.

I try to hand the phone back to Maverick, but he shakes his head, and we keep watching.

Instead of leaving, Asher approached the building and didn’t come out for thirty minutes.

The camera picks up his motion again as he sits on the hood of my car.

This is all too much; I feel sick again and tell Maverick to put it away.

“Let’s go inside. We need to show them this video, too,” he says, pulling his arm from around me.

“Why do you have a camera in here?” I ask, pointing to it.