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Mango looked up at me, blinking big green eyes. I could swear I felt a connection between us, but then again, I have an active imagination.
Lillian smiled. “TJ, you’re going to be a great father.”
I’ll never have children with you, ever!
•••
It was dark by the time Lillian walked me to the door, the thumb drive in my pocket and the cat carrier over my shoulder. Lillian and I said our goodbyes, barely audible over Mango’s screeching, a noise I didn’t know cats could produce.
“Lillian, why is she crying? It’s so loud, like an owl, or a fox, or something in the woods—”
“Cats can be really loud. Hold the carrier level.”
I adjusted the strap. “Should I give her treats?”
“No, she’s just not used to the carrier. Get going. Goodbye!” Lillian pushed me out the door, and I sensed she was worried I’d change my mind.
“Okay, bye.” I reached the car and put the cat carrier on the passenger seat. Mango screeched and screeched, the noise reverberating in the car. I’d already loaded the back seat with a bag of kibble, canned Fancy Feast, medication, dishes, toys, and something called a Furminator.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I said, but Mango caterwauled. I peeked through the carrier’s black mesh, but all I could see was her open mouth and pointy white teeth.
I put the seat belt around the carrier and drove off.
She was my furbaby now.
•••
It took me ten minutes to realize I was being followed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I checked the outside mirror. A black compact car was two cars behind me, and it looked like a Hyundai, but I wasn’t sure. There was a Tesla on my bumper and a boxy dark van between me and the black compact. I felt as if it had been back there awhile, but I wasn’t sure when I had picked it up. The cat was screeching, and I’d been too distracted to keep watch.
I took a right turn, then a left, driving through random streets. The Tesla peeled off, but the van remained and so did the black compact, at a distance. There were no streetlights, and it was too dark to see if the car was a Hyundai. I still had the Hyundai license plate written on my hand, but the mystery car’s license plate was on its back bumper.
I headed home, and the Hyundai driver would expect me to go in that direction. A few twists and turns gave me a chance to see if it would keep following me. It did, and so did the van. I steered onto Route 100, a major artery lined with big stores, streetlights, and plenty of ambient light. Meanwhile the cat continued to screech.
I stopped at a red light, peering at the rearview. Cars lined up behind me, their headlights cutting the darkness. Exhaust wreathed thecars in chalky clouds. The black compact was still back there. Under the streetlights, I could see my fears confirmed. It was the Hyundai.
My mouth went dry. The cat kept screeching, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I unzipped the carrier and Mango scooted out, then scrambled under the passenger seat. She didn’t stop screeching, but the seat muffled the sound.
The light turned green, and I fed the car gas, keeping an eye on the Hyundai. Traffic was stop-and-go to the next light, then the one after that, and I drove tense, with the cat wailing.
The light turned red, and I braked with the other traffic. My fingers clenched the steering wheel. My chest tightened.
I stared at the traffic light’s burning red circle, literally seeing red. I didn’t like being followed. I didn’t even like that John was being followed. But I wanted to know who killed Lemaire. It was time to see who the hell was driving that Hyundai.
I put my car in park, got out, closed the door, and stalked down the line of traffic. Startled drivers looked up at me. I passed a Lexus, then a Toyota truck. I made a beeline for the Hyundai, but I couldn’t see inside because it was too dark.
The stoplight changed. Cars started to drive past me. Exhaust filled my nostrils. The Hyundai idled, facing off against me. I realized the driver could be armed. I put my hand in my pocket like I had a gun.
Cars whooshed around me, and I advanced on the Hyundai, which veered into the right lane to avoid me. I lunged for its front door, grabbed its handle, and came eye to eye with its driver.
No.Behind the wheel was a young Black woman, plainly terrified. She raised her hands like she was being carjacked.
“I’m sorry, miss!” I called through the window. “Go ahead, please!”
The woman hit the gas and took off. I headed back to my car, traffic streaming past me, giving me wide berth.
