Not Trace. They were unapologetically creepy.
I realized two things at once:
Someone had gotten close enough to me to slip this into my bag.
This wasn’t bogus numbers sending messages to my phone from who knows how far away. This was right up close and personal.
Whoever did this wanted to track me covertly, and if I did find it, they wanted me to be unnerved.
Goal accomplished.
The Canceled Killer. If he was tracking me, he’d always find me. It wasn’t a fair game of hide-and-seek if he always knew where I was hiding.
I snatched a paper towel from the roll above the sink and grabbed the tag. I studied it, looking for a serial number, or anything else that could identify it or help me track it back to an owner. I found none. I gently laid it on the counter near the sink and took a picture of it, just in case.
I heard Mateo singing in the shower. What if my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was more stalkerish than he let on? Suddenly, no one seemed safe. I lifted the tabletop and tucked the device next to the cleaning supplies.
No one got to track me without my permission. I grabbed my sling bag and slipped out of the Airstream. I was in the process of trying to send Russo a picture of the tracing tag when I bumped into Jude on the Zen garden path.
“Whoa, there.” Jude steadied me on my feet, eyebrows shooting to the sky. “I thought you’d… uh… be busy, what with robbing the cradle.”
“Not funny.” I really was in no mood to be teased right now.
“Kind of is funny. Is the Spider-Man costume legit, or are those just his footie pajamas for beddy-bye time? Does he still sleep in his childhood bedroom, or…?”
“Again, not laughing.” I pressed my lips in a thin line. Sometime much later I’d find this funny. Now? Not so much.
“My mistake.” Jude raised both hands in mock surrender and then he pushed his black-framed glasses up the bridge of hisnose. “Does this mean we’re going to have a webslinger wedding to plan?”
“No. And when you run and tell Oscar that I’m an actual human adult woman and I date, mention that I’m not in the market to settle down.”
Jude cocked his head to one side. “I’m not a snitch, and I’m not keeping tabs on you.”
“Really?” I crossed my arms over my chest, tapping an annoyed Converse against the pebble path. “So you just randomly show up where I am, always concerned, always asking nosy questions? Doesn’t have anything to do with Oscar being worried I might embarrass him in front of the whole town and tank the election?”
A flash of guilt passed across Jude’s face. So they’d had a conversation about me embarrassing Oscar. Me potentially affecting the outcome of the election. Wow. That hurt my feelings more than I liked to admit.
What if Jude had been the one to plant the tag? Or Oscar? What better way to keep track of the loose cannon? So much for sending Oscar a picture of that, too, then. Suddenly, I felt like I couldn’t trust anyone.
“Oscar is stressed out, sure, but I’m not doing his bidding,” Jude said, kicking a toe of his pristine new Adidas into the little pebbles beneath. “I know you don’t believe this, but I actually care about how you’re doing.”
“Right. Sure you do.” I let out a skeptical sigh.
“You’re really mocking the guy who learned Mozart’s Requiem for your spider’s funeral?”
I had to laugh a little at that.
Jude studied me. “Can I ask you a personal question?” Jude asked. “Why is Russo here? Is it personal or…”
Well, that was a good question. Was it personal? Maybe.
“The Canceled Killer told Chicago PD that he has unfinished business with me. Russo thinks the Canceled Killer is in town.”
Jude blinked fast, absorbing the information.
“The Canceled Killer followed you here.” Jude’s face turned pale. “He is toying with you. And so he really might be after Allen Gordon. And you.”
I exhaled. “Yeah, Gordon isn’t the only one who got skull emojis. I did, too,” I admitted.
