Page 14 of Tracking Safety

She hadn’t expected it to go well. Probably a hundred times in the past month she’d told herself their first conversation would be terrible. She’d tried to brace herself for Luke’s anger, for his coldness, for the words he’d had every right to say.

She’d thought she was prepared.

She wasn’t.

She walked back to her car, which she’d parked in the same lot but around the corner. As it came into view, she sucked in a breath.

The driver’s side front tire was flat.

She stopped and stared at it. How had that happened?

She crouched and studied the tire.

A nail would have left the tire soft, slowly losing air. This one was fully flat, the sidewall sitting flush against the ground like the air had left all at once.

She straightened, and her gaze moved across the lot.

The dark sedan she’d seen earlier was gone. When had the driver left? Was the vehicle even connected with her and her past?

Maybe. But maybe not. Any number of people could have a legitimate reason to sit in a running car for a few minutes and then leave.

That didn’t make her feel any better, however.

Before she could stand, footsteps sounded behind her.

“Well, I’ll be. Am I seeing things or is that Jenna King?”

Dread filled her as she turned.

Dale Harding crossed the lot toward her, a bag from Hartwell’s in one hand and an easy smile on his face.

Dale was Richard’s older brother—Richard, the man who’d married Luke’s sister Sarah and was now in prison for killing her.

Her throat swelled at the memory.

Dale was broader through the shoulders than Richard, with the same dark hair and the same way of acting like he was a little better than everyone around him.

She’d never liked Dale, though she’d never been able to pinpoint a specific reason. He’d always been perfectly pleasant around her. But something about the man put her on edge.

“Dale.” She stood to better face him. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Just picking up a few things.” He stopped beside her, looked at the tire, and frowned. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You got a spare?”

She hesitated. She’d bought this car used, but she was pretty sure there was a spare in the trunk.

“I think I do. But I can—” She stopped as she remembered she had no idea how to change a tire. Then she tried again. “I could use some help, actually. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He set his bag down on the asphalt parking lot without hesitation. “I’d be happy to be of assistance.”

She opened the trunk then stepped back and gave him room to work. As she did, she kept her eyes on the street. On the entrance to the lot. On the spaces along the far edge of the area where the sedan had been idling earlier.

Nothing—no signs of trouble—caught her eye.

She exhaled slowly.