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“Relax and think about the night ahead.” Doing that shouldn’t be difficult. She’d been looking forward to spending time with him again since yesterday. As far as she knew, he didn’t have any definite plans for them tonight, but so what. Unlike the men in her past, Rock never insisted they go out every chance they got. In fact, since they’d started dating, their only three big outings had been the hockey game, the Botanic Garden, and a movie. They’d stopped for dinner one night too, but right afterward they’d gone back to her townhouse. The other tim
es he’d come up, they’d ordered takeout and just spent time together.
A good portion of the day she’d actually fantasized how they might spend their time together tonight. Since she’d gotten on I-95 however, she’d been wishing she could lock herself behind her front door and turn the security system on.
When she left work and spotted the car behind her, she’d assumed it just happened to be heading in the same direction. There were a lot of office buildings around the Falmouth Foundation and it was five o’clock on a Friday. She’d assured herself it was just a coincidence when the same car followed her onto the highway. Lots of people used Interstate 95 everyday to commute to and from work. Just because the car had been behind her since the city didn’t mean anything. The driver was probably heading home or off to meet someone like her.
That reassurance lasted until they merged with traffic and the same car stayed behind her. She’d changed lanes three times now, hoping the car wouldn’t follow. Twice the car behind her did the same. Had it followed this last time? Only one way to know.
Allison glanced in her rearview mirror then let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. A bright red tractor-trailer with a large Bulldog on its grill followed her, not the dark-colored sedan from earlier. She’d overreacted. Again. The car hadn’t been following her. They had merely been heading in the same general direction.
A sharp cramp shot up her hand, and she loosened her death grip on the steering wheel. “I need to get control of my imagination.”
The ridiculous thing had been acting up since January, but the silly bear and candy weeks ago had sent it into overdrive. So far, she hadn’t received any more gifts, but she also hadn’t figured out who sent the first one. She’d questioned the receptionist who’d accepted the present that afternoon, but she hadn’t remembered anything about the delivery person except that it had been a man. Unsure of how to proceed next, she’d seriously considered contacting the police like Derek suggested. Each time, she convinced herself not to bother. The police had enough to deal with handling real crimes. They didn’t have the time or manpower to hunt down her secret admirer, especially since the individual had only sent her a present. Sending presents, even anonymous ones, was not against law, just unnerving for the person receiving them.
The red tractor-trailer passed her on the right as it headed for an exit. Immediately she checked the cars behind her again. A white pickup now road her bumper so close that if she stopped quickly, the driver would find himself in her trunk. Unfortunately, that wasn’t uncommon for this time of day. And as infuriating as it might be, if it meant the dark-colored car from earlier wasn’t around, she wouldn’t complain.
The pickup drifted a little to the left as the driver spoke on his cell phone, giving Allison a good view of the cars further back. She wasn’t an expert on cars, but the dark sedan three vehicles back on the right resembled the car from earlier.
Is it the same one? They’d passed multiple exits since leaving Alexandria and she’d changed lanes three times. If it was the same driver, could it be a coincidence that they still remained behind her?
“In one mile, take exit twenty.” The GPS directions forced her to watch the exit signs rather than the cars behind her, which was something she really should’ve been doing all along.
If someone did follow her off the interstate, should she still go to Rock’s apartment? What if she parked and whoever drove the other car attacked her in the parking lot? Heading straight to the police station made much more sense. Too bad she didn’t know where it was located.
Her stomach clenched at the sight of the white pickup truck and the dark-colored sedan following her off the exit ramp and right onto Dumfries Road.
“Turn left,” the GPS said a few seconds too late as she passed the road she needed. Normally, she didn’t rely on only the device’s verbal instruction but also checked the map on the display screen. Thanks to the car behind her, she’d ignored the map and missed her turn.
The GPS repeated its instructions as the line representing her route changed on the screen to compensate for her error. A quick look in the mirror showed the dark sedan still behind her as she turned down the next street.
Unsure of what else to do, she pressed the phone icon on her steering wheel. “Call Rock,” she said, thankful for whatever technology made it possible for her car and phone to work together. “Come on, answer.” If he didn’t answer now, she’d drive around until he did. No way was she getting out of her car without him around.
***
Rock ignored the beep of his cell phone. Ever since the pictures from the hockey game and another of them exiting Bartholdi Park went live in the media, he’d been getting texts from his buddies, all of them letting him now what a lucky SOB he was. Not that he needed any of them to tell him. However, a part of him did wish he’d thought a little harder before making out with Allison in full view of a camera lens. Having pictures of them making out all over the Internet wasn’t the best way to make a good impression on her father. She said it didn’t matter, insisting her father wouldn’t make any judgments about him based on some pictures. Regardless of her reassurance, he remembered his own reaction when he spotted a similar picture of his sister and Trent on the cover of The Star Report back in the fall. When he’d told Allison, she’d reminded him of Trent’s playboy reputation and stated it had probably contributed to his negative feelings. He hadn’t argued with her. People might call him a lot of things, but he wasn’t a heartless playboy like the media had once portrayed Trent.
Oddly, he didn’t disagree with Allison on much. Since the weekend they’d gone to the hockey game, he’d either driven up to Alexandria to see her or they’d talked on the phone. The only time they’d come close to really disagreeing had been last night. He’d promised to drive up once his interview with Elite Force Security ended, which was an event he still needed to process. She’d insisted this time she’d come to him instead. Rather than argue about something so trivial, he’d given in.
Right now though, he’d prefer to be in his truck driving instead of hanging around his apartment with Baxter and waiting. Somehow driving helped when he had a lot on his mind. Tonight he had a crapload clogging up his thoughts.
He’d expected his interview to be a meet-and-greet with Eric Coleman. The guy would do his best to convince him to join the company and become a glorified babysitter for any Tom, Dick, or Harry with deep enough pockets. Thanks to his conversation with Connor, he went into the interview knowing the company did more than just babysit, but he’d assumed that meant they also dabbled in some private investigating or something else along those lines. He hadn’t been prepared for the truth.
To the world, Elite Force Security was just another pricey private security firm, which had been providing personal security for over forty years. However, some of its employees never worked as personal bodyguards. Instead, they worked as part of the H.R.T. or Hostile Response Team, a special division within the company developed almost twelve years ago. This division conducted the clandestine black-op assignments the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the CIA, and/or POTUS didn’t want the US tied to, as well as hostage rescues. When Coleman dropped his bomb on him, his first thought had been that the guy was delusional. The idea of a secret paramilitary team running assignments for the government sounded like a plot for an action movie or some reality TV show. When no camera crew appeared and started filming, he accepted that Coleman was for real.
Now he needed to decide if he wanted to sign onboard or forget he ever learned the truth about Elite Force’s special division and go on with his life. The military was in his blood. Never had he doubted he’d join the military and serve his country. Except for his sister, it was just what Raimonos did. She was the black sheep of the family.
He’d never regretted his decision either. Unfortunately, the politicians often influenced the decisions made by those in charge, limiting the effectiveness of the military. From the sound of it, the orders H.R.T. received bypassed the politicians all together, making it able to carry out operations without all the bullshit and red tape.
Working for such as organization appealed to him on many levels. If he agreed though, it would mean keeping a part of his life a secret from everyone. The director had stressed more than once the level of secrecy all the men and woman on the team needed to uphold. In many cases, even spouses didn’t know what their husbands or wives did. Did he want that type of life? He didn’t have an answer and he didn’t see himself reaching one tonight either, not with Allison around.
Allison, now that was another case of there being more than what you saw on the outside. Most people probably looked at her and saw a beautiful woman who lived a life of luxury and did nothing more then get her nails done. He’d never admit it to her, but he’d initially had a similar opinion. There was a hell of a lot more to her than that.
During the past few weeks, he’d only scratched the surface, and the more he uncovered, the more he liked her. Perhaps it had been inevitable. She had taken him to a hockey game and a barbecue joint on their first date. Any woman who’d do that was a keeper in his book.
His favorite AC/DC song blasted out of his phone, causing Baxter to raise his head and look at him. Few people called him. Most of his friends and his older brothers preferred to send text messages. Only three people called him on a regular basis his mom, sister, and Allison. If it was Mom or Addie now, he’d let them leave a message. A call from Allison he’d take.
Checking the number on the screen first, he grabbed the phone and he hit the talk icon. “Hey, Allison. On your way?” He almost asked if she’d gotten lost. She’d admitted her sense of direction sucked.
