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“Meanwhile, we’re getting wet out here,” he pointed out.
“Oh, hell.” She let out a long puff of air and started back up the stairs. “Fine. I guess. Come on in.” At the top landing, she threw open the door and stormed inside, with Noah a few steps behind.
“Lock it,” she ordered. “There are all kind of crazies out tonight.”
“Like me?” he asked.
“Very possibly.”
Her running shoes leaving a trail on the kitchen floor, she led him to a small living area with a broad bank of windows offering a panoramic view of the bay. The room was cozy and lived-in, an architectural throwback to a previous century, filled with furniture that had seen better days and a patterned carpet covering part of the battered hardwood floor. On one wall, a bookcase was crammed with paperbacks, hardbound books, a few knickknacks, and a stack of magazines. An iPad had been left glowing on the couch. He could see the remains of a sandwich on the table. “Maybe you should start over,” she suggested, and he noted she hadn’t put down the flashlight with its sharp-toothed bezel surrounding its lens.
“You’ve been following me for days, nearly giving me heart attacks,” she charged, her lips compressed into a thin, angry line, her eyes, as green as he remembered, narrowed as she glared at him. She was peeling off her jacket, water dripping on the rug. She scarcely noticed as she struggled with one sleeve because of the weapon she still held.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw you.”
“Following you?”
“Yes! Your SUV!” Finally extricating herself, she tossed her jacket over the back of a worn chair as he unzipped his. “Yesterday. Last night . . . you parked out front and . . .” Her voice fell away as she read his expression. “Right?” she asked, some of her anger dissipating. “In the dark Explorer or Pathfinder or Tahoe or whatever? You were following me earlier today, while I was—”
“Not me. I drive a pickup. Silver.”
“But . . .” Brow furrowed, she walked to a window and looked outside, then let out a harsh breath. “But it was right there.” After one more glance at the street in front of the house, she shot out of the room and down a short hallway.
He hurried to follow.
She was standing at her bedroom window, staring into the night. The room was small, dominated by a twin bed and a battle-scarred dresser: the pictures on the wall were black-and-white cityscapes, nothing personal. “It was just there,” she said from the far side of the bed. “Right there.” She pointed a stiff finger and tapped the glass. “It’s gone. But I saw it. Not ten minutes ago.”
He stood behind her, looking over her shoulder at an empty space near the darkened curb.
“You’re talking about the SUV.”
“Yes! The one that’s been following me! You’re saying it’s not yours?”
“It’s not mine.” From behind her, he dropped his hands on her shoulders. He felt her flinch as he rotated her body slightly to an angle where she was looking farther down the hill to the final ess curve. “That’s mine down there.” He pointed over her shoulder, his right arm nearly brushing her ear. “The pickup. Chevy Silverado 4x4.” The grill and windshield of the vehicle caught in the vapor glow of the streetlight.
“That’s yours?”
“Yes.”
Twisting her neck, she looked directly in front of the house again. “It was there,” she repeated, staring at the empty space. “Last night and, again, just a few minutes ago. That’s why I was coming out of the apartment.”
“To confront the guy? Blind him?”
“Whatever.” She didn’t find his joke the least bit funny. “This”—she held up the flashlight—“can also be used as a club or attack weapon.”
“I’m aware. But again, whatever vehicle you saw wasn’t mine.”
“Then whose?”
He still had one hand on her shoulder, noticed the warmth of her body beneath her sweater. Then, as if she realized he was still touching her, she tensed and slid away from him. “I don’t know. Maybe it belongs to . . .”
“The neighbors? Some friend dropping in on someone who lives nearby? I’ve heard the theories. And I don’t have any idea if they hold water. But even so, even if the SUV’s legit and belongs to someone or their friend, why was it, or one like it, following me?” She turned and faced him, her face only inches from his, the warmth of her body radiating from her.
“You’re certain it was—”
“Yes!
