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I don’t think so, jerk.
I start yelling at him to get off me, making as much of a scene as I can, hoping to draw the attention of more than just my taxi driver.
Creepy-jerkman must decide I’m not worth it because he spins and runs away, darting through the crowd pouring out of the airport doors.
Pulling myself up, I brush the dirt off my comfy jogger pants and frown.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” the taxi driver asks.
I nod, feeling a little shaken, but more annoyed than anything. I may be nice, but I don’t like being perceived as weak. “I’m fine, thank you.”
He returns to putting my suitcase into the trunk while I slide into the back of the car. There’s a small tear in my pants, right over my knee, and I touch it. I’m bummed that my favorite traveling pants are ruined. I always wear them when flying and consider them lucky—you know, since I’ve survived all of my flights.
Well, that was quite interesting.
When the driver gets in, I give him my address and we pull away from the curb without further incident. I try not to spend too much time dissecting what just happened. I’m just glad the bum didn’t get my bag. Not that there’s anything too valuable in it. Other than my license, tablet and maybe twenty dollars, I have a package of cookies they gave me during the flight and half a bottle of water left that I bought before I boarded.
The taxi driver makes small talk as we head toward my apartment, and I’m grateful for the distraction, but I notice him repeatedly looking in the rear view mirror. I glance over my shoulder, wondering what he’s looking at and see a car directly behind us.
It’s evening and the light is fading fast, making it hard for me to see much, but I get a weird, sinking sensation in my stomach at the exact moment my driver says, “I think the man from the airport is following us. Do you know him?”
“No,” I say, panic rising. Why would he be following me? Fear replaces my earlier annoyance. My mind buzzes and the last thing I want to do is lead him straight back to where I live. Hell no.But where should I go?
To my sister’s? No, that’s not a good idea. Someplace public with plenty of people around? That seems like a better option.
I suddenly remember Cameron telling me she has a date tonight and they were meeting at a nice restaurant not too far away from where she lives. “Excuse me?” I say, leaning forward. “Can you drop me off at The Iris over on Third Street?”
“Sure,” he says, his attention remaining focused on the car following us.
Five minutes later, I’m on the edge of my seat as we pull up to the valet at The Iris. Gripping my messenger bag tightly, holding it close to my body, I thank the driver for his help, reiterating how grateful I am for his willingness to go above and beyond for a stranger he picked up at the airport. I already paid him and gave him instructions to drop my suitcase off with my neighbor at my apartment building.
The moment the taxi’s wheels come to a stop, I throw the door open, hop out and bolt past the surprised attendant. Pushing through the front door, I race by the hostess station and skid to a halt at the edge of the dining room. My wild eyes scan the dinner crowd, searching for my sister. The whole place is dimly-lit and candles flicker on tabletops, making it hard to see.
When I don’t immediately spot her, I dare a look over my shoulder. Two men stalk into the front of the restaurant and my heart nearly stops. One of them is creepy airport stalker jerk. Stepping further inside, moving out of their sight, I search madly for Cameron.
Where the hell is she?
Finally, I spot her sitting at a table in the far back, left corner of the dining room and I hurry over, heart in my throat.Oh, thank God.She’s sitting across from a man and I can only see the back of his dark head.
Weaving between tables, I nearly race headlong into a server carrying a tray loaded with food. “I’m so sorry!” I cry and hurry around him. As I’m approaching the table, my sister looks up and I see surprise flicker through her eyes.
Stumbling to a stop, my curls bounce against the tops of my shoulders, and I’m still clutching my bag in a steel hold.
“Lakey?” Cameron says. “What’re you doing here?”
“There’s someone chasing me!” I exclaim. “I didn’t want to go home and—”
My gaze moves over to her date and I immediately stop speaking. It’s like the breath is stolen from my lungs by the insanely attractive man with jaw-dropping blue-green eyes and killer cheekbones.
“Who’s chasing you?” he asks. His deep, velvety voice is laced with concern. The candlelight flickers over his cleanly-shaven face and I notice the expensive suit and tie he wears.
“Um…” I struggle to find the words, but a moment later I don’t have to because gunshots echo through the dining room.
Chapter Three: Dash
The moment I’m about to call it a night, a woman with wild brown eyes and even wilder red hair rushes up to our table, out of breath and frantic. When Cameron calls her “Lakey,” I realize it’s her sister.
Lakey is fucking stunning and my heart jumps into my throat.
